When our family returned from Panama to the sweet soil of the U.S. we landed in a very haphazard way. I now think that the way our plane landed was symbolic of the life awaiting our return home to the United States. Being military, we re-entered the country via Shaw A.F.B. in South Carolina. The plane we were in came down from the sky with a thunk and a screech and a big jolt with noises that can only be described as ear piercing and deafening. The planes landing gear did not deploy. With no landing gear the solution was foaming the runway. The runway became a slip and slide, a big foamy slip and slide. I remember the sounds but I don't remember anything from the inside of the plane as we flumped and then whooshed along the foamed up asphalt. My mom remembers preparing us kids for the less than perfect landing. She clutched me tightly to her breast, I was 3ish, as for my siblings, she says she screamed at them to bend over and hold onto their ankles. Once the sound of the plane's contact with the runway stopped the sounds of the sirens took over and in several blinks of an eye we were sliding down parachute slides, out of and away from the plane. Yep, this landing was a symbolic warning of the life waiting for us, the Hughes family.
The Pontiac Sky Chief was big, no, not big, it was bigger than big, Sky Chief was huge! Sky Chief, my mom's name for her prized possession was the most beautiful green with a hood ornament of Sky Chief flying. Sky Chief's doors were so heavy that when one slammed shut on my oldest brother's hand it pinched some of the flesh off and produced a scream so loud the citizens in Globe Arizona could hear him. There was no tussling between us kids for the front seat. The front seat seating assignment was my parents and my sister. My sister rode up front with my parents because she was the oldest and she was the official parental referee. My parents bickered worse than my siblings and their bickering was a constant in our lives and that bickering escalated in Sky Chief. My parents could fight over anything. Bill and Ellie could fight over whether a nickel was silver or if it was made of nickel. Their heated discussions about trivial information often lasted an eternity or at least 100 miles. My sister would yell at Mr. and Mrs. Hughes to shut up! With my 12-year-old sister's admonishment my parent's disagreements would turn into finger pointing and blaming with my father trying to speak in Spanish. My father loved anything Mexican, like my mom, and he tried all his life to master the Spanish language. He would say things like, "Cierre su boca Eleanor - Shut your mouth Eleanor" or "Déme un beso Leanor - Give me a kiss Eleanor!" Since he, my dad, did not know very much Spanish he would switch back to English colored with a Mexican accent painted over his own beautiful Irish English lilt ... just imagine how that sounded! My mom, speaking very clear English, would then threaten to send my father to meet his maker. My sister would smack both my parents with rolled paper or with her bare hands and my father would yell, "Ay, caramba!" and my mother would start laughing. It was continual.
Our trips from here to there included the expected pit stops along the way. We stopped at rest stops to eat and filling stations to fill up the Pontiac's gas tank and depending on the temperature my parents would sometimes buy a canvas bag filled with water to hang in front of the grill to cool the radiator. In the late 1950's gas stations were referred to as filling stations, at least that is true for my world. Once stopped at a filling station bodies would begin to fly out of the car; my brother's shoving one another, my sister rolling her eyes, and my mom and dad flew out still bickering. I would hang out in the car. I wanted to sit in the driver's seat so I could admire Sky Chief. Sky Chief was beautiful. Behind a protective dome made of either thick glass or plastic, Sky Chief's 3 dimensional emblem was on display. Sky Chief's emblem was a piece of art in our car. The golden emblem was a profile of an Indian with flowing hair. Yes, in those days of ignorance and arrogance we referred to the indigenous peoples of this great land as Indians. I could tell you about all the other politically incorrect lingo used back in the 1950's but I am sure you can imagine. Sitting in the driver's seat, I would trace my finger around Sky Chief's profile over and over. I would wish I was an Indian so I could shoot my family with arrows and then I could ride away on my painted pony and never come back. My dream would be interrupted when my family returned to the car having used the bathroom and each carrying a soda and gum, and telling me to scoot. I would take my soda from my mom's hand, and I would assume my place in the giant car. We all had our places.
