From Fringe-topped Surrey
To Planes In A Hurry
Most Baby Boomers and their children have little awareness of the amazing changes advancing technology has made in our manner of living.
Lilburn’s almost 100-year lifespan allowed him to ovserve these changes first-hand. In addition, his history hobby horse rides reinforced his recollections. A careful researcher and observer, he frequently shared some of his findings as a featured speaker at meetings of clubs and organizations.
An example is “From Fringed-Topped Surrey to Planes in a Hurry,” given at a Boonslick Historical Society Meeting in 1957. This talk was spiced up with some of the folklore stories he picked up on his rides.
A father and son from the backwoods ran smack dab into the wonders of modern transportation. As they came to a river there was a motor boat cutting its way through the water. Amazed, the boy asked, “Pappy, how come that boat run without no paddles?” The father shook his head and replied, “Well son, I don’t rightly know.” Farther on they came to a railroad as a sleek diesel powered streamliner glided by. In further astonishment the boy asked, “Pappy, how come that train run without smoke?” Again the father said, “Well son, I don’t rightly know.” Then they came to a highway where cars were whizzing past and the boy exclaimed, “Pappy, how come them buggies run without horses?” Again the father shook his head and said, “Well son, I don’t rightly know.”
As they sauntered along, the boy said, “Pappy, I guess you git tard me askin’ you so many questions?” “Naw,” said the father, “I doan git tard. You go right on. You won’t never larn nothin’ lessen you ask questions.”
In preparation of this paper, I have asked many questions but I don’t rightly know that I have “larned” enough of the right things about transportation to entertain you and justify your attendance.
Transportation is a subject as long, as wide and as deep as the sea. In a material sense it has been a vital factor in the life of every nation on earth. Spiritually, it is a part of life for every individual. But tonight I am concerned with the ways people have devised to move themselves from place to place. I mean to scratch the surface of this vast subject and review with you some changes in transportation and the reactions of people to them which have come under my observation during my short three score years plus.
I don’t recall ever riding in a baby buggy but I remember my delight when, as a little boy, I rode behind my father, my arms tight around his body, on old Jim, the family saddle horse. Bigger thrills were mine when a new world was opened up for me by my first long train ride to St. Louis. No kid ever leaned out of the window farther than I watching the wonders unfold along the railroad right-of-way. In the city was the flurry of a first street car, and the hotel elevator with a lift so sudden, it astonished my stomach. Recently in a large city I rode in a modern elevator lined solidly with beautiful walnut wood. Immediately after the operator closed the door, she opened it again. I thought she had done so to admit some belated passenger and made no move to leave. She looked at me in a way that said, “Get out,” but said, “Your floor, please.” In no sense had I been conscious of movement.
But all this excitement was nothing compared to the thrill of riding my own horse across the river on the ferry, dressing it up in shiny black harness and hitching it to a new made-to-order, all paid for, high seated runabout with hard rubber tires which I rode home in to conquer the social world.
Until I got this outfit, my courting wings had been clipped. Now they grew out fast and I could “fly the coop.” There were never enough evenings for buggy riding. No evening was long enough. How welcome daylight savings would have been.
My next big thrill in transportation came when a dealer left a Ford car for me to have and to hold. It afforded faster, though perhaps no fuller joy-riding, and it extended my horizon immeasurably.
At that time, adventurous car owners were making a journey called “the circle drive.” It took one through three counties: Howard, Saline and Cooper. It had to be made when the weather was pleasant and dry as a bone, for if you got caught in the rain, the mud would hold you like a rat in a trap. Usually two or more cars went together, strung along in caravan fashion. There was the feeling of safety in numbers such as pioneers appreciated when they traveled the Santa Fe Trail years ago. Of course there were no Indians on the circle drive but mechanical accidents could scalp your joy. If one car was overtaken by trouble, another could come to the rescue.
After ferrying the river at Glasgow, the caravan chugged on to Gilliam and Slater, exploring the main streets. Usually someone who had made the trip before, was able to point out the imposing homes of the bankers. In Marshall, Eastwood Avenue with its stately homes, set far back from the street amid magnificent trees, was traversed slowly and the cars circled the spacious town square before heading toward Arrow Rock for a casual view of the Old Tavern.
