Summer of ‘65

The Road Trip

In summer of 1965, I set out from home without my mother for the first time in my life. I was 11. My dad was living in Dollar Bay, Michigan that year, owner and operator of a gas station. He arrived back in town just before Memorial Day weekend, and in the course of visiting, asked whether I would be interested in spending the summer with him. That was like asking a sailor if he wants a beer or a tattoo…

We left from my Grandmother’s house late in the afternoon on Friday and stopped for the night in Flagstaff, only two hours up the road. We stayed in one of the “neon” motels along Route 66 –the kind of motel that doesn’t exist much anymore except maybe in Tucumcari. We left early next morning and headed north across the Navajo Reservation, with a stop at Cameron where I was treated to a piece of chocolate cream pie (probably the first I ever had) and a sack of "Candy Corn" for the road.

I shared the back seat with the dog, an extremely intelligent Cocker Spaniel named Tootles.  She occupied the top of a very large square suitcase, turned flat on the back seat of Dad's big Chrysler land-yacht.  Tootles sat on top of the suitcase, surveying the passing landscapes just like the rest of us.  I haven't changed much over the years; my baseball coach (pee-wee league) called me "Gabby." My step-mother always insisted I stop talking while chewing my food -- but that is probably the only time I ever shut up. So I'm in the back seat with the dog, and she is in the front seat turned sideways so she can keep an eye on things and talk to me.  She is smiling at me and I am thinking "she really likes me" but what was really happening is that the dog is nipping my candy. I am in the back seat with the dog on the other side and she is in the front seat, turned sideways so she can participate with me in the rather one-sided discussion that is ongoing at length, and on and on. She was grinning at me and I was thinking that it was because she really likes me (I always got along well with her). But what was actually going on was that the dog was nipping my candy…

I was talking so much that I did not notice that as I held the candy in my fingers (next to the dog), and before I could get them into my mouth, the dog was very gingerly biting the tops off the candy corns, leaving me only with the base. I didn’t notice as I ate them without looking at them that I was the victim of highway candy robbery by a hairy black and white bandit.

Driving out across the Navajo lands, we stopped long enough to take a photo of a herder and his sheep as they crossed the road, and later, made the obligatory stop at the Four-Corners Monument so I could get a foot (or a hand) in four states at once. Only in recent years have I heard that the marker was actually in the wrong place, so I have never actually been in four states at once. I shall rectify this as soon as possible and visit the re-located marker at the first opportunity.

We drove on through Durango and up into the San Juan Mountains above Pagosa Springs on Highway 160. This was my first-ever view of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains. As we climbed into the mountains, we were overtaken by a thunder-storm, which became a snowstorm by the time we reached the summit of Wolf Creek Pass.

Storm over Wolf Creek Pass

I remember it as being a very beautiful drive, dramatic, wet and cold outside of course but we were snug and warm on the road in that big black sedan. I’ve loved that kind of road-trip weather ever since. The highway followed a tumbling river down the eastern slope – a river that becomes part of the Rio Grande farther down-slope. Down the other side, we stopped at Del Norte for supper in a café and then made it up the valley to the Salida and Buena Vista area before stopping for the night. I don’t remember too many meals on that trip, but that one I do – it was in a little roadside café-type restaurant, a Mom and Pop kind of place. I probably had a hamburger – that was always my favorite meal in those kinds of places.

The next morning, we left for Denver and Wyoming early and we were in Denver by early afternoon. As we drove from Salida to Denver, we listened on the car radio to the Indianapolis 500 race – it was Mario Andretti’s rookie year and he came in third. The winner was Jimmy Clark of Scotland. My Dad probably never missed that race if he could help it. We drove north along what became I-25 into Wyoming and somewhere just north of Cheyenne the afternoon thunderstorms overhauled us once again. Wyoming in early June was green from horizon to horizon – there isn’t much out there even today; a few cattle grazing here and there, maybe a windmill or two. As the rain turned quickly to hail, the landscape as far as the eye could see, turned white as snow and just about that quickly. I don’t remember how long the white-out lasted, but before long the hail had melted and all was green once again

We were headed toward the Black Hills and eventually ended up in Deadwood or Lead for the night. As we drove into South Dakota and into the Hills, there were deer everywhere – my memory is of dozens of them if not hundreds – all grazing beside the highway in the early-evening shadows.

