any way but first class, and it took half a freight car for our horses. Now, however, there were beginning to be good highways across the country and Al decided that the time had come to buy a car and save money. He had to compromise by allowing the horses to travel by train but insisted he would do so only until he could have a truck built for them to his own specifications.
The first car he bought was a Chevy with a rumble seat. Rumble seats were all the rage then, seeming to represent the wind-blown freedom which had come with the twenties. The cartoon of a shingled head over the top of a rumble seat with a flask uptilted was quite a common one but, as far as I was concerned, overdone. There were flappers and there were speakeasies and jazz and short dresses and cigarettes, but all these were part of the big cities—the East mainly— not the small towns I had grown up in. I had been in many big cities since I left home, but Dr. Carver had quashed any inclination I might have had toward revolution. The twenties might have been roaring, but I didn’t hear the roar.
The fact was, I was too sensible for things like rumble seats. As far as I could see, they weren’t good for anything but to mess up my hair. Fortunately Al and Lorena felt the same way, so the Chevy didn’t last long. Al sold it within a short time and bought a Studebaker Big 6 Special. The top was leather, the windows rolled up and down, and it had wire wheels. We were all set to travel across the country in style when it was discovered that by the time all three of us got our trunks and suitcases in the back and Lorena got her Pekinese and the binoculars and the candy and the crackers in there wasn’t room for people. Realizing that at best it would be uncomfortable on long cross-country trips, Al went out and bought a second car, defending the purchase by declaring that from now on we would have to have two anyway since there would still be two separate units touring the country. Lorena was going to take one out by herself and we would have the other.
This car was a Studebaker Commander and was to be mine and Lorena’s. It was a victoria with jump seats set behind the front seat and a back seat behind them. It had a storage compartment along one side which was covered with black velvet and specially built heavy bumpers both front and back. Why they were specially built or why we had them put on, I don’t know, and I wouldn’t remember them at all except for something that happened later. The tire cover on the back had a picture of a diving horse painted on it with the words: “The Great Carver Show—High-Diving Horses.”
When we finally set out from California it was almost the first of the year, and we drove caravan style all the way from Sacramento to Pennsylvania, Al following us. It was beyond a doubt the best trip I had ever made; we could take our time and stop where we chose and not be hurried by train schedules. Although I was beginning my fifth year with the show, I still had not lost my hunger for travel. I enjoyed that journey with an intensity that still enables me to recall a time or place or person with amazing clarity. Only one mishap occurred.
On the second day out of Sacramento Lorena was driving (we took turns), when suddenly, for no apparent reason, she lost control and the car wheeled off to one side. By its own momentum it careened up onto a ridge, where it came to a sudden and violent halt and then teetered back and forth. The extra-heavy bumpers weighed it first down, then up, then down like a child’s seesaw.
With the force of the stop the car suddenly seemed full of Pekinese. Candy and luggage and crackers shot forward in a flying mess. I can remember clearly that when the car finally stopped teetering Lorena reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror.
We took stock and found that I had banged my knees and ruined my stockings but had suffered no other damage. Lorena had taken a punch in the stomach when she was
The first car he bought was a Chevy with a rumble seat. Rumble seats were all the rage then, seeming to represent the wind-blown freedom which had come with the twenties. The cartoon of a shingled head over the top of a rumble seat with a flask uptilted was quite a common one but, as far as I was concerned, overdone. There were flappers and there were speakeasies and jazz and short dresses and cigarettes, but all these were part of the big cities—the East mainly— not the small towns I had grown up in. I had been in many big cities since I left home, but Dr. Carver had quashed any inclination I might have had toward revolution. The twenties might have been roaring, but I didn’t hear the roar.
The fact was, I was too sensible for things like rumble seats. As far as I could see, they weren’t good for anything but to mess up my hair. Fortunately Al and Lorena felt the same way, so the Chevy didn’t last long. Al sold it within a short time and bought a Studebaker Big 6 Special. The top was leather, the windows rolled up and down, and it had wire wheels. We were all set to travel across the country in style when it was discovered that by the time all three of us got our trunks and suitcases in the back and Lorena got her Pekinese and the binoculars and the candy and the crackers in there wasn’t room for people. Realizing that at best it would be uncomfortable on long cross-country trips, Al went out and bought a second car, defending the purchase by declaring that from now on we would have to have two anyway since there would still be two separate units touring the country. Lorena was going to take one out by herself and we would have the other.
This car was a Studebaker Commander and was to be mine and Lorena’s. It was a victoria with jump seats set behind the front seat and a back seat behind them. It had a storage compartment along one side which was covered with black velvet and specially built heavy bumpers both front and back. Why they were specially built or why we had them put on, I don’t know, and I wouldn’t remember them at all except for something that happened later. The tire cover on the back had a picture of a diving horse painted on it with the words: “The Great Carver Show—High-Diving Horses.”
When we finally set out from California it was almost the first of the year, and we drove caravan style all the way from Sacramento to Pennsylvania, Al following us. It was beyond a doubt the best trip I had ever made; we could take our time and stop where we chose and not be hurried by train schedules. Although I was beginning my fifth year with the show, I still had not lost my hunger for travel. I enjoyed that journey with an intensity that still enables me to recall a time or place or person with amazing clarity. Only one mishap occurred.
On the second day out of Sacramento Lorena was driving (we took turns), when suddenly, for no apparent reason, she lost control and the car wheeled off to one side. By its own momentum it careened up onto a ridge, where it came to a sudden and violent halt and then teetered back and forth. The extra-heavy bumpers weighed it first down, then up, then down like a child’s seesaw.
With the force of the stop the car suddenly seemed full of Pekinese. Candy and luggage and crackers shot forward in a flying mess. I can remember clearly that when the car finally stopped teetering Lorena reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror.
We took stock and found that I had banged my knees and ruined my stockings but had suffered no other damage. Lorena had taken a punch in the stomach when she was
Similar Books