Then came the home-stretch toward Boonville with everyone hoping there would be no flat tires or other delays, for there was a deadline to be met, the six o’clock ferry back to Howard County.
A girl from Mississippi was visiting near my home when the Ford car entered my life. And she was the first girl to enter my Ford. I had done everything I could to make her visit pleasant for me, and when she was about to leave for home, it seemed the ultimate would be to give her “the circle drive.” And so I did, ever mindful that the Boonville ferry was a must at six o’clock. I don’t recall ever hearing anybody say what should be done in the event one missed the ferry. You just didn’t miss the ferry.
You know how, after an enjoyable occasion, we are prone to indulge in retrospection, to analyze and assay bits of conversation? Well, after this girl had gone home and had, no doubt, changed Ford cars, I pondered something she had said as we were riding along a tree-bowered road unspoiled by highway builders. She had said, “This is a chahmin lane, so shady an’ cool. The clustahs of wild roses along heah a’e just beautiful. Don’t you evah get ti’ed drivin’ so far, so fast, an’ feel like restin’ a little?” I had assured her, “I never get tired when I am with you,” but was thinking, what is a new Ford for but to drive far and fast? We made the ferry. As I have just said, I was brought up to make the ferry. But I have wondered ever since, if I had missed the ferry, would I have “made the boat?”
Back in 1929 I crossed the Atlantic on a boat loaded with 1200 mules bound for Mediterranean ports. It took 21 days. There were all kinds of thrills connected with that trip. A notable one was of a burial at sea of a mule that had died. A bigger thrill would have been to bury the other 1199. In 1954 I stood again on the shore of the Mediterranean and marvelled that in only 21 hours I had just flown over from New York, with two hours to idle in Ireland and four to loaf in Paris. Such is the magic of modern transportation.
There has always been competition between forms of transportation. Each type has had its heyday of usefulness and popularity until supplanted by some other. Travel by steamboat and by buggies and wagons drawn by horse-power was superseded by railroads. The latter are being supplanted by gasoline vehicles until they must rely upon long, cross-country hauls for passengers and freight for survival. And now airlines are arch competitors of automobiles, trucks and buses. It doesn’t seem possible that airplanes might ever supersede ground vehicles, but who, fifty years ago, ever dreamed that the world would be literally run over by automobiles as it is today. Fifty million of them in 1956. Changes come mighty fast.
Everyone is familiar through personal experience, reading, radio and television of the refinements of up-to-date transportation but it is only when we look back into earlier days and make comparisons that we realize what superior advantages we enjoy today.
Perhaps it will be revealing for you to listen in on a repetition of reminiscences of some old men who found horse and buggy days interesting. There is Hank Brady, a railroad engineer, Pat Bradford, a farmer and Lem Pickens who ran a livery stable until driven into the early automobile business, all retired. But each is still quick on the mental trigger and alert to current events. In fact, current events are springboards from which they dive into the pools of memory and bring up souvenirs to be re-examined.
The other evening they sat in comfortable chairs in a shady yard in town when Johnnie Cutter, local “cool cat,” rolled up the street in his sleek two-tone convertible, honking blatantly as he approached the house next door. Needless honking, for Judy, his current “warm plate,” becurled and beruffled, had run out to the curb and was waiting before he brought his car to a momentary pause. Nonchalantly they watched her open the door, swing herself in slamming it shut. In a burst of speed, they were gone.
“By golly,” exclaimed Hank Brady, the railroader, “that gal swung onto that car like a brakeman hoppin’ a train! And Johnnie,” he continued, reminiscently, “with that horn brings back the days when I used to blow the whistle of old 906 to let my girl know when I was gettin’ in or out on my St. Louis run. We had a sort of courtin’ code. I could blow the whistle sweet to tell her I loved her. I could make it sound sad and wet with tears when I was pullin’ out. And when whistlin’ in, I would blow it impatient - like so as to remind her I could hardly wait to get off the engine, wash up and get out to her house to take her buggy ridin’. She lived out of town a piece and I couldn’t get out there in a wink like Johnnie breezes in here.”