On Monday morning, we headed north to Belle Fourche, then east across South Dakota on what is now Highway 212. I don’t know what number it was then. But we encountered the Missouri River that morning and we all stopped to see it and stretch (especially since I was excited to see that river for the first time). While we stretched our legs, Tootles ran along the river for a frolic and she found something very dead – and rolled in it. She must’ve rolled in it a couple of times at least… She came back to the car all happy and everything and smelling worse than if she had encountered a skunk. Whatever it was could not have been deader or smellier – it was in some advanced state of putrefaction and emulsification. The stench was horrific. We couldn’t stand to ride in the same car with her – but we had no choice. We stopped in Gettysburg (SD), and at a filling station Dad and Vera tried everything they could think of (vinegar, tomato juice, etc, all the old home remedies for stink) along with a water hose in the service bay to get that smell off the dog, to no avail. We could still smell it on her a couple of weeks later.

'56 Windsor - Dad's was ALL black.

We stayed that night in St Cloud (MN) – it was the last night on the road. The next morning, the drive continued on up through Minnesota and I remember the green pastures, the small lakes and lots of cattle as part of the beautiful view. Vera and I were having a great time, laughing and joking around, and at one point we were wrestling around and I ended up over the front seat-back, sprawled with my head in the open glove box, both of us laughing like idiots. The drive started to get a bit tedious for me in the afternoon, probably because we were so close to being there and I was excited to see my new summer home. You know... "Are we there yet?" The last few hours between Duluth and Dollar Bay we were driving through heavy deciduous forest –there isn’t much to see when you are in a tunnel of leafy trees – and I got very bored and just wanted it to be over. I, of course, had no realization of how much I would treasure the memory later.

I have always wanted to retrace the route of this trip – but have not yet succeeded in doing so. Of course, even the highways have changed a lot since 1965, not to mention that virtually none of the roadside businesses would still exist today – even if I remembered them. But we arrived in Dollar Bay that afternoon, and the next morning I promptly set out to explore my new surroundings.

Life in Dollar Bay

First was the gas station… my Dad’s station was on the highway that ran past the town. It was a Standard Oil of Ohio station (today’s Amoco) and it was old even by 1965 standards. I remember a couple of things about it.

Where Dad's station WAS...

First, was the candy vending machine. It was a wall-mounted unit, probably 1 or 2 feet by as much – and it operated by conveyor belt and window. You rolled a knob on the side up and down, and the candy moved inside on a conveyor belt past a little window – you centered your desirable in the window, slid your nickel into the slot and pushed down on a side-lever to eject the delicacy. Soon, I discovered that if you didn’t let go of the lever, but held it about halfway, the mechanism would not engage and you could keep rolling the conveyor belt device and pump out candy bar after candy bar, all for the measly sum of that first nickel. Talk about 11-year-old heaven! I think I emptied that machine at least once, maybe twice. My Dad thought his employees were stealing his candy, and it took a savvy step-mom to put the kid’s suddenly diminished meal-time appetite together with the theft problem at the station and arrive at the obvious conclusion. I remember getting spanked for that one, but what would you expect me to do, eh? Just not FAIR at ALL!

I was allowed to “work” at the gas station. The rule was full-serve in those days, and usually the job was held by teenaged or young men, or retirees. They’d pump your gas, check your oil and wash your windshield clean. They were often named “Bob” so I fit right in. I probably was not allowed to check anyone’s oil, but I did do a lot of windshields and pumped a lot of gasoline, especially for older ladies who seemed to know what a tip was and who deserved one. I thought I had found my life’s work, there at that Standard Oil station in Dollar Bay.

