Biloxi Mississippi

A short 2 ½ hour drive took me along the gulf coast to Biloxi Mississippi, where I was to look up a newly married sorority friend whose husband had been drafted and was training at the base there. They lived in vintage army housing much like my young parents did in 1945 - strange surroundings far from home. My parent’s war was against Hitler – they were fighting the ‘good fight’ – so unlike the Viet-Nam war of 1971, which cast a shadow across the land, bearing with it a constant threat of a purposeless death in a strange place. The young couples in Biloxi distracted themselves much the same as my parents must have, with training and work, partying and booze - making the best of an awkward situation and an uncertain future. My stay with them was idyllic; we basked in the sun, laughed and avoided adulthood for just a little while longer.
I write home –

Gang 11/22/71
Well have been w/ Pam & gene for 2 days now – quite a different life – they have a place right across the street from the gulf – ocean view but trees and grass around their bungalow – of course the place dates back to WWI but the setting is beautiful – they are pretty happy – much more so than most of the young couples out here – of course there is the period of adjustment for them & the added problems of the guys having to cope with being in the service – but very nice for air force – i.e. (with the) BX everything is cheap plus will all get pay raise in month like $2 or 300 more a month – they don’t have to live on base or dress up and be soldiers all the time – in fact only 6 hrs a day – 30 hr week no less – this Biloxi spot is a training center for radar etc stuff & most are in transit to another place – hard to have knowledge that you will be moved yet no idea where – well Gene found out they are to be sent to Pt. Arena Calif. – about 20 miles south of good old Mendocino right on the ocean – not bad. They are going to continue to live cheaply like now & the extra money will go in the bank & finance as Datzun 240-Z as the only car they have now is Pam’s 62 VW.

The life here is difficult – so they get together often borrowing mops, sugar, etc. Pam said that they got one of the nicest apts – a good air conditioner & refrigerator – other couples have the good stove or couch or whatever. Biloxi is also a seat of Jefferson Davis Home – must have been quite a place in his day – a beautiful area down here except for the muggy summers and hurricanes … weather has been stupendous- I’m lucky – bluest skies & sea green trees & grass – sun but 70’s in temp no humidity very nice – has been great talking to Pam – she’s settled down a bit & admits that she had visions of being married as all rosy & bliss & knows it’s not case but is having a great time … she’s a pretty practical person – has been great talking to both- Gene is good in electronics & engineering stuff wants to go into radio when through w/ air force radar stint but says may stay on awhile in service if gets over a few hang ups as money and benefits are hard to beat – it just may be the best place to be in a few years. Took me around base – which has a beautiful wooded lake marina where they get together for shrimp fries/boating/picnics etc. - not bad! – It has been pretty neat staying with them, a fun quiet time plus a good party – bought them the booze w/ windfall from Uncle Charles $20 unexpected so I figured I wouldn’t be practical with it – it’s been really fun & quite a different experience – will be moving on to Tuscaloosa, Alabama for tues night –picked it as I think it’s where George Washington Carver used to teach but not sure - anyway it looked better than Birmingham & will be nicely situated on the way – will call Ludy & be with them for Thanksgiving weekend – well today Pam & I will go look at old fishing boats & countryside – do some sketches & maybe wash car … – will be w/ Uncle Charley again later probably 2nd week of December – 10th -12th – … will write frequently as possible – Love Connie

Baton Rouge

As I approached Louisiana from the east end of Texas the trees snapped into bayou mode and were suddenly adorned with picture perfect hanging moss. I was ready for a change of scene and got it – in a letter home I wrote -

“I’ve had it with how wonderful Texas is, tho they are truly hospitable… crossing the state line on interstate 10 into LA is all that any traveler could wish for… immediately and I mean it, you pass from wooded hill country into open spaces chock full of swamps, bayous, and those neat trees with the moss stuff on them, was attempting Baton Rouge so didn’t stop for sketches but intend to do some while here, in fact I hope to do quite a few….also the old houses on Lafayette on the concrete blocks…really Louisiana looking, like Texas was Texas looking, guess movies don’t lie after all…”

