Getting Around

CARS

My first memory of a car was a green 1926 Chevrolet. It was typical of most cars of that period: it had a boxy shape and running boards. To get it started, you sometimes had to crank it. I was young enough that I never had to crank it, but I know you could get hurt trying to start the car. If you cranked it and held on to the crank too long, the crank could start turning with the revolutions of the motor and whip your hand and arm. The heater was about the size of package of napkins. It was located in the front on the passenger’s side. In the winter-time it might help that one passenger, but others in the car seldom kept warm. You learned to dress with many clothes when you went on a trip in the winter.

The next family car was a 1936 black Chevrolet. It was a little bit larger, but the heating system was not much better. Another problem was that the starter would often “freeze up.” We would be driving along, and suddenly it would just die. Sometimes waiting would allow it to start again, but we often had to get help from a garage. The longest wait was when we were coming back late at night from visiting Grandpa Cecil. The car died out in the middle of nowhere. I think it took us several hours into the night to get it going again.

The 1936 car was the car that I learned to drive. The driving age was 16 then as it is now, but because of World War II I got my license in 1945 when I was 15. Certain jobs were crucial for the “war effort.” My dad’s job in the factory was crucial because he was making transmissions for war vehicles. Farming was crucial because food was needed for the troops as well as for the workers. Since I was the only boy at home by then (my older brothers were both in the Navy) and since Dad was working in the factory, I was allowed to get my license early—for the war effort!

My dad was a staunch Chevrolet man and a staunch Republican! (They seemed to go together.) All the cars had a stick shift. He would never consider an automatic. Since part of his job at the factory dealt with making transmissions, he felt you couldn’t trust an automatic shift because, as he said, “They’re always in gear!”

TRAINS

Whenever we wanted to go somewhere, we had the choice of three major modes of transportation: cars, busses, or trains. For family trips we would take the car. For short trips—such as to go to Muncie—when the car wasn’t available, we took the bus. When my Aunt Mae taught school in Muncie, she always took a bus because neither she nor Grandpa Deal had a car. I took the bus to my music lessons in Muncie.

For longer trips most people took the train. Passenger trains were the airplanes of their day, but they seldom ran on time. Although there were airplanes available, commercial airline companies did not really become a major method of long-distance travel until several years after the Second World War. Before the War, steam engines were used to pull the trains, but Diesel engines eventually did come into use after the War. During the War, the government moved most of their personnel on troop trains. In support of the troops, people would often line the railways as the troop trains went through towns.

The railroad line that ran through Parker was the Big Four line of the New York Central Railroad. It ran between New York, Cleveland, Indianapolis, and St. Louis. On the farm—if the weather was just right—we could often hear the trains from the Nickel Plate Railroad going through DeSoto, a town a few miles northwest of Parker. The whistle of the train would make a haunting, faraway sound. When I heard the whistle, I would wonder where the train was going and try to imagine what it must be like to ride the train to unknown places.

When I was in high school, the junior and senior classes would go on long trips. When I was a sophomore, the school needed additional students to make the trip; several of us went to New York City with the juniors and seniors. We went to Washington, D. C., when I was a junior and again to New York when I was a senior. Later, when I was playing in the Indiana Lions Club Band, I took the train to New York City, Wilmington, Delaware, and Washington, D. C.

Train travel was much nicer then than riding on AmTrak today. There was a dining car where you ordered dinner just as you would in a restaurant. It had lighted candles on the tables and linen table cloths and napkins. The head waiter dressed in a tuxedo, and the other waiters wore white jackets. On our class trips we would sleep in our seats, even though the trains did have expensive sleeper cars. Porters—usually Blacks—would take care of any of your needs while you traveled. They would clean the cars, bring you newspapers, tell you where you were and what time it was, and answer any of your other questions. I

That early feeling of going to “far away places” on the train never left me. I guess they are still calling me. Of course, passenger train travel is not what it used to be; and although plane travel today is much quicker than train travel, I still get a feeling of nostalgia when I think about riding on trains.

BIKES

When I was about seven years old, my folks bought all three of us bicycles. Frederick and Robert got full-sized bikes, and I got a smaller version. About the only place I had to ride the bike was on the gravel driveway. At first, I was afraid of falling off and scraping myself on the rough stones. Gene Clinger, a friend of the family about Frederick’s age, was visiting one day and said he would teach me to ride the bike. He did what all teachers of bike-riding do: he held on to the seat until I was going fast enough, and then he let go. Lo and behold, I could ride!

For the first time, I had my own transportation. Of course, on the farm there weren’t many places to go. Eventually, I could ride to some of the neighbors. When I was a little bit older, Bob and I rode over to Lick Skillet, a small settlement at a cross road north and east of Parker (yes, that was the real name). The Helm family had opened up a small grocery with a filling station there. The Helm twins were classmates of Bob’s, and they asked us to come over to play. That ride was probably five miles long—one way! I thought that was quite an accomplishment. Then I think about how many miles people ride today and it wasn’t so far after all.

On the fourth of July, the local Lion’s Club would hold an annual parade, and all the kids would decorate their bikes to ride in the parade. I remember decorating mine with red, white, and blue crepe paper on the spokes of the wheels. A clothes pin and cardboard on the spokes also made a sound something like a motor. I suppose I won an “Honorable Mention” like all the others kids in the parade.

It was expected that we would keep our bikes in good condition, so every year we would takes our bikes all apart, clean the parts, oil or grease them, and put them all back together. I’m glad I didn’t have to do that with the much more complicated bikes of today. After Fred left for college, I inherited his larger bike. By that time many of the places I wanted to go to—or had to go to—were too far away for bicycle transportation, and I was driving a car when I was fifteen. The bicycle had lost some of its usefulness for me. But for a few years the bike provided me with my own transport and gave me a little bit of freedom.

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