My step-mother’s young adult daughter lived there with them while her husband (Robert Braesch) was in Army OCS. We all lived together in a trailer (a single-wide of pretty good size). Janice was pregnant at the time, and already had a toddler… named Bobby. So we had Bob my dad, we had Bob Braesch, we had Bobby “Thumper” (the little guy), and then there was me, Bobby Louis (Thumper could only say Bobby Boo for Louis) or sometimes I was Robert Louis when they were upset about some inconsequential thing). We had all kinds of Bobs going on. I remember playing card games with them pretty frequently -- probably gin rummy because I remember playing that game that same summer with a Grandmother-type (not mine, someone else’s) named “Moms.”

Our trailer sat behind the main street (no one called them “mobile homes” back then), on a lot about one street in (although that street did not exist). So between us and the main street (to the north) there was one row of store fronts (and backs). We could walk through the back and side lots to the main street – and between us and the main street was an old cheese factory. The new cheese factory was farther north out of town in what was then a large field or meadow. It is still there today, but closed some years back and is boarded up. Also along the main street I remember an IGA food store, and Sebas’s Bar. I can remember being sent (or perhaps accompanying Vera) to the IGA to get ring bologna.

The old cheese factory was used for storage of packaging products, cans, lids, etc. I can’t remember what else was in there, maybe old equipment. But I could skinny-in through a window and explore it. It was cool and dank smelling in there, like an old attic.

The old Sebas's Tavern

Dad and Vera’s favorite hang-out in town was Sebas’s Bar. It still looks pretty much the same today as I remember it then – although it has changed hands and the name is different. It was similar to a pub in a small UK town – everyone seemed to congregate there. Even Tootles liked it and spent some time there. She was a popular character around the bar – always available to listen to your stories or troubles – it was all the same to her. And Tootles fit in at Sebas’s, ‘cause she was a beer-drinkin’dog. She even had her own dish, an ash tray someone had washed up and set aside for her.

I remember one particular evening when we’d spent quite some time at the bar, and Tootles with us, drinking and socializing with the rest of them. We had driven to the bar, which entailed a two or three-block drive around the neighborhood, as you couldn’t drive straight there from the trailer. Upon arrival home at the end of the evening, Vera let the somewhat inebriated dog out to tinkle – and she disappeared. She ran back to the bar, of course – while Dad was done drinking for the evening, Tootles, apparently, was not. No control, that dog. When a concerned Vera couldn’t find her dog, just on a hunch one of them called the bar and inquired, “Was Tootles there?” The reply… “Yep, she’s over here havin’ a beer!”

In 1965, the Soo Line (railroad) operated two trains along the Keweenaw Peninsula each day, in my recollection. First, in the morning, a freight consist came through, took a siding and stopped at the cheese factory to load. The factory had a large set of train-sized sliding doors, and the train would“drive” right through the factory to an all-weather loading dock. They’d load the train, or unload the train, and then it would go on north, back to the main tracks, and proceed to the end of the line wherever that was. Later that day, a faster train would come by without stopping, headed north. I remember this train as a mail train, or maybe passenger. It wasn’t a long one – 4 or 5 cars maybe – and it came through fast.

A retired railroader lived in a shack by the switch and threw it (and the other one too, presumably) twice a day for these trains. As things were fairly sleepy and calm in northern Michigan towns in 1965 he usually didn’t bother locking these switches as he was supposed to do. This was a mistake, ‘cause there was a new boy in town. The local boys didn’t pay much attention to the trains I guess, having grown up with them and probably having been warned repeatedly to stay away from them. But the Arizona boy, not having seen too many trains, was fascinated by them and by train appurtenances… like switching devices. Finding one unlocked one afternoon, he threw it over to one side, and then the other, and when the game grew old, left it wherever it was at the time. Other boys helped him with this mischief, as the switch was too big for one small boy to handle, but these lily-livered poor-excuses for adventurers-type boys denied this later… It happened to be left on the cheese factory “position” but the next train was not the cheese factory train.

