In 1959 I was attending the Nuclear Propulsion School in Vallejo, California. The school shut down over the holidays and most of the men took leave. I didn't take leave, initially, because I was in my usual state of being totally broke, except for enough money to feed myself and go the movies once in a while. But I was terribly homesick. A friend told me that I could hitch a ride to Travis Air Force Base, then get a "hop" to the east coast, where I could hitch hike home. Then I could simply work it backwards to return to California in early January.
So off I went, with only my pea coat, a small bag of clothing, and around $50. Getting to Travis was no problem, but I found myself waiting with a few hundred men to catch hops to anywhere but there. I met an Air Force guy who was driving to the east coast and he was rounding up others to help pay for gas - we would drive straight through, he said. So four more of us piled into an old Ford and hit the road.
By the end of day #1, we had gotten as far as Edwards Air Force base where the guy's old car expired. So an Army guy and I checked into the terminal and lo and behold, we got right out on a hop to New Jersey. While waiting for the plane, I had to make a quick pit stop in the restroom. When I came back out, someone had taken off with my pea coat! But I figured, well, the weather didn't look too bad and anyway, I'd being getting rides up NY 17 to my home. So off I went, only to fetch up at a now-closed AFB on Long Island (I've forgotten the name). I took a bus into New York City, another over into New Jersey and found route 17 and stuck out my thumb for a ride.
The first few rides I got were fairly short ones and after a hour or two had only gone about 15 miles. By then the Northeast Winter had begun to settle in and I found myself walking along route 17 in a blowing snow. A bit later I found myself walking past Westwood. I saw a small diner just off the highway (it was a four-lane highway even then), so I left the highway to get something to eat. It was during the diner hour.
In the diner, all the talk was about how hazardous Route 17 was becoming to the northwest, the direction in which I was heading. I was really getting nervous, since I was now without my coat and the temperature was well below freezing. I remembered that my parents knew a couple in Westwood, a Mr. Cornell and his daughter Helen. So, on a whim, I when to the public phone in the diner (most places had them, then) and called them. I explained my predicament to them and asked if it would be possible to come to there place and camp out overnight. They, of course, said, "Yes," and said that Mr. Cornell would be over to pick me up shortly.
When I hung up the phone, and turned back to the counter to finish my meal, every eye in the place was on me. They had all heard my story of trying to get home, having lost my pea-coat, and how I was getting a bit desperate for some kind of shelter. The owner would not let me pay for my meal, even though I did have enough money for that. And, before Mr. Cornell arrived, they had each given me some words of encouragement.
That night I spend in the Cornell's spare bedroom and slept like a log. I expected to hit the road the next morning, but when I got up, Mr. Cornell had already gotten me a train ticket (on the old weary Erie Rail Road). They took me to the station and saw me safely off for the holidays, wishing me and my folks a very Merry Christmas.
In January I flew back to California, but that's another story. This one is a true story that showed me that the best thing a person can have in this world is love from friends and family. Merry Christmas to all of you. TAD+
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