Layfayette, Louisana was my destination for the night, I entered the town cruising around until I located the campus and found the dorms..this chapter just used a meeting room as their members resided in the dorms or off campus entirely…often the case – not every chapter had their own house like I had been used to at UCLA. I was able to camp out in the meeting room area for the night which worked fine for my budget. Spent most of my short stay chatting with various members and others about life…we called them ‘rap sessions’ in those days and they went long into the night often enhanced by candles, a stack of record albums and a bottle of wine. I was off the next day for Baton Rouge and to check in with an elderly widowed relative, Uncle Charlie . Our family had visited there in the late 60’s and I had fond memories of him and Aunt Rhoda. They were childless had hoped I would attend LSU and live with them since they were so near the school. They tempted me with a garage space that would have served as a studio and I admit I was drawn to the idea, but remained in CA for my undergraduate years. I arrived there to find a letter from home, filled with news about the busy activities of my family, I had some down time there and wrote home -

“ This being a bum thing is really neat, the thought occasionally passes my mind that I should gather together some money in January and February and then take off again in the Spring but th rough the North…haven’t reached many earth-shattering decisions that will determine the rest of my life, but then I wasn’t really counting on it, was thinking in Austin one quiet evening watching some people from a window, that if I did try to do this artist bit for a quote career,( it would be in the line of) the humanists who capture a moment of existence and make it last forever, a little of human folly, and some of its dignity…..people never seem to change – just their surroundings…. Uncle Charles really resembles NANA(my grandmother), esp. in the eyes and quiet manner, he…still drives, has his dog a wonderful tiny ball of excited fluff, good for him, walks him along the lake 4 times a day, sleeps with him, watches TV with him…”

I recall him fixing the dog’s dinner boiling some meat and carefully shredding it - that dog lived a pampered life and adored Uncle Charlie in return. I stayed with him on the way back as well and would paint in the kitchen from some sketches I did here and there - mostly oil on cardboard – (my sister has one of them still, a scene done from memories of a visit to Preservation Hall in New Orleans) I drove around the lake to LSU and visited the sorority chapter, where a letter from a friend awaited me. The LSU house was large, with over a 100 members had too many people watching soap operas and the only thing they seemed interested in was their Napoleon plates in the foyer. They were a wealthy fancypants chapter, so unlike my little UCLA chapter house of barely 20 members,who supplemented our expenses by taking in ‘boarders’. I didn’t linger. On the return drive I pulled over to draw some black folks fishing off of the bridge I was crossing, half wishing I could join them. Along with sketches, I jotted down some observations–

“Have and have nots quite distinct – incredible – but then the suburban sprawl is everywhere & the cities hold the ghettos – somethings bound to give eventually .... a local quote – ‘the grand houses get the gas, n****rs get the gas stations’ – Guns – common in Louisana – hunting, shooting, boys out off the highway with rifles, girls with bruises from kickback – pistol by bed and in porch at my Uncle’s - armed robbery all over, really kind of makes me nervous–“

After two days there I had regrouped, knowing I had a cushy base to return to on the way back. I was eagerly looking eastward to my next stop, Biloxi,Mississippi where I would hang out with friends my own age.

Texas week two Nov 7-16 1971

I left Alpine travelling with a passenger, Kaye, who I had met through the sorority while at UCLA. She was a field secretary for the sorority visiting chapters in the region, doing work for National. So instead of flying to her next job, she hitched a ride w/ me and used her expense stipend to cover gas and lodging to the Georgetown, Texas chapter. We drove South and East to Del Rio, stopping to take a walk over to the border town of Acuna, Mexico, which was hot and dusty and the only noteworthy event was buying some gum from a few little kids. On to Uvalde, Texas for our overnight and then away to the east the next morning to San Antonio for a visit to the Alamo and lunch along the river walk, an upscale and a fun change from our up-until-then low-budget ventures. From a letter home -

"they're sure aren’t many radicals out here – one hippie on a street corner – (LA look beard & embroidered levis) in San Antonio saw my UCLA decal as we turned the corner & started grinning and madly waving – its funny from a lot of the longhairs out here LA is a magic Haven – but I guess the grass is always greener – most of the folks (here) have their own plans for their future & don’t need to bother with any ‘isms’ – most people I’ve met are surprised at what I am doing ...– most are pretty open about their feelings ... and are eager to share thoughts and meet someone who is tied to them (thru ФM) but from a different world – I keep getting asked ‘what is LA really like?