So that day, a lazy summer day in June of 1965, the fast mail train went to the cheese factory. It is my recollection that the train finally stopped just a few feet from the closed doors of the dairy. Town meetings were held, chests were thumped, but the perpetrator was never apprehended – no one ratted me out I guess. Years later, I told my father of that event and he allowed as how he had thought at the time that I might have had some part in it.

One of my best memories of Dollar Bay was its 4th of July celebration – it was a typical small town party – economical in scope, but full of small town fun of the best kind. There was probably a parade, and games like sack races, egg tosses, pie-eating, etc. I remember it today as one of the most fun times I ever had on the 4th of July. A few months ago, I visited Dollar Bay and Sebas’s bar (now Partanon’s). I slipped a little cash into the jar on the bar for the Fourth of July Celebration – I hope it helped them have a great time again this year.

Along with the station, my Dad acquired an old 1950s model Chevrolet pick-up. It was faded and battered (barn red), but was probably the most reliable vehicle in town. Dad told me stories of how the previous winter, when the snows were heavy and deep and the winds cold, that old truck would start when nothing else in town would and then he’d have to go around and help everyone else get their vehicles running. It was the ugliest truck I’d ever seen, but it ran and ran and ran.

One last little bit of “trouble” I got into that summer was mostly smoke and mirrors – a friend or two and I “planned” to build a raft and float ourselves out into Portage Lake (which opened onto Lake Superior).  This was just boyish dreaming – we really had no sure intention to do this. We really had no way to accomplish it – and I certainly lacked those kinds of construction skills at age 11, but the “plan” was discovered somehow and we were sternly admonished not to even consider such a plan.

My Dad had spent some time and money restoring an old classic Jaguar – it was a model from the 1940s [an XK140 “Silverstone” (?)] that he had restored to pristine condition from not much more than junk. In fact, the story was that he had found the hulk in a junk-yard. It was a very rare automobile. It had been left in Phoenix when he departed and at some point in the spring he had returned to Phoenix to get it. He had hauled it behind his car back to Dollar Bay and upon arrival stopped in front of the station to show it off to the employees. So the Jag on its trailer was sitting beside the highway in front of the station. The station was just beyond the broad curve that exists between Hancock, Michigan and Dollar Bay, about 5 miles away. A little old lady in a VW came flying around that curve, lost it on the icy road, and slid the last 500 feet or so right into the Jag and its trailer, destroying them both. All my Pop could do was stand there and watch it happen. He said he’d never even gotten to drive it.

Farther north from Dollar Bay there was a little town named Lake Linden. We’d go there to get groceries (usually in the old Chevy truck), and I remember at least once going there to see a movie at the drive in theater. Another town in that direction was Calumet – and Calumet had an airport that North Central Airlines served, flying venerable old DC-3s. I remember watching them fly by on their way to land there.

We had dinner once in the Hotel Houghton (?) in a very fancy dining room, as hotel restaurants tended to be in 20th century America. Vera and I soon began cutting up and started a food fight with the butter "pats" that came with the bread. My Dad could only shake his head and try to stay out of the line of fire – and we very nearly got thrown out of the restaurant. Hotel dining rooms were fancy places -- and we were not acting respectable.

Moving to Detroit

Sometime right after July 4th, my Dad lost the gas station (reportedly because of crooked behavior on the part of a partner, a man named Bob Crutherds) and we moved to Keego Harbor, near Pontiac and Detroit. Dad got a drafting job with Bendix in Royal Oak and that was his first step on the journey to becoming the mechanical engineer that he later became. He had completed a correspondence course to prepare himself for the drafting job. We stayed in Keego Harbor with a sister of my step-mother.

