"We're going down south!"
"We're going down south!"

Yes, that was my favorite song during the summer in the 70's. Although I was told to keep it secret, I could not keep it to myself!

Let me set the scene up properly.

It's the summer of 1978. I'm 9 years old and I weigh almost 90 pounds. I'm sporting a short afro; wearing the red gym shorts with the white stripe, white sweat socks with two or three red rings running around the shin, a white tank top with a hot plastic design welded to the front...need I say more? (I have pictures and I'll send them to you for a large fee!)

Now, I've just divulged a secret that was entrusted to me moments earlier with reckless disregard. We are going on our annual trip to Winnsboro, South Carolina. My Mom calls it "home" although to date we've been in Connecticut for more that 44 years, when my mother says home, I know that it's Winnsboro. My brother runs out of the house with a small memo pad. I know what he's up to.

My friends run up to him carrying handfuls of change and wrinkled dollar bills.

"Sam, I want 5 packs of firecrackers, a cherry-bomb, a bottle rocket, m-80's...plutonium..."

Fireworks of this sort were illegal in Connecticut, but in South Carolina they were legal. My brother usually earned a $15 dollar profit with this side business, but this was his work as a 12 year old entrepreneur.

So, the secret is out! We were leaving Connecticut at about 4 a.m. and I couldn't wait!

I usually knew when this was about to happen. We'd go to the supermarket; my parents would buy packs of gum, coffee, sodas, small boxes of cereal and loaves of pound cake. I'm sure that it was more than that, but as a fat kid, this is what I remembered!

But, this was the day!!! I would leave my friends, my cousins who lived downstairs from us and the cannibalistic gold fish that occupied our aquarium. My aunt agreed to send my cousin up to feed them and that was fine!

My cousin was a different story also. She is slightly older than me and she was a brawler. I suffered countless beat downs from her and spent most of my time running from her.

So, I was singing my song and suddenly she appeared and began to dance with me and sing the "I'm going down south" song also. Yes, it was true, she was going with us. Oh joy...

So, it was about 10 p.m. and I was on patrol. I was to watch my parents’ room and report any activity that took place. The sounds were always the same.

Quiet talking, the tussling of papers and the sound of coins being counted for the toll booths.

Lights out...

***

Three A.M.

It's go-time....

Like well oiled machines we do what we do best, prep for departure. Bags were assemble on the stairs and carried down by Dad. He had to place 4 large pieces of luggage, a picnic basket, a cooler and other essentials into the trunk of his mint-green,2-door 1974 Chevy Impala.

It was like a "Whack-A-Mole" game, reposition the contents of the trunk, and try to close it. Reposition-close...reposition...close. We needed Spock with his tricorder on hand to offer the most logical way to solve this problem. My idea was to leave my cousin and her luggage - but that didn't happen.

So, now the next event took place. Position my oldest brother, my older brother, me, my cousin and her brother - who decided to go at the last minute - in the back seat of the Chevy. We wanted to leave under the cloak of darkness as to confuse any burglars who may have been waiting for us to go...but, at 6 am, the sun was up and we headed down the driveway to our destination that was more than 684 miles away.

So after about 3 hours of driving, that consisted of a stop every 1.5 hours to fill up the tank in that 8 cyllinder, gas-guzzler, we reached our first official rest-area. The door was opened causing me and the other children to pop out like 100 sardines in a small can. Actually, a small hot can - because there was no AC in the car. Just a large window on one of the two car doors.

We'd go to the restroom, visit the vending machines to buy items such as small plastic trick smoking monkeys, a cardboard and plastic bird call disk that sat on your tongue, an assortment of plastic rings, biorhythm readouts, gum-balls from the 60's and other toys/items that only I seem to remember....maybe I was dreaming...

As we stretched our legs running around the rest area tossing a frisbee, football or baseball - my Dad would sleep. My mom would find a table and bring over a picnic basket and we'd eat a bite of cold fried chicken on white bread, store-brand cream soda and a few handfuls of chips.

I would go into the information center to take a handful of roadmaps and anything else that interested me. On the way back to the table I would see my Dad standing at the car with the hood up looking at the engine. I still cannot understand how five minutes of sleep would be enough for him to continue the journey.

Dad would drink a large cup of decaf (I think that it was a magic thermos that was never empty), eat a cold chicken sandwich (bread+whole chicken leg+bread, just like the Chicken Hawk chasing Foghorn Leghorn with two slices of bread), stretch and we were on our way -after another tank of gas.

We'd try to play car games, but even that was difficult. My oldest brother decided to take over the back seat one year as he sat with his knees spread apart as wide as possible claiming that he needed room. When he fell asleep, we'd reclaim our territory - briefly. So, we would play old maid, checkers, go fish, etc...until we were tired of each other and engaged in psychological war-fare.

"Mom, Pam hit me..."
"Aunt Nell, Tyrone hit me?"
"Mommy, Leo's taking up too much space!"
"Daddy, Wesley passed gas..."
"Mom, Sam..."

My Mom would lower her sunglasses and look in the back seat. We'd quiet down for a while until the silent attacks began. We'd elbow and nudge each other to see who would snap first. We were like the three stooges. It was a strange hiarchy, Leo would sleep, Wesley would watch, Sam, Pam and I would fight. I'd look in the rear-view mirror to see my Dad's eyes - yep he was watching. I'd sit innocently waiting for the next rest area stop.

Maryland was a trial. My parents would always discuss "The Beltway." The Beltway is an Interstate Highway that circles Washington, D.C. and its inner suburbs in Maryland and Virginia. I thought that they were discussing discipline.

My parents had a small notebook in which my Uncle Ed wrote his shortcut to Winnsboro. This notebook was ancient! I think that my Dad kept it in a glass case that opened on it's own during vacation season. Just kidding, but that notebook also served as a travel journal and expense summary for the journey. I couldn't believe that there were so many toll booths along the way! This was actually an expensive trip by 1978 standards!

And then there was Virginia. Not the widest state but the longest to pass through. We spent what felt like days driving through Virginia! By the time we got through there, we'd have to peel ourselves off of the vinyl seats to exit the car.

My brother, who was not old enough to drive yet, would walk over to my Dad, reach up and place his hand on his weary shoulder and say; "Dad, I'll drive."

My Dad would answer; "Maybe next time..."

My brother would nod his head in agreement and walk away.

So, back into the car and Pam has an idea to sing. Man! That would keep my Dad awake! We had this song called "Pretty Baby."

"Baaaaby, pretty baby, baaaaby, pretty baby, baaaaaby, pretty baby, baaaaaby..."

After about two hours of singing our wonderful song we'd fall asleep. My parents were probably relieved.

My eyes were closed.

The car would stop.

I'd wake up and we were in a plaza located in Downtown Winnsboro (Downtown is called Uptown there).

It's probably about four in the morning and it’s still dark.

My Mom would go to the payphone, dial a number and simply state; "Mama, I'm home."

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.12.2009

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