Being the youngest and not being quit four years old yet meant sitting in the back seat between two brothers. I would be between my brothers because both insisted on sitting next to a window plus neither one of them wanted to sit over the floorboard's hump. Sitting between my two brothers was like sitting between Moe and Larry of the Three Stooges. My oldest brother's name is Bill and my other brother really was nicknamed Moe. Moe was called Moe in honor of the battleship Missouri that was also known as Big Mo. Big Mo became grounded in 1950 and it was a big deal getting that battleship unstuck. My mom said my brother Moe's birth was the equivalent of the Big Mo incident. To solve the comedy of slapping and poking over my head and me whining my mom would eventually insist that I lay down along the ledge between the back seat and the back window or I could lie on the floor board. I always chose the window because on the floorboard I had the stooges feet kicking me. The back window was a great place to watch the world go buy as we traveled from Arizona to California and back. My mom decided to take us to California for Christmas with her family because she had not seen them since moving to Panama in 1954. The year we went to California the first time in Sky chief was 1958. And like I said, in less than a year Sky Chief carried a lot of luggage and baggage between California and Arizona and eventually to Alabama. One of Sky Chief's magical attributes was the trunk. The Pontiac's trunk was so spacious there was never a problem fitting into it everything we needed, including my mom's travel kitchen. Our travel kitchen included cooking utensils and cast iron pots and an iron grill, fuel, camping supplies, food, and water. Along with our kitchen and tents we had suitcases with our clothing. Big brown, leather suitcases all scuffed up from miles and miles of travel. My parents would pull into a rest area and in no time would have a kitchen set up and a parachute tent hoisted up and ready to rest under. I loved those rest area stops because it was time for me to stretch, and time for me to finally pee. I would rather pee behind a tree than use a spooky, dirty, filling station bathroom and that is true for me to this day.
The first trip of our six-road trip adventure in 1958 brought us to my uncle's ranch somewhere in Calaveras County, California. All I remember is we always referred to the ranch as Calaveras and when I ask my mom where the ranch was her reply to this day is, " in the mountains". Sky Chief got us all to my uncle's ranch safely in spite of the people driving him. At my uncle's ranch there was a small house, painted a deep green that my Nana and Tata lived in. I remember getting yelled at for swinging on Nana's garden gate and I recall my Tata trying to teach me how to not chew my food like a cow. Tata would say, "mire mire mire - look look look!" over and over again as he demonstrated proper chewing for me. Tata would take his fresh made tortilla, scoop up some of my Nana's fabulous refried beans, take a bite, and make me watch until he chewed and swallowed. It was then my turn to rip off a piece of warm tort, scoop my beans, then? Then I would fail my chewing lesson because I guess I am part cow. I never got the hang of not eating like a cow, at least not according to my Tata.
For the first time in my life, I was celebrating Christmas with an extended family. I was meeting people of our family for the first time for I had lived my first three years in Panama. My biggest memory of this particular Christmas Eve night is of my mentally handicapped Aunt Mona pinching me and pinching my other cousins. Mona would pinch by squeezing together one's skin between a rough finger and thumb and then twist while watching your face intently and making a sound like a goat. Mona constantly pinched us and we were all running around the room trying to escape her and not one adult would do anything about it. The adults were very busy making tamales, drinking anything that had the word alcohol on it, singing, catching barn owls with shirts, and laughing. The adults had no time for us kids, especially kids who were supposed to be sleeping and waiting for Santa. Mona kept us all awake out of fear of losing our skin and thankfully midnight finally came. The clock chimed midnight as we were released from the torture chamber to open presents. With Christmas celebrations finally over my family was back on the road heading toward Arizona once again. Sky Chief was packed with bodies and food and more because of Christmas. Sky Chief accommodated all the extra "stuff" Christmas left without complaint.