Cass Lake, MI

While there, I remember riding around in a Corvair Monza “Spyder” with a “cousin” who had only one lung but had served in Vietnam, having slipped past the Army doctors without notice. I had the very first Big Mac I’d ever had – we didn’t eat at McDonald’s at home in Phoenix. I went on a summer field trip to Detroit for something (I seem to recollect that it was Ford’s “Dearborn Village” but I cannot now remember ever being there) and I remember playing in the water and on the beach of the little lake that Keego Harbor is situated on (Cass Lake). And checking out the local girls.

The trip from Dollar Bay to Keego Harbor was a fun day – although a long one. We drove all the way across the Upper Peninsula – stopping long enough to tour a USCG icebreaker on open house display at Marquette and we crossed the Mackinac Bridge in the late afternoon or early evening. I had never seen anything like it, and was a little bit skeered to be up on a huge suspension bridge over ocean-type waters! We made the trip in two vehicles – the Chrysler and also a Pontiac Dad had picked up for the trip. The old Chevy pick-up stayed in Dollar Bay somewhere. But it was a great drive that evening in that old Pontiac as we made our way south toward Detroit – road-tripping on dark highways has always been a favorite adventure of mine.

Getting Back Home

Later in July, we started thinking about how I would get home for the school year. Originally, it was thought I would ride to Phoenix with my Grandmother and Grandfather (Pampaw and Mammaw Mills). They had spent the summer in Indiana and would be driving back to Phoenix in late August or early September. But Pampaw (Ernie Mills) was very ill by that time – and their return to Arizona was complicated as a result. Eventually, they decided that Grandma and Uncle Tim would drive to Arizona, but Pampaw would fly from Chicago. His doctors said he wouldn’t survive if he tried to do it by car. But Dad and Vera could drive me down to Indiana, and I could ride to Arizona with Mamaw and Tim.

Meanwhile, a friend or perhaps neighbor of my step-mother’s family named Vera Ott planned a flight to Los Angeles to visit her family. If I accompanied her, then Dad could send me home (cheaply) on the plane to Los Angeles with her, and then a 2nd airline (Western) would take me home from there. I was given the choice. Life lesson number one: if given the choice of something fun, versus something that involves seeing relatives, especially OLD relatives, always choose the “seeing relatives” thing. I gave up that chance to see my Grandfather for what would have been the last time, unknowingly of course, but still. He died while on his plane trip to Arizona a couple of weeks later. I treasure these memories, perhaps you can tell; but I wish I could change that one.

I was taken to the airport in Detroit in my “Aunt’s” 1956 Chevy Bel-Air– and boarded an American Airlines Boeing 707 with Vera Ott – we flew to Los Angeles via Chicago O’Hare – right over Lake Michigan, in clear skies. I wish I knew what model of 707 it was – it could have been a 720B also, I suppose – but I do remember it was a new fanjet-equipped model, not one with straight turbines. Later, I saw the Rockies and the Grand Canyon from somewhere around 34,000 feet. This was in the infancy of the jet age – jet travel had only begun about 5 years before and piston engine aircraft were still common in U.S. skies. The 727 was a brand-new jet in 1965, only flying at that point for a year or two. I had airline food back when airline food was something. Breakfast, for example, was corned beef hash with baked eggs on that first flight.

Western Airlines Electra

I flew home from Los Angeles that same day, on my sister’s wedding day (July 29, 1965), on Western Airline's Flight 54. It was operated with a Lockheed L-188 Electra and the stewardesses spoiled me rotten. I sat in first-class where they could keep an eye on me. That Electra floated in and around the fluffy cumulus clouds and landed me back in Phoenix on a hot July day. The aircraft was working its way from California all the way north to Calgary by the time it ended its journey that day. That was a memorable and great trip – my first of many on the airlines and airways of America.