In March of 1979, I set out from home in Stevens Point, Wisconsin to catch some warmer weather during Spring Break. I didn’t have a plan but thought I’d try New Orleans. Below is an unedited copy of my journal notes. I brought my camera but rarely pulled it out during the hitch.
22 March
(written on 25 March)
I’m a bit curious about what will happen to me and where I’ll go in the next 11 days but for the most part I am confident things will go well.
At corn flakes and toast and then hit the road at 0900. 1st ride was Ron Zimmerman (my instructor at CWES) who picked me up shortly after I started. Gave me a ride to 10 & 51. Temps cool – mid 30s. Next ride to Rockford by a single male. He had just opened a truck depot in Point. At Rockford, the temp was in the 60s.
I took a ride in a truck without a load – a rough ride – to Rochelle, which is a dumpy, dirty town. I hiked the length of the town and was picked up by a UW-Madison student.
Next ride was an older man who took me to Bloomington. He had passed me in Rochelle, because he had a daughter and wife with him. His turn off split from Interstate 55 with no on ramp, so he drove me to the next ramp – almost to the Interstate and I held my sign out.
After a long wait, a truck stopped. I ran out and opened the door. I surprised the driver who stopped only to look at a map. He agreed to take me to Springfield, he was going to Kansas City.
After an unsuccessful attempt to get a ride to New Orleans on the C.B. [radio], he dropped me off at another split highway, where I couldn’t hitch. It was raining and just as I got out it began to rain even more. A man stopped right away and asked me where I was going. Wrong way for him. Ho pointed out to where I could get on 55 South. I hiked down the road to a ramp and stood in the rain. A car honked a few minutes later. I saw a car parked a quarter mile down the road. After a while it left. Maybe he stopped for me?
A little longer later another car stopped. The State Trooper turned on flashing lights. I went to the window. “Let’s see some identification.” A Black woman was trying to be tough. I gave her my passport, student card and traveller’s check. “How about a driver’s license?” It was in my pack, I went to get it. “Stand in front of the headlights and put your hands on the hood.” I stood there as the lights flashed and cars sped by – potential rides. It wasn’t raining any more, but I wore a rain coat and cap. I watched her as s he filled out a form and called in. She wouldn’t look at me. She glared off in the distance, thought a moment, then came out of the car. “Mr Major,” she said. “I’m goin’ to give you a warning this time, but if I or another trooper catch you again you’ll get a $35 fine, since you have an out-of-state driver’s license.” I questioned her why the license made a difference, but didn’t get an answer.
I hiked toward town and told a gas station attendant to ask for rides or me. After waiting 1-2 hours a car stopped – surprisingly. It was quite dark – around 9:00. He was a kind man and after a chat, told me to sit back and take a nap if I wanted to. As I did, a thunderstorm began. We got to his turnoff and he said he wanted to call his wife to tell her he was on his way. I suspected something. He came back to the car and said “Well, Mike, if you don’t mind sleeping in a dirty basement, you can spend the night my my house.”
He lived at a nice place on Signal Hill in Belleville, Illinois. His 13-year-old son Randy greeted me at the door and began talking non-stop until bedtime. His wife fixed me up some leftover spaghetti, which suited me quite well. I slept in a bunk below Randy.
23 March
(written on 8 April)
I was dreaming about a dog when the Jones’ family dog jumped on and woke me up. Dick came in and woke up Randy. I ate eggs and toast for breakfast and sat and chatted with Jean. Dick showed me a bit of the city [St Louis] (including the Gateway to the West) then took me out a ways.
I got a ride with a young fellow. He was heading to Poplar Bluff on Highway 67.I decided to get off the miserable Interstate (which I grew to despise) and go with him. It was a beautiful drive – lots of forest and rivers – and rain. We got caught in a good thunderstorm.
I saw some daffodils – my first flowers of spring. By the time we reached Poplar Bluff, the weather had improved considerably. I walked through town. A carload of girls pass me several times, shouted at me and gave me the finger. A man, who was with his wife and kids told me it was illegal to hitch in Missouri, but it wasn’t enforced.
About one hour passed before a man in a pickup truck swung around for me. We left the hills and came to a float flood plain. “You can’t buy this land for no price,” the man told me. He owned a Mobil station and motel near Poplar Bluff and was going to Cairo, Illinois to see his banker. He dropped me off at a good intersection. I thanked him for the ride and stepped out. I saw him digging into his pocket. He flipped out a $20 bill. ‘Here, take this,” he said. “Oh, c’mon, I can’t take that,” I said. “Have yourself a nice vacation.” To argue further would be to insult him. I thanked him kindly and shook his hand.
I waited for 1-2 hours playing my harmonica a bit. It was beginning to rain so I ran under the bridge. I wasn’t there more than 3 minutes when a van stopped. “We can take you to Memphis,” a man said. It was a retired couple heading for Dallas. The man acted as he were M.R. The woman was fat and did the driving. I sat in a lawn chair in the back. More rain. There were turning off before Memphis. I had read hitching was illegal in Arkansas and tried to avoid it. The woman tried to get me a lift on the C.B. He rudeness ruined my changes. The only response was “Tell him to get a car and work.”
The intersection where they turned off was a split interstate – illegal and very difficult to get a ride. I had them take me down to the next off ramp on I-40. It was in the middle of nowhere.
A cold rain was falling – depression. I looked to the south and could see a highway and could see considerable traffic. [Most likely State Highway 70] I checked it out in my atlas – it looked good. I took the mile hike – my bags were quite wet. I got to the intersection. It was almost dark. No luck. I chatted with some foreigners who stopped at an antique store – they were heading for Denver – wrong way.
I walked toward Memphis – maybe 10-12 miles. I kept my thumb out. A car stopped. It was a Negro man playing disco music. I got in – a little bit concerned. No problem, though. He brought me into West Memphis. Just as I got out of town a car stopped. It was very dark. No street lamps – still cold and rainy. Another black man – big, tough. I cleaned my boots off before getting in. “No one’s ever done that before getting in,” he said. I explained how grateful I was. He brought me to a good place – an on-ramp to I-55. I stood under a street lamp and held out my sign.
At least 2-3 hours passed. I picked out a bush where I would crash for the night. Just as I was about to crash, a Toyota pickup stopped. “Where ya heading?” I asked. “I’m going your way.” I put my pack in the back. The man was heading for Baton Rouge. He was once a teacher, now a machinery dealer. A bit deaf, he was, so communication was slack. However, I liked the man. He bought me a MacDonalds supper, then I drove through central Mississippi. We stopped to refuel and he bought me a Lousiana coffee (chickory added). It must have been 3-4 am when he dropped me off at the intersection of I-10 and I-55 – 50 miles out of N.O. He warned me of snakes, so I set up my tent and crashed. It was pretty moist ground. I slept behind some bushes on dry ground about 50 feet from the road. The traffic kept me awake.
24 March
(I’m a little behind [hadn’t written notes of previous days] so I’ll take just today while its fresh in my mind.)
I opened by eyes and notice the evening’s blackness had turned to a vivid blue. I looked out my tent door to see where I had planted down. It was a pretty area. I was surrounded by high pines and spring flowers.
I packed up and hit the road. Two hours later a fellow with two hitchhikers picked me up in his VW bus. I sat on a spare tire throughout the trip. I was quite excited with the marshes. Water was everywhere. Lots of people fishing. Our driver had a few errands to run so we got a good tour of the city. He dropped us off at about noon in downtown New Orleans.
(The journal continues to document my time in New Orleans, a meal of red beans and rice at Buster Holmes, then my decision to hitchhike to Galveston, Texas.)