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where I rented an apartment and awaited the arrival of my family and pal.
My family brought some friends along as far as Los Angeles, Mrs. Sam Sylvester and her youngest daughter, Hilda. The Sylvesters were to spend some time with Johnny Sylvester, a son who had been in several movies and was doing quite well in Hollywood.
I called Johnny from Stockton and told him to give Mama the address of my apartment when they arrived. He said he expected them in a day or two. I had paid rent for only two weeks, but that arrangement worked out fine because the family made it to Stockton on a Friday and the rent was due again on the following Monday. They rested up Saturday and Sunday, and Monday morning early we headed north for Lakeport, California, the home of our great aunt, Marney Mclntire, her son, and her granddaughter Cecelia.
Mama had purchased a 1929 model Essex by trading in our old Dodge touring car. She hoped we would return home in time to pay the first note on the new car. It was nearly dark when we drove over Elk Mountain and down into the valley to the town of Lakeport, county seat of Lake County, located on the shore of Clear Lake. We found Aunt Marney's home and arrived in time to have some of her famous beaten biscuits with country ham, ham gravy with onions, hash brown potatoes, and lemon pie for dessert. What a meal for six hungry people! After supper Aunt Marney called the town's only motel and reserved two cabins for us. Mama fixed eggs and grits for us next morning as we took inventory; we learned very quickly that we did not have enough money in the family to make it home to Mississippi. We learned also that work was very plentiful in the valley. Sis, Merrill (Big Red), and Harry (Little Red) went to work picking pears, while Milton and I got jobs in the cannery. I ran a lidding machine on the night shift and Milton worked with a girl crew preparing stringbeans for canning. I also worked in the daytime driving a two-ton stake body truck for a fruit farmer. We lived in Lakeport five weeks.
Merrill began to long for home, and I soon found out why. Big Red and I walked down to the post office one day and when my
brother learned he had received no mail he blew up. "Dammit to hell, Bro," he fumed. "I've been going with that girl seven years and haven't even had a post card!" He was thirteen and really had known little Marjorie Smith, our next door neighbor since he was six years old.
Cecilia told Sis that I had dated several girls in Lakeport but had not asked her out. I told her the reason I had not asked was because we were cousins. She replied, "Yes, fourth or fifth cousins." So I did ask her for a date. She was a Stanford major in physical education and a very sweet and highly intelligent young lady. I am very certain that if I had made Lakeport my home, we would have fallen in love, because we both enjoyed all the sports. The manager at the cannery offered me a promotion if I would remain in Lakeport, but Sis said if I stayed it would break Mama's heart. So we headed for Lake Tahoe and the Highway 80 route home.
We spent the night at Tahoe and early next morning we put on our bathing suits for a swim in the beautiful lake, about 8000 feet above sea level. I ran to the wharf and almost dived in, but a sixth sense warned me to test the water with my foot. It was so cold my toes turned purple. The water temperature had to be at least 33 degrees, so we all changed our minds quickly about swimming. We drove from Lake Tahoe to Reno and on to Salt Lake City. It was well after dark when we crossed the Great Salt Lake Desert and perhaps 10:00 that night when we finally got in bed. We stayed in a very lovely motel where we spent two days eating Mama's good cooking, washing clothes, and touring the great city the Mormons built. The Tabernacle was magnificent, truly an architectural triumph. I was also impressed with the manner in which the city was laid out, wide streets and avenues running east and west and north and south. The Great Salt Lake looked good to an old sailor too.
Our next stop was Cheyenne, Wyoming, a real cowboy and Indian town with plenty of mud streets. We spent the night there. The next day, in the foothills east of Cheyenne, it was snowing so we got out and took some snapshots and threw a tew snowballs. That night was spent in Lincoln, Nebraska, but we never forgot the stop we made at noon at a Nebraska farmhouse. The people