We arrived in Georgetown later in the day where Kay was to stay at an elderly alum’s home while working with the chapter, I was welcomed to stay as well and gladly took advantage of that. We shared a room in their ancient house and laid awake at night listening to the critters crawling up and down inside the walls. Mice? RATS???? We got used to them after a night or two - even giving them names. The childless couple was lively and fun-loving, compensating their barrenness by taking care of an endless chain of college girls, perpetually welcoming them into their home. ‘Aunt Margaret’ and ‘Uncle Frank’ - It was better than staying with a relative, we were taken care of without parental ‘just when will you be getting home?’ I described them in a letter home

-" Aunt Margaret is pretty opinionated but I like feisty old ladies – took me out to the 40Acre Club – Texan High Class last night for dinner & as 2 of the ФM’s here dropped by & asked to go along they said sure – toured the fraternities and sororities at the university in Austin
as well as capitol had a great dinner - "

Georgetown was filled with older buildings which I happily sketched. Having grown up in the shiny new suburbs of Southern California I was enthralled by anything over 100yrs old. At the time I was fond of felt pens and drew on illustration-board, toning the back ink with orange felt pen - garish but effective and very 70’s. During the days, while business was being done, I drove around town and the surrounding countryside sketching. Aunt Margaret asked me if I was a ‘people painter’ and I’d have to say yes, although I spent much of my time on landscapes then. She was quite taken with a nearby locale that had bending trees “…that grew right back into the ground!” So I went out and sketched the area, doing a painting of them to leave with the couple as a ‘thank you’ for accommodating me. They had some spare storage rooms down the hallway and let me set up my easel and paints in one of them. An idyllic time, drawing and painting by day and being taken out to lunch and dinner by our generous caretakers –Georgetown became my new best friend. One night ‘Uncle Jim’ arrived. (everyone seems to have an Uncle Jim and this guy even looked like my own, they are all fat bald jolly and single) He asked us what we were going to do that night, “write up some reports and read” we replied. “Like Hell! It’s Friday night! I’m taking you out for a cool brew and some real sausages!” So off we went to Walburg (a little town settled by German Immigrants in the 1880’s with a population that never got over a few hundred) for sausages and beer at one of his favorite spots. I drew the bar scene later when we got home. Uncle Jim hated Star beer insisting anything but Schlitz “outta just be put back in the horse.” He entertained us with tales of his 30 year stint in the air force and how to make coconut hooch. a recipe I luckily preserved in a letter home (you never know when this sort of information might later come in handy)

– get some coconuts – drain the juice & store it in the icebox – then get the cheapest hooch – 2 bits a gallon & put it in the coconut – the meat will absorb the poison –(you plug the shell & store it about a month) & it will be really smooth – also you can put the coconut juice in your drink w/ ice & have a great highball

(I wondered if the GIs used rubbing alcohol – a lotta time on their hands in the Pacific - and a need to drink.)

I was enjoying Texas so much; I had been there for over a week. It was time to move on, Louisiana beckoned and I planned to be in Gatlinburg Tennessee for Thanksgiving with relatives. So off I went - the passenger seat empty this time, but my mind occupied to capacity.