“I got a horse and buggy at Lem’s livery stable,” Hank continued, “generally an old mare named Maud and a right nifty looking rubber-tired buggy, black and shiny. I was always so anxious to get out to my girl’s I felt like whippin’ old Maud into a run, but she had her limitations and I just throttled her down to a trot, nine or ten miles an hour. When I got out there I tied old Maud to the hitchrack and hurried into the house.”
“Mabel always looked ready to go when she met me at the door and invited me in but if she was ever in a rush, she never let on. I always talked to her old folks awhile before we started out.
“When we left the house, she waited at the end of the walk until I brought up the buggy, turned old Maud to cut the wheels, and got out. As I held the lines tight in my right hand and she put her foot on the step, I took hold of her arm with my left hand and squeezed it a little to save words as I eased her up into the buggy. As she smoothed her skirts about her, I climbed in and settled myself in what was left of the narrow seat of the HMT, clucked to old Maud and away we went.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t go gallivantin’ to the four ends of the earth like Judy and Johnnie,” interrupted Pat Bradford, (whose voice was high-pitched) “why they are going sixty miles down the road to a street fair. Beats all I ever heard of. Judy’s Ma wasn’t a bit in favor of it and raised old Ned but Judy raised more old Ned than her Ma, so her Ma had to give in.”
“No,” continued Hank Brady, “we didn’t run all over creation. As a rule we didn’t have any destination, didn’t need any. We didn’t think anything about having no place to go. But now and then we drove several miles into the country where they had dances they called ‘moonlights’. Funny, they used to have them in the dark of the moon as well as when it was shinin’. To the music of fiddle, banjo and guitar, each fellow transported as many girls as possible around the platform, waltzin’ and two-steppin’, between the dances he had with the girl he took. I used to wish I could dance every one with Mabel like the boys do now, but it wouldn’t have looked well. Young fellows now don’t care how it looks. Those ‘moonlights’ were mighty nice affairs and the ride home was always pleasant and cool, joggin’ along smellin’ the smells of night, damp and willowy along the creek and hay curin’ in the fields.”
Lem Pickens spoke with quite a drawl. “Speaking of racing,” he said, “nobody could outrace Mrs. Sue Lee. She would poke along the road on purpose until somebody tried to pass her, then she would lean out of her buggy and say, “You think your horse is better than mine?” By then, she had touched her horse with the whip and was way ahead pulling the beatenes’ cloud of dust you ever saw.”
“She put it all over me once, that way,” chimed in Pat Bradford.
It seemed Hank Brady couldn’t drop the subject of old Maud and he continued, “Old Maud wasn’t much trouble to guide and she went along quietly unless a horsefly or something bit her. But in one way, she just beat all. If I got careless, thinkin, more about Mabel than I was about the lines, and let them hang loose, she would switch her tail over them and clamp it down tight like a vise, throwin’ me completely out of control. The old mare seemed to take delight in it.
Of course I had to stop right there and free the lines. There were two ways to go at it. One was to hold to the dashboard with the right hand and lean forward, careful not to lose my balance, and forcibly lift her tail with the left. The other and safer way was to get out of the buggy and work from the side. But by then, she acted like she had lost her taste for the joke and lifted her tail herself. I wanted to kill her for putting me to all that trouble and embarrassin’ Mabel like she did.”
“Speaking of horse and buggy riding,” began Lem Pickens, “I shall never forget the time Cousin Sallie asked Ma to go with her to spend the day with their cousin. I took Ma to the crossroads where Cousin Sallie picked her up and told me to be back there at 5 o’clock when she would drop Ma off on the way home. But things didn’t work out according to Hoyle. You see, she was driving old Lucy, a mare with a suckling colt. But lately, the colt had become such a nuisance tagging along, always trying to get its dinner, Cousin Sallie left it at home that day. Well, the women had such a nice visit but when they got ready to start home, old Lucy was so restless from not seeing her colt all day long, they couldn’t get into the buggy until somebody held her bridle to make her stand still. Only by being right agile did they make it at all.
