Vacations and summer seem to go hand-in-hand as much as hot dogs and mustard, French fries and ketchup, or — as we in the 21st century are accustomed — politics and lunacy. Many families plan vacations and other getaways around Memorial Day, the 4th of July, or Labor Day.
Some of us locals with a bit of gray on the dome recall when many textile mills would close for a week around July 4. August is a month when, traditionally, many families would plan vacations. European countries were notorious for shutting down much of the month for that purpose. For most of my childhood, my own family opted for week-long vacations in August. Most of those breaks were spent at granddad's Ocean Drive Beach house about four rows back from the ocean.
Now, most of those were considered "working trips." From spring until the fall fishing season had waned, the house was typically in use by family members, or as an occasional rental. For us, that meant days spent cleaning and performing various levels of maintenance before the family would trek to Calabash for seafood later in the evening.
Evenings made the trips fun as we would foray to the OD pavilion area to ride bumper cars, the Ferris wheel, or to blow coins on Skee Ball, or those mock-baseball pinball machines.
Arriving close to midnight on one August trip to OD — probably 1963 or 1964 — dad's "sixth sense" had the rest of us waiting behind as he opened the door of the house to discover a young man of, maybe, 19 or 20 asleep on a downstairs daybed. He was as embarrassed as we were shocked. He had been with a group in a noted "party" house nearby. Seeking an escape from all the merriment, the pleasant young guy swore he found our door unlocked. Dad seemed satisfied, and mom felt sorry for him, especially as we watched him attach his prosthetic leg. I think mom was ready to cook him a (very early) breakfast had he elected to stick around!
The incident points out an aspect of travel and vacations to keep in mind. While plans usually revolve around sites (or sights) to enjoy, i.e., the Grand Canyon, historical monuments, star-gazing in remote areas, etc., the unexpected "bonuses" can be just as memorable. The aforementioned young man dozing in our beach cottage was an incident my family recalled with amusement over many years.
A 1965 family trip to New York City and Washington, D.C., featured that year's World's Fair, and the usual attractions offered by those cities. In New York, however, we dined at a Horn & Hardart automat. Unique to NYC, Philadelphia, and Baltimore — and no longer in business — the automat permitted customers to drop coins into individual glass and chrome cubbies and remove fresh meal portions. Unseen was a full kitchen staff constantly preparing and refreshing the offerings.
Pixabay
Later, at the White House — on the eve of hosting the signing of the historic 1965 Voting Rights Act — I was suddenly overcome with a bout of nausea. Sensing that President Lyndon Johnson's Green Room carpet was about to be "decorated" two uniformed Executive Protection officers whisked me behind the scenes and down some stairs to a restroom. Seated on the steps of the White House's North Portico a while later, I still look pretty green in a black-and-white photo with dad and my brother.
Missed opportunities in our travels can leave us shaking our heads as well. For years following our family's 1971 Atlanta sojourn that included a Braves baseball doubleheader against the Giants, I would tease my mother about an incident. Not a fan of professional sports, mom had nevertheless taken note of the excitement around Willie Mays's arrival to the major leagues in the early 1950s. Something about the “Say Hey” kid could stoke the interest of even nonfans.
From time to time mom would say, "I'd love to see Willie Mays hit a home run." In game two of a July 18 twin bill, Mays delivered his 643rd dinger of a career 660 tally.
Perhaps you have guessed it. Mothers can be real troupers about sitting through games with their baseball-obsessed kids, but more than three hours — 12 innings — of an Atlanta loss was enough for one afternoon, thank you. Ah, well, it was at least fun to watch the great Henry Aaron play.
I have to confess to a lapse in my own judgment during a six-month Army stint in Germany during 1975 at age 19. Seated in a Munich hotel lobby early one morning, I was waiting on some pals when a bus driver/guide walked in and announced that a bus was about to depart for a tour of the infamous Dachau concentration camp.
For two Deutschmarks I could have taken in a historically eye-opening tour of an iconic World War II site. By then, Dachau had been opened to the public for barely a decade. I eventually toured the notorious site — with Robin — and getting there cost more than $2.50 worth of D'marks! Whoever said that teenagers are known for wise decisions?!
I made up for that about a month later as I took advantage of another opportunity. I joined a small handful of G.I.s out of a 900-man battalion who agreed to spend a Christmas Eve, and the following day, with local host families. Enjoying Christmas with a couple of German kids and their parents was a treat I have long treasured. Watching those kids open gifts, and sharing Christmas dinner, along with the sight of snowfall through the Haberl family's picture window, was very memorable.
