Chicago to California in 1955
The first 10 years of our marriage were spent in Boston, Syracuse and Chicago. (We didn’t know it but we were inching towards the far west. And once we got there we never left.) In 1955, after 6 years in Chicago Eric had advanced to all-but-dissertation in his progress towards a PhD in Philosophy. We were a family of 4, our two daughters were Heath (age 8) and Jennifer (age 3). We were thoroughly disillusioned with Chicago and academia when the president of California State College, Long Beach came recruiting and made it sound irresistible – a 6-year old campus starting a Philosophy Department in La La land. The chance to move to California was a dream come true and it didn’t take us 5 minutes to answer ‘yes’.
We decided to start our new adventure by driving across country, since Chicago was our farthest western penetration of this vast and intriguing land. Camping was not a household word in 1955; in fact, it was a thoroughly intimidating idea. We had no equipment, no knowledge of on-road or off-road, and very little money. But we had good friends, Paul and Ellie Diesing, who were already established in Champagne/Urbana and went camping every summer. As soon as they heard we were going to the west coast they wanted to join us; California was Mecca to all winter-weary mid-westerners, and theynwould show us the ropes. Heath has only fragments of memory about the trip and Jenny probably remembers only the ecstasy she got from a popsicle in Mesa Verde. (We have always treasured the photos we took of her with her popsicle.) But for us it was a monumental change. We could hardly wait!
So we bought a green Chevy station wagon and camping gear, packed our household for shipment and took off on August 5. We were going to travel in tandem with the Diesings, so went first to Champagne/Urbana. I recently unearthed the journal that Eric began the day, which I remember his starting and often writing entries after an adventurous day, but it was stored in a file for decades. And while it is in faded pencil and his penmanship is challenging, I will transcribe it as best I can to recount the journey as seen through his eyes and mind. He was a gifted writer but loved long and convoluted sentences, and his penmanship was tiny and frequently unintelligible. There are words I simply couldn’t make out, but it got easier as it went. The trip was the first of many travel adventures. When I read his account I shivered to think how naïve we were – that we hiked down the Bright Angel Trail in Grand Canyon hatless, waterless and foodless. More foolish than anything Cheryl Strayed could think up. I have shortened and edited his journal and added remembrances of my own, as I discovered early on that our take on events was not always the same. My entries are italicized.