Bringing Home the Duncan Phyfe: Chapter 4

Home Thoughts on the Road

In 1951 BI, Before Interstates, traveling across country was a game of connect-the-dots with hamlets and highways, hillsides and Main Streets. All of which gave more meaning to the word hometown and the phrase “just passing through.” In those days, it took travelers longer to get where they were going, but they were more likely to know where they had been.

In a small town in eastern Ohio, Dad pulled into a filling station for gas, took a small memo pad from the glove box, and wrote down the miles from the odometer. He stared at the pad until a quiet "Huh" came from somewhere in his mind.

"Huh what?" Mom asked.

"What huh?" Dad replied.
"Just now you said 'huh' like something was wrong."
"I did?" Dad asked, not recalling any sound at all.
"Yeah. Just a quiet little 'huh'...like that."

"Well, nothing's wrong. I was just logging our miles."

Mom paused then whispered, "Are you glad you married me?"
"Of course, I am,” he smiled, “It was just a 'huh.’"

.

She smiled back, but Dad was looking again at the pad and remembered what he was thinking when the inadvertent "huh" slipped out. It had occurred to him that this was the farthest he'd ever been from home. He was not surprised by the fact—he knew it would happen on this trip—but he wondered why it felt strange. For over a year, all they could think of was getting married and starting a home of their own. Now they were married, but he suddenly wondered when two people begin to feel at home by themselves. It was not so much a place but that feeling that seemed far away. All this was hidden in that mumbled "huh," and he knew in fairness to his bride he must learn not to utter such a sound again.

.
"Regular or Ethyl?" the man asked through the window.
"Regular," Dad replied, "I'll check the oil myself," he added, stepping out and propping up the heavy hood.
.
From inside the car, Mom smiled and studied the street of the umpteenth town they'd seen that day. In April, she would turn twenty-one, but until the night before at Aunt Edith's she had never been away from home or family—not to camp, not to a slumber party, not to college. Nowhere.
.

She turned on the radio, and the empty static reminded her that it did not work, but Dad was sure he could fix it once he found the right tubes. Looking at the people passing by, she wondered if she knew someone who knew someone there. The idea made her smile. "It really is a small world," she thought, "if you just talk long enough. I'll bet if I could visit with that woman coming up the walk that in no time we'd find something in common, and later on, when I meet someone else from Ohio, I could say I have a friend in..." It was then Mom remembered she did not know the name of this town much less the lady on the sidewalk, and her smile dropped ever so slightly.

.

Pulling out the oil dipstick with confidence, Dad smiled at his wife who was watching. He had forgotten to get a rag from the trunk, but not wanting to miss a beat in this manly ritual, he pulled out his back-pocket handkerchief and wiped the tip clean. He'd never used his handkerchief for this before, but this he knew was his oldest one. He was saving his good handkerchiefs for their days in D.C. Just as the dark oil stained the white cotton, the lady on the sidewalk walked by shaking her head.

.

“Your mother is going to wring your neck when she sees that.”
“What? My mother?” Dad stammered.

"Your mom will be fuming when she sees that in the wash."

"I don't live with... I'm a married..." By the time he got out a full sentence..."It's my oldest handkerchief," the woman was far away. Dad let the hood drop with a thud.

.

"Did you hear that lady?" Dad asked, sliding in behind the wheel.
“I saw her talk to you but couldn't hear what she said.”
“Either she thinks you're my mother or we must look like a couple of school kids.”

“Is that what she said?”
“No, but she might as well have.”

The truth is Dad was twenty-one, but looked much younger. Down the road a ways, he told Mom what the lady really said, and they both had a good laugh. The thought would make them laugh again that evening as they parked beneath a flashing VACANCY sign of a hotel near Pittsburgh and walked into the warm lobby together.