Growing up in Louisa – Hitch-hiking
Weekly feature . . . by Mike Coburn
I’m not old enough to know when this practice began, but it has ‘always been around’ in my remembrance, even as a little boy. I guess a form of hitching rides may have happened even back in the horse and buggy days, or even back in the time of chariots. As a little kid I occasionally rode over the local highways in other people’s cars to visit relatives or to make a shopping trip to Huntington, or somewhere else. I would see people, usually men, out there thumbing.
I remember once when I was very young, maybe around six or seven, my mom enrolled me in the Boy Scouts, or actually the Cub Scouts. I think that our den mother was Maggie Boggs, the mother of Johnny Bill, one of my best friends. In spite of having many department stores in town, none carried scout uniforms, so we had to go to Huntington to a big department store (I’ve forgotten its name). We found the section after riding an elevator. Mom helped me get the blue and yellow outfit and accessories that came complete with a yellow scarf, scout slide, cub-scout patches, etc. We bought a manual, too, so we could practice mottos, laws, etc. Mom explained to me that this stuff wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t the money to me, but I valued the outfit because it was the same colors that the US Cavalry wore in those wonderful movies at the Garden Theater. I actually wore it to grade school on ‘Scout Day,’ along with some of my friends and was the envy of the others. I was proud to stand up and give the scout salute during the pledge to the flag. The point of the story is that when coming back from Huntington we saw a young boy and a girl standing on the road with their thumbs out. I don’t remember whose car it was, or who was driving, but we scouts were required to do good deeds. I asked if we could pick them up so the driver circled back and pulled over to let the two in the car. We dropped them off in Wayne, which was where they said they lived. They seemed nice and were grateful for the lift.
As I grew older, over and over I would continue to see people trying to hitch rides. It seemed to me to be a common-sense method to get ‘down the road’ to wherever you had to go. After all, not everybody had cars in those days. When I was a little older I would hitch-hike to visit relatives in Catlettsburg, or perhaps to see friends that lived outside of town.
I remember grownups talking once about the audacity of one of the local girls that hitched hiked all the way to Virginia to look over a college she thought she might want to attend. During her absence everyone was concerned that someone might pick her up, kill, or hurt her. When she came home we were assured that she had not encountered any problems. We were glad for that. It was a bit of a wakeup call for me because in my innocence I couldn’t see why anyone would want to harm her. Then, just as I figured out that there were indeed a few evil folks out there on the road, I heard on the news that a hitch-hiker had taken advantage of a driver and turned into robber, which is the opposite of what we feared. The driver was put at the mercy of the passenger. More and more I noticed stories on the radio and TV about hitch-hikers that would steal money, the car and even beat up or murder the owner. So now I saw the risk where either the driver could be a killer, or molester, or where the hitch-hiker themselves might have plans to rob or kill. No wonder some people wouldn’t stop and offer a ride!
Did that stop the practice? Not that I could tell. Our family rarely owned a working car, so I wasn’t on the road that often. We would usually catch a bus down at Doc Skagg’s Drug Store, or a friend would take us here or there when needed. Hitch-hikers were still on the roads in spite of those well-publicized incidents. Most of the riders were men who looked as if they’d run into car trouble, were commuting home from work, or maybe were just a little down on their luck.
I think I was around ten or eleven when I got mad at my cousin I lived with and stormed out of the house. I walked down to the lower end of town on Lock Avenue and crossed the railroad tracks. Once there, out came the thumb. A nice farmer picked me up and dropped me off part of the way to my destination. Then another picked me up and took me to my aunt’s farm near Catlettsburg. It was my intent to change my permanent domicile to stay with the good Walter’s family. My aunt Barbra was shocked when I showed up unannounced, but even more shocked that I had gotten rides from strangers. She was wise enough to let me stay a couple of days and cool down, but I found out that she sneaked a call to tell my family where I was. They weren’t upset because they hadn’t even missed me yet.
After I grew up and left town for the Air Force I came home for visits, once or twice on the train or bus, but also several times with my thumb. I essentially duplicated the route the girl had made many years earlier. Wearing my Air Force uniform, I had no trouble getting rides because I didn’t fit the image of the suspicious characters that might have robbery in mind. Many of the people that picked me up were veterans. All but one of the drivers were nice. That one couldn’t keep his hands to himself. I had heard of people like that but I wasn’t open to that kind of behavior. I told him that I had been trained by the military to defend myself and if he didn’t back off I would be forced to tear his arm from the socket unless he desisted. He behaved, which is a good thing because I hadn’t been trained to tear arms out. Anyway, he let me out at the next crossroads. Frankly, I was glad to have made it out of that car. I could then see how the stories about risks could be true.
