This time around, it’s a trip we took as a family in the summer of 1964, when we drove from our home in central Massachusetts to Sycamore, IL.
There were seven of us– Mom and Dad, my two brothers and two sisters, the youngest of which was less than a year old. I was 10. We were riding in a maroon 1960 Pontiac Catalina station wagon, a boat-like vehicle with few modern safety features– if there were seatbelts, they weren’t used, and there might have been a padded dashboard. The speed limit on I-90 was at least 70 MPH most of the way.
I forget where we stayed the first night, probably somewhere in Ohio, but I do remember seeing Lake Erie for the first time. My Dad pointed it out by saying something like, “Look over there. See that blue that looks like sky? That’s actually water.” Or something like that. It was an amazing sight.
I don’t remember everything about our stay at our aunt and uncle’s place, mostly bits and pieces. I do remember a thunderstorm that forced us to sleep on the living room floor one night (we had been sleeping in a screened-in portion of an outbuilding on the property). We got to meet some folks on my uncle’s side of the family, connections we’d have for the rest of our lives. We went to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, and took in a Yankees-White Sox game at Comiskey Park. Whitey Ford was on the mound, and I think both Mantle and Maris were playing.
I remember, on the way home, stopping at Niagara Falls and the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. And I also recall that by the time we got to Cooperstown, we were all getting tired and cranky from sitting in a confined space for extended periods of time.
When school started back up, it was the experience I shared with the class when we talked about What We Did This Summer.
3 Cents' 