On Route 66

At school, we were recently asked to write a story about something a grandparent had done. The following story is about my grandfather's trip across the country in 1947. I received an A- on this story.

On Route 66

If you ever plan to motor west, 

Travel my way, take the highway that is best. 

Get your kicks on Route sixty-six...... 

Won't you get hip to this timely tip: 

When you make that California trip 

Get your kicks on Route sixty-six. 

Words and music by Bobby Troup and as Nat King Cole sang it in 1946

Larry, my grandfather, was excited at the idea of being in California for his tenth birthday in a mere three or four days. It was going to be a big carload because they were taking his grandparents, who were then very elderly. As he helped load the heavy luggage into his family’s new Pontiac in the driveway of his little West Des Moines, Iowa home, Larry tried to imagine what California would be like: glamour, prosperity, beaches, swimming pools, and movie stars. It was August 1947 and the country was finally beginning to shake off the weight of world war. People were beginning to travel now because there was no more wartime rationing of gasoline and tires. California represented, to many, a new beginning. In some ways, California seemed even more exotic than many of the foreign sounding places Larry had overheard his parents discuss during the war years, places like “Okinawa” where Larry had lost an uncle to a Japanese Kamikaze attack.

Fueled and ready, the three generations set out, taking Route 65 south out of Iowa, down toward Route 66, the famous roadway, known as “the Main Street of America,” connecting Chicago to Los Angeles. They would travel westward through Kansas City, Albuquerque, Las Vegas, and through the Mojave Desert before arriving in sunny Southern California. They jetted at speeds of up to 75 miles per hour by day and stayed in motor court motels at night. Larry enjoyed eating in restaurants because that was a rarity during the war years. He looked forward to enjoying a juicy cheeseburger and malt at every stop. This was the first time Larry’s grandmother had been out of Iowa.

The drive was easy and straightforward most of the way, but they were dreading the final push through the Mojave Desert, where August temperatures easily top 100 degrees. Larry and his family baked in their hot Pontiac, stopping frequently for cold drinks in the shade. They stopped at a Navajo trading post in Arizona. Larry was drawn to a handmade Navajo rug and bought it. He still has it today. They drove on and continued to be hot. There was no air conditioning at the time, but something had to be done. Larry’s father had an idea.

They stopped at a hardware store in Las Vegas and purchased a shallow baking pan. Larry wondered what his father was doing and next followed him into a drug store. Larry’s father bought him a chocolate malt, but he was on a mission to find something else. As Larry enjoyed his malt, his father talked to the druggist. In minutes, they left with a large bag of dry ice. They put the ice in the pan and placed the pan in front of one of the car’s air vents – auto air conditioning, 1940’s style! The family now traveled in comfort through the desert and into California.

They rolled into Long Beach on a sunny afternoon. Feeling a sea breeze was a first for the family. They crisscrossed the canals and looked at all the oil wells. Larry had never seen and oil well before and wondered how they worked. They watched cargo ships come and go freely without the threat of wartime air raids, blackouts, and attacks. California was moving again and Larry was seeing it firsthand. They stayed in Long Beach for a few days, taking the opportunity to visit the newly-opened amusement park, Knott’s Berry Farm, on one of the days before heading up the coast on the next part of their journey. They left Long Beach behind and drove north to the fishing village known as Morro Bay. They stayed with relatives who showed them around town. This was several years before the imposing power plant was built near the beach and only Morro Rock guarded the bay.

Early one morning, Larry’s father went out to the tool shed and grabbed a few pitchforks and a couple of buckets then put them into the car. Larry wondered what was going on. All he knew was that they were going in the car with pitchforks and buckets. They headed off toward Morro Rock. This would be the first time Larry saw clams, let alone dig for them. On the beach, immense piles of abalone shells towered over him. In the 1940’s, abalone was abundant on the California coast, whereas today, there are few because of overfishing. Larry and his father dug with the pitchforks into the thick wet sand until scraping a rock-like object. Larry dug down and grabbed the clam. While digging up clams was new and exciting, judging by the looks of them, Larry knew he didn’t want to eat one. Now clam chowder is one of his favorite things to eat.

After a week’s stay, the California portion of the trip was over. All that was left was retracing their drive along Route 66 back to Iowa. The trip was a collection of firsts: it was his grandmother’s first time out of Iowa and she would not live to see another trip, the first time Larry had ever seen the sea, the first time he had ever seen a clam, and the first time he had ever seen a cargo ship. He confirmed his long held suspicion that oranges grow on trees.

As they crossed the California- Nevada border, eastward, Larry thought that California would be a one-time adventure, thinking he would probably never return to such a beautiful place. But it stayed with him and he did return several times for work when he grew up, and for a vacation with my grandmother. Interestingly, he moved his own family, including my father and uncle when they were boys, to California exactly 30 years after that first summer visit.