“And speaking of that old mare reminds me,” he continued, “you remember old Kate, the mule Mrs. Francis used to drive to her buggy?” She was gentle as a lamb but slower than a turtle. Remember how Mrs. Francis had to whip her nearly every step to keep her on the go? But that wasn’t old Kate’s worst fault. Whenever they got to the edge of town, old Kate began to bray, “Haw-hee-haw,” as if to let everybody know they were coming. And she kept it up right through town if Mrs. Francis didn’t whip her extra. She wasn’t proud of driving a mule anyhow and this braying just humiliated her the more. But she said she would rather suffer humiliation than to whip old Maud in public and be frowned on by the ladies of the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”
In the heyday of railroads, the Katy ran three passenger trains each way, daily, through Howard and Cooper Counties. It was possible to enter a Pullman Parlor Car in Chicago and ride through here to Texas without a change. On the other hand the service did not please everyone. One disgruntled passenger, speaking of one train, said that whenever the engine whistled, it had to slow down, it didn’t have enough steam to whistle and pull three coaches at the same time. But whether the service was good or bad, the time had come when nobody relied upon any other mode of travel between towns along the railroad.
The trains had all the comforts of the day to make travel pleasant. The passengers rode in blissful ignorance of better things to come. There were coal-burning engines with firemen always shoveling fuel into the fireboxes. Smoke and cinders which poured through the windows, open in summer for fresh air-conditioning, were accepted as a matter of course. An extra handkerchief was carried as an accessory for removing cinders from the eyes. Open windows were hazardous. Passengers with young children made them sit next to the aisle lest they throw something valuable out, or worse still, stand up in the seat and fall out themselves. Aunt Catherine Kingsbury, starting on a trip to Virginia, sneezed inadvertently before a window just North of Fayette and lost her teeth. In dismay she cried, “O’ conductor, stop the train! stop the train!” The conductor chanced to be within hearing distance and pulled the signal rope before he knew what had happened. When the train jolted to a sudden stop, there was nothing for him to do but start it again. She got off at Higbee and caught the next train back to organize a searching party, or failing in that, arrange for a restoration.
The trains consisted of several coaches. Back of the engine and tender was the combination baggage, mail and express car. Next to it came the smoker, upholstered in wicker or rattan. Here, men enjoyed their pipes and cigars without offense to women and here they preferred to ride when traveling alone. In the front seat the “butcher boy” kept his stock of goods. He made rounds through the coaches between towns, offering white sheets of chewing gum with fancy pictures attached, motto candy, licorice, fruit, small novelties and magazines for sale.
Back of the smoker were one or more parlor cars upholstered in luxurious red or green velvet (mohair). These were occupied by women and children, and men who chose to remain with them in preference to an escape to the smoker. It seemed a little effeminate for a man to ride in the parlor car unless he was with his family or accompanying what we today call “a date.”
In all coaches the seats originally were straight-backed and double but they were reversible so an arrangement for persons to sit facing each other was possible. But the time came when a reclining chair service was installed in parlor coaches on trains which made night runs. This delighted the public who acclaimed it was a great step toward the comfort of the passengers. It became common for a traveler to wait for a night rain so he could recline. These chairs proved so popular that within a month, all parlor cars were fitted with them and passengers reclined with utter abandon both day and night.
Heat was supplied by little stoves in corners of the coaches. Temperature was subject to quick changes because doors and windows were opened often. There was a tank of drinking water on the wall at one end of the coach, with a common drinking cup. It was before germs learned to travel.
It was smart to remain seated while the train was in motion lest the lurching throw one down. But, for the benefit of those who must move, leather loops were suspended from the ceiling to assist one through the aisle. You could not tell when a man passed through the car whether he was drunk or sober. And it was wise not to go from one coach to another, platforms being open and the couplings over which one must step did a real rock and roll. However, gentlemen who excused themselves from the women in the parlor car and went forward to the smoker, watched their steps and made the transfer safely if not with the skill of the train crew.
At the towns along the railroad on a sunny Sunday afternoon, many people, dressed in their best clothes, weary of the doldrums of life in a little town, strolled leisurely down to the depot to see the trains come and go, curious to see who might get off and who might depart.
