Flatlander Faith

Apologetics from an Anabaptist perspective

Tag Archives: hitchhiking

Another use for a station wagon

640px-Ford_LTD_Country_Squire_--_05-23-2012_front.JPGWhy is this style of car called a station wagon? And what’s with the faux wood trim? Well, the original station wagons were horse drawn conveyances for hauling passengers and baggage between hotels and railway stations. When motor cars started to become common, some people had the bright idea of putting such a wagon box on top of a motor car chassis.

The first station wagons coming off the automobile companies’ assembly lines still had mostly wood bodies behind the engine compartment. Eventually they switched to steel but maintained the wood look as a tribute to their heritage.

In its heyday the station wagon was the ultimate family vehicle. There was seating for eight people, but the seats were bench seats and there were no seat belts, so large families were able to stuff all their little ones into the wagon. This involved a good deal of squirming and squabbling, but it could be done, as most folks my age can testify.

A year ago we attended the funeral of the wife of one of my cousins and heard of a different use for a station wagon. Back in the 1950’s this lady and her siblings were young girls living a couple miles out of town along a busy highway and they walked to and from school along the shoulder of the highway. Those were simpler days, that was a totally normal thing to do.

After school they were often able to catch a ride home with a passing motorist. One day a station wagon pulled over to offer them a ride. The three girls piled in, noticing another man seated in the rear seat. They chattered with the driver, telling him who they were and where they lived, commenting on the heat of the day.

Then the oldest girl said to the driver “Your friend doesn’t have much to say.”

“No,” said the driver, “he’s done all the talking he’s ever going to do.”

She considered this odd statement, then took a good look at the driver. She had seen this man somewhere before. Slowly it came back to her. He’d looked different then because he’d been wearing a suit and tie. It had been at a funeral. Then she knew. This was the undertaker from the big town up the road. That meant the man in the back seat was . . .

Despite the heat and the lack of air conditioning, she began to shiver. Right about then the station wagon pulled up at their driveway and they piled out, thanking the driver for the ride. They ran to the house, happy to let the undertaker and his forevermore silent passenger continue on to their destination.

Advertisements

A Vagrant Without a Clue

I didn’t report the theft of the money to anyone. I never considered asking anyone for help or advice. To admit the theft would be to admit how stupid I was and face the humiliation of being publicly denounced for my stupidity. That was my state of mind at least.

I don’t remember many details from so long ago, but I packed all my stuff into a trunk and sent it by rail to Toronto. For all I know it’s still sitting in the baggage storage there. And I bought myself a ticket to Ottawa. I didn’t have any purpose or goal in mind; I didn’t have a clue. I just wanted to get away. What did I want to get away from? I didn’t have a clue.

I still had some money and I spent a couple months in a seedy hotel. I walked the city, the paths along the Rideau Canal, around Parliament Hill and the ByWard Market. I did a lot of reading. People I avoided. I was still wrapped in my protective wadding, seeing, watching, but not a part of anything that was happening around me.

When the money had about run out I spent a night or two at a men’s shelter. Then I decided to hitchhike to Toronto. I didn’t have a clue where I would go in Toronto or what I would do. Maybe something would work out.

I must have gotten a ride that took me almost to Smith’s Falls. I don’t remember; all I remember is walking down the highway near Smith’s Falls and getting a ride from there that took me right into Toronto. The man who picked me up was disappointed. Driving up from behind I must have looked like a girl as I hadn’t had a hair cut for several months. Before he dropped me off he gave me money for a haircut.

Here I was in downtown Toronto, still with no money and still without a clue. I was hanging around one of the big stores to keep warm when a young police officer asked to see my identification. He was startled when he saw my name and showed me his identification. His last name was Goodenough! He kindly advised me to move on and try to find a proper place to sleep and keep warm. I had no clue how to find such a place.

A night or two later a couple of homeless men led me to an abandoned house where we could at least have a little shelter for the night. In the middle of the night men with flashlights discovered us. They were police officers and they hauled us off to jail.

The next morning we were summoned to appear in court on charges of vagrancy. When my turn came a Salvation Army officer intervened and said he would take responsibility for me. The judge discharged me into his care. I was taken to the Salivation Army men’s shelter and led to curtained off space with a proper bed.

I don’t know how long I stayed there. It was warm, the food was decent and I dimly remember hearing a gospel message or two in their chapel. Not that the gospel registered on me in my state of mind. People sometimes came to the Salvation Army looking for workers for a day. I remember going out with a few other guys to distribute flyers in a prosperous looking part of the city. I was intrigued bythe houses; remember – I had wanted to be an architect. I wondered what they looked like inside and what kind of people lived in them. The guys I was with had no patience for that kind of dreamy talk. The more flyers they could distribute, the more money they would make. This was my first time doing something like this and I didn’t do all that great a job of keeping up with them.

A few days later the officer in charge of the shelter asked me to come into his office. He told me that the Salvation Army operates a missing persons service and through that service my parents had found out where I was. He dialed their number and let me talk to my mother. A few days later I was on the train again, going home to Saskatchewan.

%d bloggers like this: