Electric Highway

And that’s the wonderful thing about family travel:  it provides you with experiences that will remain locked forever in the scar tissue of your mind. ~Dave Barry

Just get on any major highway, and eventually it will dead-end in a Disney parking area large enough to have its own climate, populated by large nomadic families who have been trying to find their cars since the Carter administration. ~Dave Barry

1957 Cadillac

In 1957 Disneyland was in it’s second year of operation and the Carter administration was still 19 and a half years away. The crowds at Disneyland though large were manageable and unless you were Clark Griswold with his family on vacation, finding the car at the end of the day wasn’t all that hard. Of all our many trips to California, Cadillac Vacation California Vintage 1957, has a certain boquet, a nose that lingers in the recesses of my memory. This was the vacation that we loaded the luggage into my friends mother’s 1957 Cadillac and set off in search of their visions of movie stars, gold and the myths of Southern California. The Caddy was large enough to comfortably seat the three adults, my friend, his younger brother and myself. It was The Queen Mary of the highway. They wanted to see Los Angeles… we had the experience of five previous trips to help guide them and they had the land yacht to propel us there and back in comfort. We loaded up… pointed it West and away we went.

We headed west out of Fort Worth and before we got to Mineral Wells Bobby’s mom asked, “What is that smell? It almost smells like Lilacs.” I had smelled it earlier and thought it was air freshner they used inside the car. Bobby got very quiet which was not usual for him or most any eleven year old boy. Quickly sensing his unease, she asks “Bobby what did you do? I can tell that odor is coming from you.” Bobby lowers his head and says quietly, “I used your hairspray this morning before we left.” Well I thought that was hilarious… Bobby using hairspray to keep his ducktail hairstyle in place instead of good old Wildroot hair cream. I didn’t know the best was yet to come. “But Bobby my hairspray was already packed. Where did you find the can of spray?” “It was in the bottom right hand drawer of your dresser in a purple can.” was his reply. “Bobby that was room deodorizer you used not hairspray.” At that point I lost it for about ten or fifteen minutes while Bobby turned more shades of red than I ever thought possible.

Jackrabbit Sign

Bobby and his brother wanted to stop at every road side business to look around whether it was Howdy Hank, Jackrabbit, The Thing or a get your petrified wood from the Petrified Forest and sand from the Painted Desert tourist trap. We gave in for The Thing and they paid their money but were a bit disappointed to see a small Gila Monster in a wire cage. The miles and miles of billboard buildup for The Thing had their expectations too high. We did enjoy looking around the trading post at Jackrabbit which only cost something if you bought something.

After eating lunch at the Purple Onion in Las Vegas, Bobby being Bobby, pulled on the handles of the slot machines in the restaurant’s entry way as we left. Someone had left money in one of the slots without having pulled the handle. The machine starts whirring as Bobby pulls the handle and lo and behold he hits a jackpot. Lights are flashing, bells are ringing and Bobby is going crazy! The cashier runs around the corner to get him away from the machine since he’s a minor and it’s illegal for him to play or win. So Bobby wins a jackpot but the restaurant gets to keep it. Another of life’s lessons learned the hard way.

Our entry point to California was the border town of Needles. Needles in 1957 was a small desert town just across the Colorado River. It was full of sand, dust, scorpions, some dilapidated buildings and a lot of heat. While it wasn’t a bad town it was somewhat plain and nondescript. As we drove into Needles, Bobby says “This can’t be California! Where’s the gold, the neon and the glitter?” Yes. Where indeed was it? It could be found in the mind of an eleven year old boy making his first trip West but it only existed in the Twilight Zone. Bobby and his brother managed to shatter a lot of dreams and fantasies that summer but it was an enjoyable trip for all… one I’ll never forget.

Disneyland 1957

Lettin’ out the clutch, steppin’ on the gas and movin’ a bit further down the highway.