In the summer of 1974, at the tender age of 10, I embarked on an epic month long roadtrip around the United States with my Aunt Dottie, her stepmother (whose name escapes me) and my cousin Lori. I had never really spent much time with this side of my family, so traveling with them was unfamiliar, yet there I was, with little more than a small suitcase and a sense of adventure, ready to see what lay ahead. Back then cell phones where the things of science fiction so I am left only with faded memories at best, and while the details may be lost to the years, the really big moments, have stayed with me for a lifetime. Every time I find myself retelling stories from this trip I realize it has more the makings of a Farrelly Brothers movie than the mundane family roadtrip of a “what I did for my summer vacation” back-to-school essay.
So on that perfectly sunny, California summer’s day, we set off from my Aunt and Uncle’s Hollywood Hills home, saying our final goodbyes to my Mom and Dad and piled into the backseat of the immaculate, all-white interior of Aunt Dottie’s Cadillac, adorned with her personalized license plate “memama.” As I settled in, taking stock of my new environment for the foreseeable future, it all felt a bit like a dream, where I was Cinderella on her way to the ball or what I imagined would be my fairytale adventure ahead. I would later realize it would become more of a Hero’s Journey then a fairytale, but, that’s all part of the adventure, letting go of expectations and being present with whatever comes your way.
My Aunt Dottie was always so glamorous to me, like a Hollywood star in her own life movie, with her perfectly coiffed hair, beautiful long eyelashes (which is important to note for later commentary), long painted red nails and perfectly match outfits for each day of our long drives cross country in her white chariot. I would later learn that the Cadillac we used for our trip had in fact been gifted to her by Elvis Presley. From what I know, Aunt Dottie had dated Elvis prior to meeting my Uncle, and because of her friendship with Elvis, she made certain we included a stop on his Summer ‘74 tour, during our month-long itinerary.
“Nobody knows how many of Elvis’s cars there were out there. There could be hundreds. Elvis bought automobiles on a whim. Sometimes he’d go into a dealership and buy dozens at a time. On one single day he purchased 32 Cadillacs and had given them all away by the afternoon. The majority he never drove - he simply gave them to friends and acquaintances in staggering numbers.”
The first leg of the trip was pretty forgettable until a few days in when we reached Fouke, Arkansas where my Aunt became obsessed with taking us to the house featured in the docudrama horror film, The Legend of Boggy Creek about the “Fouke Monster”, which was a Bigfoot-type creature that terrorized a young family. Yes, this is where she chose to take her 10 year old niece and her 12 year old daughter for our “family” vacation. I didn’t know the story about the monster at the time (which was probably best) but going there was a creepy, nightmare-inducing experience. A dilapidated old shack, all boarded up, with yellowed newspaper shielding the world from the horrors inside. Crazy too that there were no “Keep Off” signs or any caution tape to prevent the curious on-lookers like us from peering within. I remember the heat, the stillness and dread I felt that the “Fouke Monster” who had not been found, could come back and attack us at any moment. Needless to say, that experience stayed with me for days, and many sleepless nights.
Next up, Louisville, Kentucky where Elvis Presley was performing at Freedom Hall. We checked into a nice hotel in the area and as the adults prepared for a night on the town, my cousin and I stayed behind and loaded up on delivery pizza and an in-room movie (Wait, did they even have those back then???) Well, whatever we did to entertain ourselves, we were still awake when the concert-goers returned, excitedly telling us all about Elvis and having gone back stage, where Aunt Dottie thoughtfully asked Elvis for autographs for both Lori and I, which miraculously, I still have today.
The next day we found ourselves poolside along with the members of Elvis’s band who happened to be staying at the same hotel. And while I didn’t fully appreciate who they were at the time, I knew they were important simply by the way they were treated by others at the hotel. At that time in my life I was pretty fearless, doing cherry-drops off the monkey bars at school as well as practicing fancy diving moves when spending time at my best friend’s pool. With that in mind, hanging out at the hotel pool with Elvis’s band felt like the perfect opportunity to show-off one of my “usual” diving tricks. I decided to do “the one” I felt most confident I would be able to execute successfully. And with that, I stepped up the ladder and proceeded to walk to the edge of the diving board, where I slowly turned around, facing away from the pool and the on-lookers, my toes gripping the edge of the board as my heals hovered delicately over the water. I began to bounce on the board finding the right rhythm and building momentum as I launched myself high above the water with the intention of extending myself away from the board and setting myself up for a smooth, backward facing dive, sliding gracefully into the water, free and clear of the boards edge.
“Well, things didn’t go exactly as I had planned.”
