Last Leg - El Paso to LA

Here is the last drawing in my sketchbook -

looking West on Interstate 10, 45 miles east of El Paso.

Flipping through the pages, I find notations about sketches and paintings I meant to do for the new friends met along the way, but of course I was 22 and once home, life got in the way of good intentions.
I had spent the night at Sul Ross State in Alpine, Texas. A quiet restful evening, everyone was immersed in studying for finals and finishing up term papers. I remember camping out in the TV room to keep out of their way. I was on my way to pick up little sister Nancy (15 years old then) who arranged to ride along on the tail end of the trip. She arrived right on time, air travel being a snap in those days. We parked and walked around for a bit - I think we may have crossed the border to Juarez, but maybe not. I was now in ‘big sister mode’ and watching out for more than just me. Suddenly I had RESPONSIBILITIES once more and because of that, the trip was basically over. We stayed at a little motel in Denton, Texas and awoke the next morning to a dusting of snow – Nancy had never seen snow in the desert, so that was a treat for her. Travelling on through Las Cruces we made a bee line for Tombstone, which I knew she’d like as much as I had. As luck would have it we encountered authentic looking cowboys strolling the streets and realized that they were filming that day – double plus! From there we headed up towards Phoenix where we planned to eat steak dinners at the famous Pinnacle Pete’s restaurant that my Mom had recommended. It was a huge place decorated with neckties hanging from the rafters – refusing to have his supper club be a 'fancy eatin’ place', the owner insisted on cutting off the tie of anyone hoity-toity enough to dress up for dinner at his establishment. My Mom had taken my young cousin there dressed in his Sunday best, wide eyed he held back his tears and struggled to keep his cool as they snipped off his only tie. We stuffed ourselves and returned to our dingy motel – our budgetary trade-off for good eatin’ - but it did have COLOR TV – the only requirement Nancy insisted on.
The final leg back to LA was uneventful, the desert whizzed past us as we listened to a new comedy act Cheech and Chong doing their Santa Claus routine on the car radio. Home and Christmas glowed in the distance. About the only other thing my sister recalls from that trip was the Budman stickers I had put on my car in Louisiana – I didn’t much like the beer, but loved the stickers.

Biloxi Redeux

I decided to visit Pam and Gene again before making the long trek back to California, so with

a new headlight in place I was travelling east along the coast once more. I arrived to hear the news that Gene had been promoted and was busy sewing his new stripes on his uniforms. My visit with them put my vagabond existence into perspective – I too needed to get to work on with whatever life lay ahead for me, this adventure had begun to lose its carefree jauntiness and the need for direction and purpose began to rear its ugly head. How to pursue my interests and give them some kind of substance? I wasn’t involved with anyone then, getting married to transition away from home was not an option. I wasn’t trained for any career. I knew making art would always be a part of my life - but only part. I needed another intermediary state, a place where I could be on my own but still buffered from ’life’. I needed to buy a little more time. The answer for me was the same as for so many others - apply to grad school. So back I headed, my final week of freewheeling and freeloading a hazy blur of passing scenery, road signs and friendly faces, my focus directed towards the Western horizon. I didn’t know it then, but I would be headed east again in less than a year to begin building my own life, this time to the Midwest and Iowa - as unlikely a place to me then as Marrakesh.

New Orleans

From Natchez I drove south, deciding to bypass Uncle Charlie and visit him later after seeing some of New Orleans. I had been there a few years before when driving cross country with a friend, taking her new VW back to CA. We had stayed in the Harriet Beecher Stowe ‘corn cob’ house, which was a bit rundown and thus easy on the wallet but had plenty of atmosphere and was smack dab in the French Quarter, where we planned to visit as many bars as possible. We did well in that department and lived to tell the tale; this time around I didn’t have the need to down

‘Hurricanes’ with the same gusto. I met up

with Kaye, who was staying in some fancy

hotel in the quarter with the sorority uppity-ups.