When the weather was pleasant, people congregated on the platform to visit. In colder weather they sat on benches or stood around the potbellied stoves in the waiting rooms until the station agent bustled around locking up his office. This was the signal the train was due. Everyone then filed out on the platform to see the train come down the track, the engine small in perspective at first, but growing bigger and bigger as she bore down toward the depot, bell clanging and smoke pouring from her stack like black hair brushed straight back. Instinctively, everyone drew away from the rails as she breezed by the platform like a snorting black beast with a body odor of steam and hot grease, and came to a panting stop.
Back at the parlor cars, those expecting guests wore glad, welcoming expressions as they pressed toward the Negro porter who had set down his little step and was assisting passengers to alight. There were cries of recognition, hand-shakes, hugs and kisses in keeping with the fervor of the greetings. Then as these people moved away, chatting happily, the departing ones, some with sober faces, pushed toward the porter, said goodbyes, and once up the steps hurried inside the coach to a seat, if possible, by a window on the depot side. Here postscripts of conversation could be said to those still waiting outside, and a final goodbye might be said when the conductor shouted, “All aboard.”
Fifty years ago, students at the colleges in Fayette, arrived by train. Many had to change cars in Moberly and “lay over” there. An official from the colleges was there on the day of great influx to shepherd the lambs and keep off the wolves until they were on the train, Fayette-bound, where upon arrival they would be reasonably safe within the fold. Their arrival was an occasion considered worthy of a reception by a brass band. It played lively airs as the students got off the train and attended their satchels, telescopes and valises. A committee from the Y.M.C.A. was on hand to welcome them and offer any assistance necessary. Then, with a rousing march the band led the procession of new students, on foot, up Main St., toward the colleges, circling the square enroute. Merchants stood outside their stores projecting personality as best they could through greetings. Doubtless they looked with appraising eyes for potentially these boys and girls constituted a shot in the arm for business.
Imagine if you can, anyone strolling anywhere today, and of all places, to the railroad depot. It is a very desolate spot. Bill Vaughan of the Kansas City Star said recently that about the only place where a voter can feel safe from shaking hands with a candidate is at the depot. The trains which were such a blessing, the pride and joy of people fifty years ago, no longer pound the rails in Howard and Cooper counties. Some of us need to travel 30 to 50 miles for even a sight of diesel-powered domeliners which move only on main lines. These palace cars move with as much grace as a woman who has learned to walk with a book on her head. Inside are all the refinements of a modern home and the ride is so smooth that one can thread a needle. The railroads are providing every luxury to induce you and me to ride the rails instead of highways and skyways.
The first automobiles I can remember were driven by Ferd Arn of Boonville and Perry Lewis of St. Louis. The Arn car had a high seat from which one looked down upon humanity, and a bar for steering instead of a wheel. There was a little bicycle bell which tinkled terror into the hearts of pedestrians. Perry Lewis, reputedly wealthy, drove his large car, a Stevens-Durea, over dirt roads from St. Louis to visit his Howard County relatives. A hippopotamus on the street today would not attract a larger, more curious crowd than Mr. Lewis’ car did when he stopped in New Franklin.
Early motorists gave no end of worry to all who drove horses which were not accustomed to the contraptions and cut all kinds of capers at the sight of them. If the driver in a buggy had any warning of the approach of one of these automobiles, he pulled quickly to the side of the road as far as possible, leaped out and grabbed his horse by the bridle with both hands and constituted himself a weight to keep the beast from rearing up, all the while muttering imprecations upon the driver of the car. It would be difficult to say which was scared worse, the drivers of the buggy or the men and women in the automobiles, of what the horses might do. Sometimes they were quite docile and did nothing. It was usual for the farmer, before venturing out upon the road with a horse and buggy, to phone up and down the party line to find out whether any autos had been on the road that day, and if so, where were they, and were they heading toward or from home.
Automobiles had not been in use long before matters of licenses, speed limits and general safety became issues. In 1907 the legislature passed a bill establishing a $5 license fee for each automobile. Speed limits were in force and a party in St. Louis was fined $100 for exceeding the limit of nine miles per hour in effect in the city. In the country, one could speed 15 miles per hour with impunity so far as the law was concerned.
