Hitchhiking USA, A Story

HITCHHIKING USA

A Story

PHILIP DAMPIER

All Rights Reserved, July 2018

Dedication: To Randy, a terrific haircut man but a better friend. Thanks, Randy.

To all those who've shared their journey stories with me.

Introduction

I was born in Central Florida in 1938. They gave me the wonderful name of Chase Dempsey Collins. Chase was my maternal grandfather's name, and Dempsey was a fighter my father admired. Two years later we moved to the northern part of the state into a rink-a-dink town. In that small town, we moved again and again. As small as it was we must have used up every rental in the village. That was the pattern for the better part of my life. I’m not sure we ever lived in one place longer than two years. Couldn’t have been more than once and I doubt it ever happened. My father left when I was closing out my 10th year. I saw him maybe three times after that and never more than 30 minutes at a time. I adored my dad and losing him was a terrible blow which I fought for a good many years. Sometimes I blamed my mother, and sometimes I blamed my dad, and sometimes I took the blame myself. I guess I will never know the answer to that one.

When I entered the eighth grade my mom, and I moved to Live Oak for the second time. In the next five years, we managed three additional cities and numerous dwellings. To say we were poor is not accurate in the world sense but in the normal American sense, we were. I was never hungry, but I did get tired of tomato soup and oyster crackers. I graduated from Suwannee High School in Live Oak, which was, of course, segregated. I had limited experience with people of color. I had been to Alabama a couple of times to visit my sister and once to North Carolina for the same reason. Other than that, I knew little of the world except for what I saw on travelogues and newsreels at the movies. I studied history and geography and read extensively. I was seldom without a book. I knew things about places but not the places.

When I say I read a lot, I mean a lot. I slipped smaller books inside my school textbooks, read during study hall and going and coming on the school bus. I read sitting down, lying down with the covers up and flashlight beneath. I read walking to and from the library and in the car going and coming. I gained an early interest in science fiction, and I had the imagination to really appreciate the fantastic unknown world of the genre. I also read about dogs and horses and ships and on and on.

When the church doors were open, my family was there. I’m quite sure I went as a little baby. It was never questioned. I knew what was right and what wasn’t. I didn’t drink, smoke or curse. I had never been with a girl. I knew nothing of drugs or prostitutes or violent crime. We never locked our doors or chained our bicycles or worried about walking on the streets. We said, yes, sir and no, ma’am to anyone older than us. It was ladies first, and we kids lived outside on playgrounds or in the woods. Television was in its infancy, and computer games were a very distant future. We made up games and stayed busy. We also worked.

I grew up with WWII going on and lost some relatives. We did without sugar and shoes and lots of things to help win the war and thought nothing of it. My parents had finished the eighth grade, and my siblings all graduated from high school. No one in my family had gone to college.

I wanted to be a lawyer, but there was no way I could go to college. The major jobs around north Florida were mostly timber connected or service stations, clerks, things like that. I knew more about what I didn’t want to do than what I wanted to do. That led me to join the Air Force against my mother’s strong objection. She finally gave in and signed when the recruiter told her she would get $90 a month as my dependent. I don’t think she ever knew that $40 of that came out of my pocket. I was glad I could really help for a change.

The following tale has been lost to some extent in old memories. Please forgive me if the details are not exactly as you would expect such an adventure to have. As you read Hitchhiking USA, you will at least have some background on the person telling the story.

Hitchhiking USA

Chapter One

The story which follows is based on some information that is the truth and some, not so truthful. At times it may be hard to tell the difference and sometimes, not so hard. There will be readers who want to know which is which and they will insist that I use black ink for the true part and red for the not so true. However, I’m only going to use one color and one typeface, and so the reader will have to make their own judgments. I hope that will be part of the fun of the story. To be honest, some of the story details are a little fuzzy to me.

A short time after I graduated from Suwannee High School in Live Oak, Florida, I went to Lackland Air Force Base outside of San Antonio, Texas. If you should ever want to do that don’t do it in June. Texas can’t be cool that time of year, not even at night. Twelve long weeks later I left basic training and was assigned duty at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho. As it turned out, it can be hot and cold that time of year in Idaho. In November it can’t be hot, but it can be cold. I joined the Air Force rather than the Navy because I didn’t like the idea of being on the water. Someone in assignments must have read that because they sent me to the desert in Idaho.

I actually left ‘home' from my sister’s in Jacksonville, and that became my permanent home address as far as Uncle Sam was concerned. So, when I left to go to Mountain Home Air Force Base, I left from Jacksonville and not Live Oak. I decided on taking the train rather than a bus. I’ve always liked trains, but that was before I spent four days and three nights on one. I left Jacksonville, Florida, with a Southern locomotive at the head of the train and arrived in Mountain Home, Idaho, with a Union Pacific on the point. There were a couple of other lines in between. Lucky for me and the rest of the northwest bound passengers, we stayed in a Union Pacific day car the whole way. Emphasis is on the ‘day.’

When we got to Pocatello, Idaho, it was three or four in the morning, and when I stepped out on the station platform to get a drink and candy bar, I nearly froze to death. I was wearing my summer Class A uniform which consisted of a khaki shirt and pants and a blue tie. Tee shirt and boxers were also required. Black socks were also involved. I hate black socks to this day. I got back on board and started thinking. That, of course, turned out to be a major error on my part. Some of the readers who know me can no doubt identify with that.

I concluded, that since Mountain Home was quite a bit further north, it must be even colder. Plus, the rumor was, that it was near 5000 feet in elevation. Solution? Change into winter blues. Winter blues consisted of the same undergarments and socks (of course) but the pants and coat were wool, and the coat and shirt were long sleeved. The blue shirt was cotton as was the tie (I think) but the rest was wool and kept you warm.

The train and I arrived at Mountain Home at 2:00 p.m., Mountain Time. I grabbed my large duffel bag and my B4 and jumped off the train platform onto the station flooring. The large thermometer on the station wall registered 104 degrees Fahrenheit. It was hot. I know, some of you readers who have only heard of the Idaho desert will say, But it was a dry heat. I agree, that is exactly what it was. Emphasis on the heat.

I picked up my heavier than lead bags and followed the sign that said Mountain Home Air Force Base pick up area. Said area turned out to be six blocks, all uphill. Not just uphill but up-steep-hill. One block later, I was covered in sweat (I know, it was arid) and breathing heavily. I only mention this because I was lately a graduate of twelve weeks of conditioning hell. Never in my life had I been in greater shape. I was twenty-five pounds of muscle heavier than when I left Live Oak, and able to run miles with a pack and rifle. But that climb in a wool suit and the accompanying altitude did me in.

When I got to the base bus stop nothing on me was dry except the wool. Somehow I got my bags on the bus and settled back to enjoy the ride to the base. I was so surprised to learn that the old, blue, school bus lookalike wasn’t air-conditioned, but the arid air flowing by me from the windows dried me out some. It did not, I repeat, did not cool me off. I had never seen the desert in Idaho and didn’t know what to expect. I’ll save you a trip. The twelve miles of highway from the town of Mountain Home to the main base gate was straight and level. Both sides of the highway were covered with sagebrush. Miles and miles of sagebrush in every direction. Sagebrush that was the same color, height, and shape. Way off to the west were mountains. Later, I would find out they were four times as far away as they looked. Just before the mountains was the Snake River, but it had its own problems with the heat and didn’t help me at all.

The bus stopped at the gate, and an AP came on board. (That’s Air Police for you navy and army types.) I showed him my ID and orders, and everyone else showed their ID’s.