Mid-air, I realized I hadn’t created enough distance from the my launch pad and as I descended, I felt the rough edge of the diving board mockingly, scrape me along the length of my spine. Piercing through the over chlorinated water, I was hit with the immediate, painful realization of defeat and the sting of my young tender flesh and deflated ego.
Next stop, the Carolina’s and honestly I can’t remember which of the two we went to. Maybe both? But that doesn’t matter, what does is the why. Apparently Aunt Dottie was from “there” and hadn’t been back home since she left for California. As far as she knew, she had no family to speak of, yet she was curious to visit the family home she had grown up in and left all those years ago. Not long after our arrival, Aunt Dottie, excited to be on her way and explore her past, left us to our own devices as she set out to visit her small town, her childhood home, and the time capsule of who she once was.
By the time the sun had nearly set, she returned to the hotel, distraught. At the time,I wasn’t fully able to grasp the magnitude of what had happened but remember piecing together through her conversation with her stepmother that when she arrived at the place where her childhood home had been, she found it completely torn down. While she stood there, taking it all in along with the swarm of memories that flooded her, she felt a tap on her shoulder from an childhood friend who still lived near by and had somehow recognized her. Making small talk with her, she asked if she had been to see her mother yet. Dottie had believed her mother had died years ago, so the news left her speechless. Teary-eyed, Dottie asked “My mother is still alive?” The woman realizing the shock this new information had created, quickly consoled Dottie and gave her directions to her mother’s home. Pulling herself together, Dottie got in the car and slowly headed over to a place she didn’t know and to a person she had believed to be a ghost.
I don’t remember much else about that day except that something shifted for Aunt Dottie and for the remained of the trip she no longer wanted to be called Dottie, a childhood name she had clung to all these years but now felt like a lie. Instead she decided then and there that she would like to be called Tina. Who she was before this visit, no longer existed and by changing her name she found a small but meaningful way to claim a new sense of identity and move forward.
Back in the car, we headed south toward Florida and to the recently opened Disney World. Now as a young child, you would think that would have been the absolute highlight of my cross country roadtrip, but honestly, I don’t remember a thing, except that we went. I think all the wildly unexpected people, places and emotions we experienced to date, far outweighed the relative predictability of an amusement park even one as big as Disney World.
Now about those eyelashes. One night, we checked into a hotel room somewhere between no longer and not yet. As was the evening ritual after a long day of driving or in my case, looking blankly out a window for hours on end, everyone would unwind, unpack and settle in. Tina being the radiant, confident beauty that she was, would typically strip down and walk freely around the hotel room before going to bed. I on the other hand, felt extremely shy and not particularly familiar with free-range nudity having grown up in a rather conservative household with too many people in not enough space. I remember sizing up the situation at one point along our journey and thinking I needed to find “my way” of adapting to this nightly ritual to not feel so wildly out of place. Holding on to my last thread of discretion, literally, I timidly striped down to my white cotton briefs and did my very best to “blend in.”
At some point on this one particular night, Aunt Tina, exasperated, cried out that she had lost one of her false eyelashes and from the sound of things you would think she only had the one pair of eyelashes with her for the whole month long trip. We were all put to task. We looked on the stained, multi-colored carpet, under the bed, in the bathroom, in and around the trashcans, you name it we looked everywhere and still nothing. That is until… standing there in my tightly-whities and my self-conscious, near-nakedness, I noticed something. (That funny, yet awkward moment of discovery involving some serious '70s-style adult grooming.) When I looked over at my aunt, I remember the light hitting her in a way that caused something to seem out of place and then realized I had found it! The Missing Eyelashes! Immediately, flushed with the embarrassment of my 10 year old self for having “looked there” I sheepishly withheld my discovery, assuring myself that she would eventually find it, and shortly thereafter, sure enough, she called out enthusiastically, “I found it!” - Girl, we all did!
Not long after our return to Hollywood and to my family, my aunt and uncle split and we all lost touch. Sadly, I have no actual pictures from this trip only the souvenirs of pieced together memories and an Elvis Presley autograph. As I reflect back on this trip now, trying to find the words to capture my 10 year old experiences, it feels more like a series of life lessons, a coming of age, teaching a young girl about herself and about the vast, unpredictable world beyond family and home, then just a typical roadtrip. This feels even more meaningful to me now that I’ve once again tapped back in to my passion for travel and exploration and the vulnerability of moving from the proverbial backseat to fully claiming my place in the drivers seat of my own life adventures. The Hero(ine)’s Journey.
Holy smokes Elvis!!!!???!!! I can't believe you have an Elvis Presley autograph I'm so jealous
This is an amazing story - intimate and emotional. Beautifully written! And that photo of you - you still have that adorable infectious smile.