Go West, young family, Go West
Albuquerque! Where the hell is Albuquerque? That was the reaction we seven kids had when my dad announced in 1957 that we were moving there. We were living in my native state of Connecticut. In the charming town of Kensington. Happily ensconced with many friends in Kensington Grammar School, I was an entrepreneur. I had a paper route for Pete’s sake! We lived in this very charming old house built in 1760 with a widow’s walk on top. Behind the house was a large, two storied, unused barn with lots of dusty hay where we frolicked. (kids frolicked in the 50s cuz we didn’t have TikTok) I was excited about starting Junior High School with all my friends. It was an idyllic 1950s childhood. But seriously. Albuquerque? Who knew that 67 years later I’d still be pining for both of those places.
Two parents, seven kids and a black lab
So the summer after 6th grade my parents packed up our brand new 1957 Plymouth station wagon with a third seat that faced backwards. That’s where my two older sisters, Mary Ellen and Kathy, and I sat waving to every cute truck driver we passed. Brazen, cheeky, dumb-as-a-bag of hammers, teenage girls.
In between the third seat and the back seat was a narrow space where Igor, our black lab dog was squeezed in. How the hell did we do that? I dunno but I’m pretty sure he never complained. The middle back seat accommodated my older brother Tom, and my younger siblings John and Jeanne….she’s now know as Casey.
My parents were up front in the bench seat with my two yr old brother Chris standing up between them. No car seats or even seat belts back then. The 1957 child safety restraint was my mother’s left arm flying out in front of Chris whenever there was a sudden stop. Chris basically stood all the way to Albuquerque, some 2670 miles stopping in Pittsburg to say goodbye to family . Maybe that’s why he’s so short….sorry Chris.
I always thought we were kinda like the sitcom The Beverly Hillbillies except we were not hillbillies , Grandma wasn’t sitting on top of the car, and we were not going to Beverly Hills. But we were a loud bunch going West piled in one car. Since we were Irish Catholic we always started each trip with praying the Rosary for the first 30 miles. Then we’d break into singing show tunes. Oklahoma comes to mind. A musical group, indeed.
Route 66
We followed the only route out West at the time….Route 66. It started in Chicago and ended in LA. We arrived in Albuquerque on the evening of July 4th, 1957 in the middle of a dust storm. I hated our new home. So different from green, lush Connecticut. It was a perspective that changed over the five years we lived there.
On our road trip last October we retraced the route the family took back in 1957. One place that is almost an ode to that magical period is the wonderfully preserved Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, NM. We snapped up a room there when we saw there was a vacancy.
Wait! Did someone make a time machine? The new owners have beautifully maintained it….they still have the garages! Can you believe motels had garages? The beds, wall decor, lamps, patio furniture were all vintage. And of course two spectacularly preserved cars from the 50s. A ’57 Hudson and a ’51 Buick Special. Fabulous. Don’t miss it.
My new goal in life is to maintain myself as assiduously as the Blue Swallow Motel is. And to keep my bumpers shiny.
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