A Christmas time visit to my brother, on duty at a U.S. base in northern Italy, came during an interesting week in 1981. Within days of my arrival, the Communist government in Poland declared martial law due to sudden unrest in the country, raising official eyebrows worldwide. A couple of days later, a U.S. Army general, James Dozier, was kidnapped by the communist-leaning Red Brigades terror organization. At the time, Gen. Dozier was deputy Chief of Staff of NATO's Southern European land forces.
Billy and I had occasion to ride several trains during my visit. We recalled a brief stopover in the town of Padua. Unknown to anyone until late January 1982, Gen. Dozier was being held captive in that town on that day until his rescue by elite Italian forces. Ironically, I had been under Dozier's command in a Fort Hood brigade some six years earlier.
Vacationing with professional tour companies often permits easier access to many sites without a lot of the usual hassles of traveling. While that can be restrictive, crimping some of the flexibility of self-travel, a bit of planning and research can pay off.
Our 2013 trip with a Hungarian-based company allowed Robin and me to enjoy many WWII sites, from the Normandy coast to southeastern Bavaria in 12 days, that we would never have seen on our own. Prior to the trip, I perceived an opportunity when I noticed the first evening's stay was in Bayeux, France.
Not a feature of our tour, the historic Bayeux Tapestry is an embroidery of 71 continuous 20-inch wide panels on bleached linen that extends about three-quarters the length of a football field. The tapestry was considered cutting-edge communications technology in the 12th century, and illustrates in fine detail the 1066 Battle of Hastings. Hastings, of course, was one of the most transforming events in British history.
Robin and I had to hustle from our hotel late in the day and negotiate several warrens of unfamiliar streets, but it was hard to miss a building that housed such a fully extended object.
Our Holy Land tour of Israel and the West Bank with a Florida company took us to the (accepted) sites of Christ's birth, crucifixion, the Mount of Olives, a sail on the sea of Galilee, and the Western (“wailing”) Wall, among others.
Kevin Snyman from Pixabay
Not on our agenda, however, was a visit to Temple Mount — about 35 acres of the most contested real estate in the Middle East, if not the world.
It has served as a flashpoint in Israeli-Arab relations for decades. The company allowed a "free" day with most of our group opting for a trek to take a dip in the Red Sea. Robin and I had enjoyed the markets in Jerusalem's Old City, but I sniffed a chance to visit Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque on Temple Mount.
We began our day munching fresh, warm, buttery chocolate and cinnamon croissants in the market. Those were bigger than croissants found here, too. A whiff of fresh spices mingling in one open air stall was intoxicating. Another merchant grew angry when I refused to buy a collection of trinkets he had selected for me without my personal input. Robin and I howled with laughter after I was chased from his store with a string of broken-English insults.
But Temple Mount was our focus for the day. We had waited at one entrance for over an hour before an Arab gentleman approached and politely informed us that we were at a Muslim-only entry. I guess there were subtle differences between a couple of Tar Heel Methodists and the rest of the folks. I don't suppose even Robin could have charmed the serious-faced guard holding the automatic weapon.
Finally gaining entry elsewhere, we latched onto a smaller guided tour of the grounds. While we were not allowed into the Dome — with its iconic gilded top and blue mosaic walls — the rock inside is where Christianity teaches that Abraham nearly sacrificed his son, Isaac. Muslims understand it as the spot where the Prophet Muhammad ascended to Heaven. A scant few steps away we eyed Al-Aqsa Mosque, considered the third-holiest site in Islam.
It all reminded us to do our homework, even on group tours, to take advantage of unexpected gems.
The value of striking up conversations with strangers who seem approachable while traveling can pay dividends. Don't worry about being told to "buzz off" (or worse). Most people are civil and will signal whether they are willing to engage.
Chatting with an elderly gent in the Minneapolis airport in 2015 revealed him as a retired stand-up comic who had worked many of the major nightclubs in the U.S. and Canada from the 1950s until the 1980s. Dick Curtis had established friendships with the likes of Red Skelton, Dick Van Dyke, Andy Griffith, Lenny Bruce, Jonathan Winters and others. He had an impressive list of TV and film appearances, too.
After I published a write-up of Curtis and that meeting, Robin and I traveled for a stay at Dick's Sedona, Arizona motel/inn nearly a year later. For years afterward, he and I maintained a nice e-mail friendship where I was treated to more stories of an interesting life.
Don't be shy about looking beyond the scenes while traveling. Accept the quirky and unexpected with a sense of humor. You might be pleasantly surprised.
Columnist Douglas Smith lives and writes in Rockingham.
