Fragment from the Past (1949)

In 1949 at Christmas break from college- Eastern Nazarene College- I hitch hiked from Boston to my home in Akron, Ohio. The trip took 24 hours. I started the trip with a college room mate who lived near Buffalo, New York. His name was Jesse Kenjockity; he was a Seneca Indian from the Red House Reservation; a combat veteran of WW II attending E.N.C. on the GI bill. Jesse was a pretty fierce looking guy- tall, dark, lean and mean.
We two took the Green Line from downtown Boston as far west as it went and then got out on Route 9think it was) and began hitch-hiking. After half and hour not one car had stopped. We decided to split up. Jesse said he didn’t have any money at all. I had a ten, three ones and some change. I gave Jesse the three dollars and we parted. I watched from half a block away as a car stopped, Jesse got in, and I was alone, still 800 miles from Ohio. It was, I think, about 1 p.m.
Soon a car stopped and a man asked where I was going.
“Akron, Ohio.”
The man said he was headed for N.Y.C. and that that was “on the way to Ohio.”
I had planned to go the northern route, Route 20, all the way because that was the way we had come in September with Mr. Durkee from our home church. I had never seen N.Y.C. But it was a long ride, and if it was “on the way” it seemed all right to go a different way.
So I got in the car.
The driver told me his name. I’ve forgotten it. He was a lawyer- nice car. Somewhere in Connecticut he stopped at a Howard Johnson’s restaurant and we at supper. He paid for my supper- the $10 bill remained unbroken.
It was already getting quite dark as we came into Manhattan- down the West Side Highway under the George Washington Bridge. The driver stopped under the bridge.
“That is New Jersey over there,” he said, pointing over the wide Hudson Rover. “Ohio is that way.” He drove off.
I climbed, walked, up the steep bank higher and higher until I reached the level of the roadway approaching the great bridge. I stood at a bus stop, and took the first bus that came along. It was obviously going to New Jersey because that was the only way it could go. I think the fare was ten cents and I had change. I asked the passenger standing next to me in the aisle where this bus was headed. He rattled off names of streets or towns that did not make any sense at all to me. So I simply got off the first possible stop on the New Jersey side and stuck out my thumb and began hitch-hiking again.
Looking back, after living in New Jersey in later years, it is frightening, even chilling, to think how naïve and ignorant I was. No map- absolutely no concept of the complexity of the dense metropolitan area in northern New Jersey. And yet the Lord Himself watched over me. After two or three short rides I found myself standing on an “on ramp” to the Pulaski Skyway- about as hopeless a place to expect anyone to stop for any reason- and then a miracle- a car did stop- and was headed “west.”
After five different rides from the GW bridge I found myself just west of the metropolitan area on Route 22, a divided highway. It must have been about 10 p.m. The last New Jersey ride had left me off under a lone street light out in “no where.” I remember it was cold and still and I could see my breath.
After a what seemed a long time a semi truck stopped and the driver asked where I was going. “Akron, Ohio”
“I can take you half way across the Pennsylvania Turnpike” he said, “That is on your way.”
So I got in. It was warm, and I was tired but I stayed awake as best I could.
It must have been about 2 a.m. he said, “Wake up. This is Somerset. I am going a little farther but this is a truck stop, and you will have a better chance of getting a ride here. Go in there and tell them where you are going.”
I went into the diner and ordered a cup of coffee. The man next to me at the counter was friendly, and asked where I was headed. It must have been obvious I was hitch hiking since I was carrying a small suitcase.
“Akron, Ohio.”
“Hurry up and finish your coffee,” the man said, “and I’ll take you there.”
So I got up in the cab of another big semi; this one with 18 tons of sugar, and between ‘dozes’ watched the dawn break as we came into Pittsburgh. The turnpike ended east of Pittsburgh in those days
Somewhere in or near Beaver Falls the trucker stopped at a truck stop diner for breakfast. I was so thankful to have that long ride to Akron that I asked if I could buy his breakfast an he agreed. So I broke my $10 bill for the first time almost at the Ohio State line.
By noon or so the big rig pulled into Barberton, a suburb of Akron. It was headed on west, so I climbed down and caught a trolly bus to downtown Akron, and a North Hill bus to Howard Street and a stop two short blocks from home at 954 Aberdeen Street. I walked into the house just about 24 hours after that first car stopped out on Commonwealth Ave (Rt 9) in Boston.
I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me!
I cannot imagine what dangers and perils God kept me from that December day 58 years ago. I’m sure there have been many other times just as dangerous, but this is one that looking back I can see God has been with me.
It is comforting to know that He is still with us . . .