The Honeymooners Head West

The year 1946 saw big changes in my life. I returned from overseas, got my release from the RCAF, married the girl of my dreams, and got a job at a grainery in Chatham Ontario. We had decided to start our married life near where I was born in Alberta. In order to get to Claresholm Alberta (where we intended to farm), from Ontario, we needed transportation. Therefore, our first big financial transaction as a married couple was to buy a car.

My little bride and I searched in Windsor to purchase a vehicle. Most car lots in the city were rather empty, with just a few old clunkers sitting around on bald and cracked tires. They had a “wartime prices and trade board” sticker on the windshield, dictating the maximum price. I didn’t think any of these automobiles could make the long trip west. The salesman, however, pointed out the mechanic’s vehicle sitting in the alley. This car was not encumbered by the trade board sticker. He said he might be able to persuade the mechanic to sell us his car.

So Cora and I followed the smiling salesman to the back alley, where we found our dream car. The 1934, two-door Plymouth was decked out in a shiny black coat of paint. The sunlight glistened from her polished chrome bumpers, radiator, door handles and hubcaps. Everything about her appealed to us, except the price. After some haggling, we reluctantly agreed on a deal, and were soon on our way back to Cora’s parents to proudly show them our big purchase.

To prepare for our trip west, I took our prized Plymouth to a garage for servicing. When I got her home, I crawled underneath to check for structural or other problems. This was my first time dealing with a big city garage. Imagine my surprise when I found last winter’s mud on half of the grease nipples, indicating the poor quality of their work. On the return visit to the garage, they completed the job under my watchful eye.

Cora had never been away from her parents or her Windsor home. Though we were eager to start our new life together, it was heart wrenching for Cora to leave her family behind. We loaded our new car with all our worldly possessions, said a very teary good-bye to Cora’s folks, and began our long pilgrimage. We drove across the Ambassador Bridge to Detroit, with 2500 miles ahead, and less than $500 in our pockets. In the first week of August, 1946, sitting beside my bride of just three months, our honeymoon adventure began.

The first day, we travelled four hundred and fifty miles. When evening came, we saved money by pulling into a small town’s park. A pair of weary travelers, we attempted to bed down amongst all our personal belongings, clothes, wedding gifts, and household items. These were piled on the back seat, within 18 inches of the roof! That first night of our honeymoon, the bride found herself wedged between our cargo and the ceiling. The groom wrapped himself around the gearshift and steering wheel, and dozed on the front seat.

At daybreak, we worked the kinks out of our stiff bodies with a brusque wash-up at the park water fountain. On the road again, our newly acquired ’34 Plymouth honeymoon suite rolled westward across the northern states, heading for Alberta.

Our second day, we covered another four hundred miles, leaving Illinois and Iowa behind. That evening found us parked on the prairie, near the banks of the Missouri River. We were just a few miles north of Sioux City, Nebraska. Here, Cora heard coyotes howling for the first time. Homesick and frightened for her safety, she added her own mournful cries to the night. This city girl was not impressed with her first night in the wild west.

On day three, a sickening knocking sound could be heard coming from the engine. With my flight-engineer training, and farm machinery experience, I soon realized we had a big problem. Our ailing automobile limped into Sioux Falls, South Dakota, stopping on its own at the first garage in our path. Here, the mechanic changed the faulty bearing on one of the connecting rods. By noon, with sixty-five fewer dollars in our wallet, we were back on the road.

We managed to run just fifty miles, when the knocking sound returned. This time, it was even louder than before. We inched our way into Mitchell, where a kind-hearted garage owner allowed us to park our broken down Plymouth in an unused area of his building. He kindly allowed me to use his tools to make some repairs. We could not afford a mechanic, and none were available.

The next three nights, we slept in the car, right where it was parked in that garage. I spent two and a half days tearing apart and rebuilding the engine. The piston lands were chipped away to the point that not all rings could be replaced. Since no new pistons were available, I replaced rings where possible, and hoped for the best! Cora ventured out into the August heat of South Dakota to purchase sandwich supplies. McDonalds did not exist in the forties!

At noon on the third day, we thanked the garage owner, and a kindly cowboy who gave us a tow with his pick-up truck. The Plymouth rumbled back to life. We left this friendly town, grateful, but $100 poorer. Feeling downtrodden, we rewarded ourselves with a small detour to Mt. Rushmore. In 1946, there was only a one-way gravel trail up to the viewing area, and another to get back to the main highway. While viewing the monument to the Presidents, we had the company of just one other couple. Fifty years later, on a return trip, we found thousands of people, paved cloverleaf access roads, pavilions, lines of busses, monstrous parking lots, and the great, great grand-chipmunks of the furry friends who begged food from us on our first visit.