Road Trip First week - LA to Alpine TX Nov 1-7 1971

Lots of kids have taken off on trips at a youthful age - what’s so different about mine? That I was a girl alone? That I kept a sketchbook and did oil paintings along the way? That’s not so unique for artists to do. By temperament I am a list maker and planner, doggedly sticking to whatever chart I have laid out, so I was hoping this trip would purposefully throw a wrench into that structured nature. Maybe I needed to not be on a schedule, to have some wriggle room for awhile before ‘growing up’ and settling down to some orderly future-yet-to-be. Some planner I am, I have impetuously jumped into this project before really figuring out how to depict it, how describe my journey in a way that interests anyone else. There are some of us who just plunge into the ocean only to gasp and realize !!@#**&#!! It’s freezing! We thrash around for awhile and then get swimming – so bear with me if I flounder for awhile.

I took off on November 1^st, safely staying my first night at friends of my parents’ in Phoenix and the next at a sorority chapter in Tucson. I was out of California and on the road! I tooled around the Tucson area getting my feet wet in the desert, doing my first few sketches along the side of the road. But Tucson failed to hold my interest –Arizona was just too close to California, too familiar. I needed to put more distance between myself and home. I headed East, briefly stopping in Tombstone and marking it for another look on my return. A mix-up in dates squelched an opportunity to stay with a friend of my Mom’s outside of Las Cruces, so I pushed on to Van Horne Texas and my first motel room alone. My family had taken many road trips, so motels were a common enough experience - but me being the one to check in without a pal along for moral support was a novelty. (For the life of me I can no longer picture the room – too many other trips and cheap motels have muddied the waters.) Up early the next morning, I headed east and up into the mountains to Fort Davis, stopping to draw a little and relish in my alien surroundings. Now I was really somewhere different and new. I parked along the road and drew an old farmstead which a crew of Mexicans was doing repairs on, innocent of any potential dangers in the situation. A gruff old guy in a Stetson pulled alongside me wanting to know what I was doing on his ranch and seeing that I was indeed drawing wished me good day. (Recently Googling Fort Davis, I saw that the ruins still bore a strong resemblance to my sketches!) I was raised on a steady diet of cowboy shows from Roy Rodgers to Bonanza, my childhood spent wearing six-guns and hats, what a fun surprise it was for me to come over a hill and see the real McCoy – not some Disney version. I stayed awhile and drew, then had ham and eggs at a local diner before pushing on to Alpine, Texas. Once there, I cruised around the little town until I was in the college area and then located the dorms and eventually the sorority chapter. Friendly conversation and my status as a sorority alum worked pretty well to acquire accommodations along the way and much of the time the cost for a night’s stay was next to nothing - in the case of Alpine nothing - a sleeping bag on the floor. At other places, a couple of bucks got me a bunk bed and dinner. Alabama even let me do laundry gratis-I loved that place! Here in West Texas at Sul Ross State College, things couldn’t be more simple - kids were there to learn agriculture, become school teachers, and find someone to marry. It was a very small town, very country, very Texan. Far from the West Coast, I had waded into some foreign, but friendly waters. I was adopted by the locals immediately, toured around with the celebrity status of being from California - a kind of youth Mecca for most of the country in 1971. Here in this remote little West Texas town, I glowed with a golden aura. It went to my head and I stayed on a few days, basking in their infectious adulation, openness and joy. There was little to do in their small town - I spent the days painting from the studio-trunk of my car, the afternoons going to the five and dime for a Coca-cola with the gang. A lack of entertainment venues hardly stopped restless reckless college kids in a state where driving 90 miles to another little town for a hamburger was common, gas was cheap and boredom levels ran high. One night we decided to see the notorious Marfa ‘ghost’ lights, well-known for their spooky and extraterrestrial qualities. Dismissed by skeptics as merely gas or reflected auto lights, their mysterious properties lured us out into the darkness. We drove for hours and waited fervently in a lonely cow pasture, eventually seeing some lights, whose glow was enhanced by a six-pack of beer and the fact that we were young and out late on a Saturday night.

The details of those past events in my cards and letters home are sketchy and my recollections piecemeal. As I rummage through them, do I jealously long that I was once more off on a youthful adventure? Maybe, but perhaps I am just as comfortable with the ease of an armchair tour.