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.