I described events in a postcard home

Baton Rouge

Postcard #3 Dec 6

New Orleans really

Well did make it to New Orleans LSU ФM alums all around 23-24 took Kay & I out on town a little – kind of Quiet talk stuff – seafood on lake Ponchtrain & drinks in Court of Two Sisters & revival music at Preservation Hall – I ended up staying with one (apt in New Orleans) while Kay was in Hotel – Ritzy French Quarter w/ national bigwigs met them etc – had a good evening as was a little tired of all the driving & motel jazz & wanted to see some more of new Orleans – so Sat was slow & touristy – also cheap as dinner on ФM really nice – Sun drove back to Baton Rouge & Uncle Charles- nice – will paint & relax for a few days – need some quiet & non college jazz – also fix my headlight – doesn’t work – hope it isn’t expensive –Connie

Back with Uncle Charlie I relaxed and spent much of my time in the kitchen chatting w/ him and painting from the quick sketches I had made while out and about in New Orleans, I made arrangements for my car, getting the light fixed, an oil change, and a check up. Luckily I did draw that while waiting around at the car place. And I was relieved that the tab wasn’t too pricey.

I worried about my aging Uncle who was 76 then – driving himself around, being alone, and yet he lived another 10 or 12 years. From my 62 year old point of view now, he wasn’t really that old - but when I was 22, he seemed quite doddering.

Athens Georgia to Memphis to Natchez

From Tennessee I traveled down to Athens, Georgia and Alpha Alpha – the first founding chapter of my sorority.
There I had time to write a nice long letter home.
- yes well I picked a winner tonite – Georgia wonder chapter Alpha Alpha – whoopee-do big 100 members & 65 living in but not real exciting types – Alabama girls had far more zip – these chicks are what makes everybody shun sororities I guess – of course there are some nice ones but generally nothing spectacular – house is gorgeous Sothern Mansion whole bit w/ old high ceilinged living rooms etc like in movies but kinda musty all over – dirty old like - & rooms are poor set up for living – 4 girls to each bunk beds & cramped tiny – but have to cram them as House is expensive – noticed several large rooms being little used – but that’s their problem – had to see what this chapter was like but kinda wish I’d gone back to Atlanta or Gainesville – haven’t seen them yet – tomorrow perhaps…one thing for Georgia – even though the sororities are quantity and not quality the countryside is beautiful I really like it – the leaves are still in process of turning everywhere & all those grassy green clearings & wooded hills & rocks are neat – Louisiana is pretty green too but too flat for my taste – most of the states are beautiful in their own way

I was travelling through the land of ‘Uncle Remus’ and Faulkner, Harper Lee and Carson McCullers, a lush landscape oozing literary tradition at every turn , where any day could become a ‘zip-a-dee-do-dah day’. After another night at Bama I headed up to Memphis to visit the sorority’s national headquarters, for no particular reason, like most of my destinations on this trip just decided to up and go there, didn’t expect much and was not disappointed so off I headed back down, stopping in at Ol’ Miss to park for the night. Lonely for camaraderie, which I wasn’t finding there, I headed south wanting to see some scenery and drive along the Mississippi river. I planned to take a look at Vicksburg battlefield - having been a Civil War buff – It was such a beautiful park overlooking the river it made my day, markers diagramming gun placements and noting the death tolls seemed out of place in such a gorgeous spot - awash in fall colors where once it had been bathed in blood. Were it not so rainy I would have sketched more and followed the trace parkways criss-crossing every which way, but instead worked my way down river to Natchez and a motel. Cold and rain quashed any plans to drive around and gander at plantations. I got a bit lonely that night with the rain pelting down outside and was ready to head south and be with friends again. I followed highway 61 south the next morning towards New Orleans.

Tennessee

I pulled into Chattanooga and was immediately swept into the whirlwind preparations of the family packing up to go to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, where my step-grandma Ludy, had rented a cabin for us to have a rustic holiday. Her mother was living with her at the time and was to go along but had fallen and hurt her back so was staying behind with a relation to look after her.
“Grandma is cool but pretty old – has only one leg which is kinda neat in a way/ she really gets around on her crutches & refuses to wear her false leg or use a wheelchair – she is in love with the old cabin (painting) we sent Ludy – she used to live in one.”
Of course I didn’t write down any more details about her at the time and now I am burning with curiosity! I was just a stupid self involved kid then. Food, suitcases, and whatnot –were packed into their big car - I planned to drive myself up separately in my VW (in case an early escape was needed). Upon our arrival, one suitcase was unclaimed. Opening it up, they found it filled with pajamas, pills, Marlboro cigarettes, and an Esquire magazine. We quickly surmised that it belonged to the Aunt who was staying to look after granny. It was whisked off to the nearest big town to go back on the bus to Chattanooga. Aunt Betty would have had a tough time trying to don Granny’s PJs as they all had one leg cut off and sewn shut to accommodate her stump. My stay in Gatlinburg was a mixed bag of fun and chaos-