We had not been home in Florence too long when my mother received an urgent phone call. My Aunt T was ill and needed her. Aunt T, one of my mom's three sisters lived in Oakland California. Back into Sky Chief and back to California for another road trip with all the same pit stops and all the same dirty filling stations. This time we traveled at night too and many miles of the highways we traveled upon were lit up with black cannon balls on fire. My mom said the flaming and sometimes smoldering cannon balls were a warning for drivers to be careful. The black balls could mean there was a lane closure because of an accident or whatever. I remember along one strip of the roadway as I was admiring the burning balls, I could see there had been a landslide. Along with the burning balls there were bulldozers, in the night, scraping away big rocks and dirt. I did not care why there were black balls on fire, all I know is I liked looking at them. This trip, my father was not with us because he had to go back to Williams Air Force Base where he was stationed. We arrived at my aunt's house and were there maybe one night. My mom gathered up my cousins, some of their clothes, and it was back into Sky Chief and back to Arizona. Sky Chief, being the magical car he was, expanded to welcome my aunt's four daughters, my three siblings, my mom, a dog, and of course me. There was a lot of punching and pushing while yelling "dibs" but because of my age and size I was not a part of placing dibs, ever. Before pulling away to begin the second leg of this road trip a seating arrangement had been established. My three oldest cousins all begging for the front seat got their wish and that wish squished them together against one another and against my mom. In the back seat the stooges had to put up with three more girls all of whom were 6 and younger. Staking claim to a window seat in the back turned into a slugfest between Larry and Moe and my cousin Terry who was not afraid to use her fist. Terry ended up with a window seat along with Billy and poor Moe and Dee shared the middle bump. My cousin Alice who was 2ish ended up on the floorboard at the feet of four pairs of feet and I glowed in my window seat.
On this trip back to Arizona we all got to pee behind trees along the roadside instead of using filling station bathrooms. I think it was just easier for my mom to keep track of us all. Ah, back home in Arizona meant running and playing outside with doodlebugs and horned toads. I loved being in Florence. In Arizona we had dogs and a horse and the weather was always great. That great time did not last long because we no sooner settled into a new routine being that my four cousins were now living with us and the phone rang - again - we had to head back to California. This went on for just under a year. Back and forth and back and forth and then one day our home base changed without warning or maybe there was talk about the move and I just did not care or I did not really understand. Returning to Arizona after being in California this time the road trip ended in Gilbert Arizona where my father was fulfilling his military duties.
Strange and unbelievable as it may seem there was another trip back to California and this time it was to return my cousins to their mom. With Sky Chief filled to the brim, we headed out - again. Everyone staked their claim to his or her places in the car, and I remained in the window. I know I was the luckiest of all. On this trip, and yes I remember which trip it was, my brother Moe a.k.a. Clarence, developed a brilliant strategy for sitting by a window. Moe discovered that boogers wiped on a windows handle guaranteed he would sit by a window, with his boogers. Boogers, how can anyone eat a booger? I remember one of my aunts teaching me all about how boogers never left your stomach and if you ate enough boogers you would need to have your stomach cut open to get those boogers A booger eater would only be saved if a doctor could be found that did not mind boogers. My aunt made it very clear that there were not many doctors who fit that bill. I never ate a booger after that lesson!
When we headed home from this road trip Sky Chief was four
people lighter and the end of our journey was at yet another place to call
home.
My father, before leaving for France rented a place for us in San Jose California just off of Berryessa Road. This meant we were "home" in no time by comparison to all our other trips! Our new home was a Quonset hut in the middle of bell pepper and tomato fields with an abandoned chicken house behind. My mom did not want to move to another country after being back in the states for less than a year so San Jose became our new place to call home. My sister was very upset because with this move because she had to give up her horse Traveler.There were two more trips; one back to Calaverus and one to Alabama. And yes, both trips were filled with dramas and family celebrations and animals and bickering and boogers and punches and me in the back window watching life zip by. Sky Chief's biggest road trip ever was our move to Alabama after my father returned from France and it was in Alabama Sky Chief met his end on a bridge one stormy night in 1959.
To this day, I would much rather drive to my destination than fly. Maybe because I am nostalgic or maybe because I have had a couple rough airplanes rides.
(All stories blogged by me are my property and protected under copyright laws. No part may be used or reproduced in anyway without my permission ~ Maryanne Mesplé)
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