The papers of that time ran pertinent editorials, such as this one: “Why the automobile is charged for passing through a county when a wagon of any size pays nothing, is hard to understand. It must be due to prejudice against the automobile in the county but this will pass. In former years it existed against the traction engine. Anything that a horse does not understand, frightens him.
“Autos are new on country roads away from large cities. The automobile has come to stay, not the one operated by some incompetent or reckless person, and perhaps not the evil smelling oil wagon now in common use. But the principle of the invention will last. Its use is rapidly growing and it has a use outside of pleasure. It will rapidly grow in popularity and not only result in good highways but to a great extent, supplant the horse and beast of burden.
“The laws are aimed at reckless drivers. But these fools will soon grow weary of such a plaything and endeavor to attract attention to themselves by balloon ascensions or something of the kind wherein the public will have the satisfaction of knowing that only their valueless selves will be in danger.”
A man in New Franklin was driving a Model T Ford with his wife and some other ladies. They were chugging along when one of them became uneasy and inquired how fast he was driving. He replied, “Not very fast, about 15 miles per hour.” Horrified the guest exclaimed, “Fifteen miles!” and addressing the man’s wife, said in a pleading tone, “Oh Jennie, make him slow down.”
If you owned one of the high, hideous but efficient Model T Fords, do you recall the operating routine? You climbed in by the right door for there was no left hand door by the front seat, and reached over to the wheel and set the spark and throttle in the position of the hands of a clock at ten minutes to three. Then, unless you had a self-starter for which you paid extra as did Floyd Capito in 1914 (and he believes he had the first starter in the county) you got out to crank. Seizing the crank in your right hand (carefully for a friend once broke his arm cranking) you slipped your left forefinger through a loop of wire that controlled the choke. You pulled the loop of wire and revolved the crank mightily, and as the engine roared, you leaped to the trembling running board, got in, moved the spark and throttle to 25 minutes of two. Perhaps you reached the throttle before the engine faltered into silence, but if it was a cold morning, probably not. In that case, back to the crank again and the loop of wire.
But with the passing of years all this was changed. Automobiles were made with such precision that motorists hardly knew a spark plug by sight, many never even lifted the hood to see what the engine looked like. People left the shovel, the towrope and the log chain carried for emergencies at home. As cars were closed, bodies were swung lower and balloon tires came in. Paved roads and filling stations became so plentiful that the motorist sallied forth for the day without fear of being stuck in the mud or stranded without benefit of gasoline.
Villages which once prospered because they were “on the railroad” languished with economic anemia while villages on automobile highways blossomed with hot-dog stands, repair garages, restaurants, antique shops, motels, trailer camps, and night clubs.
Railroad after railroad has abandoned its branch lines as revenues dwindled under competition of mammoth interurban buses and trucks which snort along the concrete highways.
Every car manufacturer is creating new styles, new lines in their 1957 models which will make our present automobiles look obsolete. They are beautiful with luxurious appointments. They are also higher in price. But when were car prices not going up? In 1914 a Ford could be bought for $514 and if a certain number of cars were sold within a limited time, the dealer could refund $50 of that amount to each purchaser. Of course each buyer did get his $50 refund but whether he would or not hardly entered into the purchase. He liked the car and would have it regardless of price. Manufacturers are putting the new cars on the market today in the belief, proven sound, that if Mr. John Q. Public wants a car he will buy it regardless of price and unmindful of the interest he may have to pay on deferred payments.
We have become so accustomed to the accomplishments of modern transportation that nothing amazes us any more. We accept it all as a part of our American birthright. Or perhaps it is because it is completely beyond our comprehension. In September, Capt. Irvin C. Kinchloe piloted a Bell rocket X2 to an altitude of nearly 24 miles. Lt. Col. Frank K. Everest flew the X2 1900 miles per hour. Late in the month, Capt. Apt drove it even faster but unfortunately it brought him death in a crash from a mere 3000 feet. Since then, a missile has been fired into the sky 80 miles before it reversed its course. A lot of people have signed up for the first trips to the moon.
My mind is just as confused about these things as was that of the boy who wondered about boats without paddles, trains without smoke and buggies without horses. To “larn” I shall be obliged to ask a lot of questions and I hope you rightly know the answers.
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