“wow Gatlinburg is a real California style tourist trap. Pretty if you can keep away from town – which we didn’t – saw Ripley’s Believe It or Not “Highlight of trip” whoopee- really cold yucky foggy weather except for Sunday which of course we wasted as we all slept in & missed it & had to leave – oh well”

I did do several paintings on the screened in porch, which was cold and damp but made warm with shots of Southern Comfort. I seem to remember that Ludy rode back to Chattanooga with me so we could chat, she was my step-Grandma and only a few years older than my own parents, she married my Mother’s Dad after he had divorced my grandma and had his fill of a frisky young second wife who proved to be too much for even him. He and Ludy had two children, one a year older than me the other a year younger – it was always a source of amusement to me to refer to them as 'Aunt' and 'Uncle' when they were more like cousins. Our families were close despite the distance between Tennessee and California - we bridged the gap with letters, phone calls, and visits back and forth. Ludy was always peppy and full of fun, like a bonus Grandma. How neat it would be to drive through the Smoky Mountains once more with her riding shotgun.

November 22-23 Mississippi to Alabama

Tuesday November 23 I was headed up through Hattiesburg, Mississippi, surprised to find myself driving through pine forests and not the cotton fields that the entire south is supposed to be covered with. I stopped for gas and a breather in Meridian, once and possibly still home to relatives on my Mother’s side. My history is vague and hazy as to which great aunts lived where and for just how long. Galveston was home to the Akerholm family for most of their later years. My Great grandparents had immigrated separately to the US from Sweden, arriving at Port Arthur, and then settling in McComb Mississippi. There they started their family and after a few kids headed north to Chicago, where they lived and worked for the next ten years or so, increasing their brood - my grandmother Nana among them. She was born the year of the great Chicago World’s fair of 1893 – where the White City was constructed – quite possibly the family attended the fair , maybe my great grandfather who was a carpenter, worked on its construction. Meridian, Mississippi was where my grandmother’s older sister, Nida, lived at the end and my mother visited there over the years when Nana was lonesome for family. My grandmother settled far away like I had and I understood her longings for home and childhood. Every adventurous mile she had put between herself and her family was tinged with a hint of regret, the distance between now scattered with graves. I follow the path back along a series of steppingstones composed of sketchy dates, occasional letters and snatches of conversations. I should have visited McComb, Mississippi, where more of the family had lived and died -but this trip wasn’t that kind of pilgrimage. Were I doing the journey now, I would not have skirted Galveston and Port Arthur, in 1971 I was too filled with life and youthfulness to linger over now empty homes of people I had never met. Grown older, I think about the past a lot – then I was all about the present and the yet to be. It was ancient history - I’d find out about it some other time, ask questions later - I had places to go and my own life to chart. I didn’t dawdle there, but refilled my tank, smiling and waving off the young kid who pumped my gas and begged me - ‘can I go?’ I was headed on to Alabama and the college where I hoped to spend the next night.

The University of Alabama was arranged with a fraternity and sorority area of matching houses of red brick and white trim and finding my call letters I knocked on the door and was met with friendly faces. They had a sensible arrangement for sleeping and living, 3-4 girls shared a large bedroom which was used for study, socializing, dressing, etc. - while down the hall was a large ‘sleeping’ room filled with bunks, kept dark 24hours - so the weary could find rest at any time of day or night while their roommates chatted. The girls were in a festive mood since Thanksgiving vacation was imminent and everyone was ready for that nice family break before finals and papers crowded out the last few weeks of the semester. I joined in by quizzing one for a test, proofing another’s paper, hemming a skirt, in return I got to do my laundry and eat in their cafeteria, call my Tennessee relatives and the next day was on my way north.

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.