Travel Memories from Pre-school Years I felt right at home riding in the back seat of our Plymouth. Perhaps my feelings of safety were illusory, but there was much to be said for the "no seat belts" mode of that era. I imagine that as an infant I rode in my mother's arms, and probably graduated to the back seat about the age of three. When I wanted to be in on the conversations I could lean on the back of the front seat and hear what was being said. When I wanted I could lay on the back seat and rest or sleep. I rarely actually sat on the back seat. Making space for me in the back must have been quite a logistic task, especially as I got tall enough to need most of the back seat to actually lie down.

We sometimes stayed in hotels - particularly in the big cities where my dad was organizing or lobbying. More often we stayed in "Cabins" - they weren't called "Motels" or even "Motor Hotels" in those days. We always carried a canvas Army Cot for me. I don't remember ever having any trouble getting to sleep. The lights would be on, and my mother and dad would be talking, and I knew all was okay, and I simply went to sleep. -- It wasn't that way at home in our apartments or at my grandparents' homes. There I had my own room, which meant I was shut away from what was going on ... I was reluctant to leave the action, and I exercised every ploy and excuse to delay the actual bedtime.

Of course, I was not always the perfect traveler. Long drives were pretty boring, and I'm sure I got cranky at times. I remember being very thirsty at times, and I was not fond of cola drinks and absolutely hated my mother's favorite: Dr. Pepper. I really liked water, perhaps because I was so seldom allowed to have it. "Changing water" was held responsible for a number of the gastro-intestinal problems I displayed, as well as the impetigo, rashes, and pink eye that were part of my nomadic experience. I imagine that was partly true, but I think I had those problems even when I steered clear of local water sources.

Hotel Memories

My father had a business credit card with the Albert Pick Hotel chain. So we usually stayed in Albert Pick Hotels when we were in larger cities. In New York we sometimes stayed in hotels for a day or two - I guess it was while we were waiting to rent an apartment or when we were just in town briefly. The two hotels we stayed at in New York were the Murray Hill in mid-town and the Martha Washington down near my Dad's Office. Both were nice hotels in those days. In the late 1950's and once again in the 1970's I had occasion to stay in the Murray Hill and each time it was more woefully run down - no longer a decent place to stay. I think the Martha Washington was no longer in business. Times change.

Another Albert Pick hotel I remember well was the one in Montgomery, Alabama. My father had a friendly relationship with the owner or manager, and I ended up spending a few days with the manager's son. I remember two things about that. One was, the manager's son had access to the workshop and either he or one of the workshop staff made small wooden pistols for us. We colored them with shoe polish, and I thought they looked tremendously realistic. I had that toy pistol for a number of years. The other thing I remember vividly from my days with the manager's son was that when we went out, we went in the care of the black "nurse" who was his daytime caretaker. It was all very routine for him, but it was my first recollectable experience up-close with someone with different colored skin. It was something quite new and different for me, and it scared me somewhat. I don't think I was rude to the lady - I certainly hope I wasn't - but I had a definite negative reaction. I was not taught prejudice, but I wasn't taught to expect and accept a multi-racial world, either. Hopefully we are making progress in accepting diversity, but we aren't there yet.

I remember one mishap in a hotel room. I loved to bounce on a nice, springy bed and my parents were not always successful in stopping me. One time I bounced and hit my head on the radiator. My parents got me to a local doctor, and he stitched up the laceration. I think that is the occasion when I reportedly asked: "Doctor, how do you do that crocheting?" -- My mother wasn't much of a seamstress (though she did darn socks and loved knitting), but my grandmother Schuler was an avid crocheter as well as quilter and hooked rug maker. The hooked rugs were, of course, basically crocheted with strips of fabric instead of yarn.

There were two other occasions that I remember emergency medical visits -- both for bites - once by someone's pet monkey and the other time by a not very large dog. Those had to be cauterized, and I remained scared of dogs (and probably of monkeys, but we didn't come in contact with many of them) for years.