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A Hitchhiker Remembers U.S. 40 The year was 1949 and I was 16 years old. I had just been to Pennsylvania to go hunting with my brother-in-law and it was time to return to Kansas, where I was working on a farm. I had the choice of spending my money for a bus ticket, or hitch-hiking and keeping the $25 the ticket would have cost.I was spending my first winter out of high school making $75 a month, so I decided to hitch-hike. Hitch-hiking was a common way of traveling in those days, and relatively safe. I had the advantage of being young and innocent looking. Drivers sometimes told me they picked me up for that reason. Sometimes the drivers would buy my meals, and once in a while would even let me help drive. I remember a time I was crossing Illinois with a couple of other guys. We stopped at a service station, and one of them asked if I had two nickels for a dime. He put one of the nickels in a slot machine and came away with a whole handful of nickels.
The sun had been shining when my sister and brother-in-law dropped me off at the Pennsylvania turnpike entrance. I had done this before and had in fact made better time than I could on the bus. But this was the first time I’d done it in winter. Since most travelers were going all the way through Pennsylvania if they were on the turnpike, one ride would usually get me to the New Stanton exit, which was where Highway 40 continued west. If I was lucky, they might even be going farther. On this particular day, though, I didn’t happen to get any long rides. It had been chilly all day, and now with the setting of the sun, the cold began to press in. I pulled my light jacket closer. The raw wind whipped around my ears and through my close-cropped hair, styled in the “butch” haircut which was popular at the time. I steadfastly refused to wear a cap. I got a ride as far as Englewood, Ohio, and walked across the long earthen dam, up the hill and through the main street of town. I stopped to get something to eat, being careful to ration the few dollars I had left. My dream of getting a straight through ride never materialized and I spent the entire day getting as far as Indianapolis. I had about $20 with me when I left Pennsylvania, and by now it was down to $15. I checked at the bus station in Indianapolis and didn’t have enough for a ticket. I had walked or taken a bus through most of the city.
A car finally slowed down and started to pull to the side of the road. I breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving, grabbed my tattered suitcase and started to run after it. I was about to reach the car when, not even noticing me, he turned into his driveway. I watched as the driver pulled into his garage, got out of his car and walked into his nice warm house, all decorated for the coming Christmas season. I stomped my numb feet on the cement and gamely stuck out my cold thumb. I finally managed to get as far as Brazil, Indiana after a few rides. I checked at the bus station, and was still about a dollar short. My next ride took me to Terre Haute, where I headed straight for the bus station. It was getting quite late when I walked in to check the price. I was relieved to find out I had enough to buy a ticket to Chapman, Kansas, where Clyde could pick me up. At last I had found a place where I could put my suitcase down and sit on a bench and warm up a little! I even had $2 leftover to spend at the bus stop, which was really a tidy sum. Coffee, candy bars, pin ball machines, and even an ice cream cone cost just a nickel, and a hamburger was a quarter or less. My only regret was being penniless when I arrived back in Kansas. I still sometimes think of that cold winter I hitch-hiked across Indiana. My work sometimes brings me to the State Government Center on Washington Street in Indianapolis, and I know I would have walked right by there on that cold evening in 1949. I now have one daughter living just a few blocks from Washington Street (old Highway 40) in Indianapolis, and another, who helps produce this magazine, lives close to Brazil. Every time I tell them that I used to hitch-hike on Old Highway 40 their response is always the same, “Dad, you’ve already told us that.” And their husbands comment as they roll their eyes heavenward, “Yes, many times”.
Ed Meyer now lives with his wife Nettie on a farm in Northern Indiana, just east of Bremen on Highway 6. Indiana travelers often recognize the Meyer’s barn, which was featured in “Barns of Indiana”. He now works for the State of Indiana as a veterinarian. He and his wife raised four children who all claim to live interesting lives. But none of them has hitch-hiked across the country. |
Rising Hill, on U.S. 40 in Hendricks county. This magnificent 1870 historic home will be featured on Bob Vila's Restore America on March 19 and 9 p.m. Central, 10 p.m. eastern time on HGTV. You can also learn more about it in the April issue of SouthernIN.com as we continue our look at The National Road. |
All Feature Articles, artwork and photographs ©1999 by Dervish Design. Some information on the 'County Info' pages is taken directly from brochures published by Visitors Bureaus and Chambers of Commerce.
Anyone who has any interest in cars, especially old cars could wax nostalgic just thinking of the cars that would have been on the highway in 1949. Hudson, Nash, Studebakers, and even the occasional Kaiser or Frazer were commonly seen. Model A Fords were everywhere. There were no foreign cars, not even the VW Beetle. Cars were either built before 1942 or after 1945, unless it was a Ford built for the Army. All of us young boys could identify the year and model of any approaching car, because Fords looked like Fords, Chevys looked like Chevys, and nobody under thirty would drive a Plymouth unless your dad bought it for you as a graduation gift. I can’t even talk about what a thrill it would be now to see a brand new 1949 Ford, Chevy or Studebaker pickup drive by. But they were farm trucks then, and only farmers had pickups.