An Air Force buddie and I once caught a ride in a military airplane to a base near Mobile, Alabama. We were trying to get to Shreveport, Louisiana, so we had to go out on the highway and stick out our thumbs to catch a ride further west. There was a risk that we wouldn’t get a ride and get stranded, but after only a few minutes’ two fellows picked us up and said they’d take us as far as the Biloxi, Mississippi area. They went on to explain that the best road for us to take to reach Shreveport was up through Jackson, the capitol of Mississippi, but they gave us a warning that we’d have to use caution. They went on to spin a tail that the girls up there were extremely aggressive because the boy-girl ratio was seriously out of balance there. There were too many girls and not enough boys. They told us that men of character would ignore their cat whistles and avoid being picked up. That, of course is just the opposite of how it was anywhere else. My friend and I just looked at each other and had visions of paradise. When the two men let us out they warned us again to be careful.
The next car that picked us up was a man in a business suit. As he drove us north he apologized that he was stopping in Jackson, but that he’d take us through the city and drop us off on the other side for safety’s sake. He explained that it would be easier to catch a ride there and we’d be past the more dangerous areas. Then he explained it would still be likely that some girls would be on the prowl. He told us very much the same story that the first guys related. He explained that the girls were seriously after men and we’d need to be careful. He said it wouldn’t be beyond wild girls to gang up on the two of us. I looked at my friend and a shiver of both anticipation and a dark fear came over me. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Maybe there’s something to these crazy stories?
After he let us out on a divided highway just west of the city we took our position next to the road to start thumbing. We had only been there maybe three or four minutes and a carload of girls going the other direction slowed and started hollering, “You wait there, we’ll come around,” meaning they had to get to a place where they could cross over the median. Just then a car braked and squealed in next to us and we opened the passenger door. It was a US Navy Commander in uniform! He said, “Hurry, get in.” My friend told him some girls were coming around to pick us up. The Commander said, “Get in. That’s an order!” We replied as trained, “Yes, sir,” and got in. He explained this was not a safe place for a man and we were lucky he had seen us. Just then the carload of girls drove past us waiving their fists and hollering at our driver. I looked at my friend, finally believing, swallowed, and settled back for the ride toward the Mississippi River and safety. We were stuck in that car because the officer outranked us. He took us all the way to Shreveport where my friend’s parents lived. I’ve often wondered what we may have experienced if that Commander hadn’t saved us. I never had the occasion to go back to Jackson. Maybe it turned out for the best.
I still see folks out on the roads trying to catch a ride, but there’s a lot fewer than was common back in the day. Part of the reason may be the reputation has curtailed many people from doing this. The interstates also have limited access and are high speed making it dangerous to stop. Considering that not only do most families have cars now but so do most people of driving age. I suspect it is also a sign that society is more affluent. Of course we still see some hitch-hikers. Likely it’s the only choice the person has, but frankly I believe the risks are higher these days, too.
In spite of this I have heard of young men and women who have thumbed across America and some in Europe where I suspect it is more common. A few have traveled out to Hollywood where they hope to make it big as a star or starlet. As a grandfather, that thought scares me. I fear too many might just become another statistic. Certainly I did it in my youth and I’m blessed to have survived. I rode in nice cars, jalopies, eighteen wheelers, and in the back of old rundown pickups. I did it in the summer and in the winter. Once a kind trooper took me as far as the county line and radioed ahead to have another meet us to take me on a bit further.
Undoubtedly hitch-hiking has cost lives and ended in trauma of many kinds, but on the other hand I’m sure it has saved lives, too. I traveled to see friends and family when otherwise it wouldn’t have been possible. I’ve heard stories of people traveling home, sometimes to a funeral, or a dying relatives’ hospital bed. Some wanted to see a loved one, or to sneak a visit with the farmer’s daughter, or even to interview for a badly needed job. There are many reasons, and many different results. I have heard tales of celebrities picking up a run-away and helping them home. There are drivers that have delivered a kid from a rough life on the street, or helped them escape from human trafficking. So it isn’t all bad, but it will always be a serious risk for either party.
Anyway, these are my memories and opinions on the subject. I’m sure readers likely have stories on the subject. Some may be good while others may be bad. Some may have been close calls. Write and tell me. Maybe I’ll share it if you agree.
