Spring break, 1972

I was a freshman at the University of Texas, and the one-week spring break was coming up. Some students went home to be with their families in Dallas or Houston, rich ones took skiing trips in Colorado or places more exotic, and others traveled down to Padre Island for a few days of music and drinking. I suppose a handful of people stayed in Austin and studied. I had a different plan.

By coincidence, my family—parents and two younger brothers—had moved 1,200 miles north to Livonia, Michigan just when I was going south to UT for the first time. It had to do with my father being transferred to a different job with Ford Motor Company. Actually, I had gone up there at Christmas time; somewhere I still have a photo of us smiling and happy at the Detroit airport.

I told a friend, Baxter Stanley, that I might hitchhike to Michigan for spring break, and he cautioned me against any such attempt. I realized I might not get there or that I was inviting trouble, but I was young and naïve. On a Saturday morning in April, I left campus, walked to the nearby Interstate Highway 35 and stuck out my thumb. I have vague memories of carrying a cardboard sign with the letters D-E-T-R-O-I-T scrawled thereon. Nearly 40 years have passed, so the reader should cut me some slack for an absence of details.

Somehow, my foolish venture was successful. I got one ride after another, seldom having to wait by the side of the road for too long. I kept a list of the cars and people who offered to give me a lift. In a few instances, the drivers took pity on all hitchhikers because I joined others in the back seat (or sometimes in the bed of a truck). There were a couple of times when I had doubts, such as when it was raining and the cars just kept whizzing by. Yes, it occurred to me that maybe I should go on the other side of the highway and head south—in other words, give up. I recall an angry policeman in Oklahoma who instructed me to get into his car and said I was violating the law. He took me to some "legal" spot, and wished me goodbye and good luck.

And then came Larry in a big, black Lincoln Continental. He carried me through several states including Missouri, Illinois and Indiana. We spent one night in a motel room before getting back on the road. Larry was a blustery kind of guy who let me drive part of the way. I figured the farther we went together, the better it was for me so I kept him talking. I think Larry finally dropped me off somewhere in central Ohio.

By that point, I was a lot closer to Michigan than to Texas and the rides came in rapid succession. Upon reaching the metropolitan Detroit area, I could hardly believe my good fortune. The last few drivers to pick me up were quite surprised too and took me farther than they might have otherwise. Outside of Livonia, some teenagers stopped, listened to my tale and drove me the rest of the way to my family’s house on Parker Street. If I am not mistaken, that was my 25th ride.

I knocked on the door. I had not told the family of my plans to hitchhike 1,400 miles during spring break, so they were somewhat amazed to see me standing on the porch. One of my brothers asked how I was going to get back to Austin, and I told him I would be taking the bus. A few days later, fortified with peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, I was escorted to a nearby bus station and headed south.

I look back at what I did on this journey in 1972 and realize just how crazy it was. I am glad it worked out, but I shudder to think of the bad things that might have happened.