Later, when we stopped for gas, the service station operator noticed I had a Canadian two dollar bill, and offered $5 USD for it. His son wanted it for his coin collection. That evening, with the fiver, we treated ourselves to a stay in a small cabin. Here, we enjoyed a shower, and our first night on a bed in a week. Heaven!

That little side-trip to see the Presidents was hard on our old Plymouth. She was now putting out some black smoke and using a bit of oil. As the miles rolled by, the problem grew worse. It then became necessary to ask gas station attendants to, “Check the gas, and fill up the oil!” To save money, we asked for used oil, which was free. When cars overtook us, the occupants would hold their noses, point to our smoking machine, and mouth the words, “You’re on fire!” With a determined spirit, we kept going.

When we reached the Little Big Horn in Montana, we visited General Custer’s grave. At that point we debated whether this would be our last stand on our westward journey.

As we crossed the Canadian border north of Great Falls, the customs agent hurried us through, so our smoking machine wouldn’t foul his air. Late that afternoon, we arrived in my hometown, Taber. We didn’t dare make any stops, as we knew the engine wouldn’t re-start. There was no need to blow the horn as we rolled up my parents’ driveway. They could hear our approach from the town, two miles away. There was also no need to turn off the key. As soon as I took my foot off the gas, the old ’34 Plymouth died.

Cora's Comments:

Our arrival was loudly announced by our very sick car, struggling to reach the farm driveway. As a result, the whole family came out to greet us.

This exhausted, very excited (but very nervous) little bride, got out of the car, ready to meet her new in-laws.

First impressions stick with you. It was nerve-wracking for me to see how TALL they all were! I was used to being the tallest in my family. At 5 feet, 3.5 inches, I stood 1/2 an inch taller than my father (Fred Livingston). I towered over my Mom (Lorna Livingston), who barely reached 5 feet, and my dear sister Evelyn (Livingston - Metcalfe), who was shorter than Mom!

It looked like my new family were all over 6 feet tall. I had arrived in a land of tanned, robust, healthy-looking giants! Worse than that, the first words my new Mother-in-law said to me were, "I thought Sammie would marry a much bigger wife!" I didn't dislike her for saying that, but I certainly sensed an air of disapproval toward her son's chosen partner. I soon learned that Sam's Mom (Isabelle Hauka) was an honest straight-shooter, who expressed her thoughts unfiltered. In that moment, I decided to prove to these giants, that this 114 pound, little city girl could keep up with the rest of them! I had always been a hard worker - in no way was I a spoilt big-city brat.

It didn't take me long to prove to Isabelle ("Mom Hauka"), that her darling Sammie had chosen well. Sam's Mom and Dad ended up being as close to me, and as loved, as my own dear parents. In the years following our noisy newlywed arrival, we became caring companions and close friends. In addition to our loving relationship, we worked together, earning our living from the Alberta soil. They treasured their grandchildren, Roger and Connie when they arrived. But most importantly, I always appreciated the fact that Sam's parents gave me such a loving and caring husband. My darling Sam.

The rest of Sam's story about the Plymouth:

A month later, after a complete overhaul under the Manitoba maples in my folks’ driveway, our car was back on the road. With a trailer hitch, our honeymoon coach took on the duties of a truck, hauling everything from coal to cattle down the country road to our new Claresholm homestead. One time, we had to make a detour on some very rough road into town, and her battery fell out. This, I repaired with a wire coat hanger. However, the Plymouth got us to the the court house in time to successfully defend ourselves when a neighbour challenged our honesty.

The old Plymouth came through again in 1948, when we nervously travelled the seven miles (in a May 22nd blizzard), to the Claresholm hospital to deliver our son, Roger. A week later, she got us safely home, Cora on the front seat, proudly cuddling our first child in her arms.

Three years after our honeymoon coach launched our married lives, we washed and polished her inside and out, and took our last ’34 Plymouth excursion into town. There, we got the best trade-in possible on a John Deer combine. We have many fond memories of our 1934 two-door Plymouth. She not only gave us shelter and security, but met all our transportation needs during our newlywed adventures. She sometimes slowed us up, but she never let us down.