Vacation (8)

Vacation

I have actually gone on vacation only twice in the last sixty years. In 1978 my nephew Dana and I went to Beverly Hills, California; we were just a couple of single guys raising heck of course.

I was then a boy of thirty-three; Dana was twenty-seven. Going to Hollywood was a natural choice as we were show biz people in the making. Later that year we auditioned for our first community theatre play. It later opened nearly on Broadway (a street in Mattoon, Illinois.)

I retired from the stage over twenty years ago, but Dana has been active all these years. This is only right, as he is the talent in the family.

We didn’t-- at first-- seem to have a talent for traveling. We flew from St. Louis directly to Los Angeles without a hitch. We were not, however, to see much of anything but the hotel the first couple of days. We were supposed to have been on a bus tour, but we couldn’t locate the bus.

Our first disappointment came at the airport when a limousine did not meet us. We inquired about this and were told that the shuttle bus was the limousine, so stop whining already.

After checking in at our hotel, we asked where the tour bus would be. We got in line early the next morning at the designated area-- if you could call it getting in line, as we were the only two people around, a clue perhaps that we were misinformed. We saw busses, but they flew by as though we had just got off the boat.

Later back in our hotel room it occurred to us to call the Bell Captain. He answered the phone himself and said that the bus took off from Robinson’s Department Store. (Famous retail establishment, which we later discovered, sold dry goods at several times retail.)

The next morning we showed up at Robinson’s; again we were the only people in line. After several long minutes we saw our bus, or at least a bus whizzing by. We waved at the driver to let him know he had forgotten something, or someone. But once again we were stranded.

We checked with the Bell Captain who this time gave us more specific instructions (he finally realized who he was dealing with): the bus stopped on the opposite side of the building. The next morning we were in the right area, and got off on our Hollywood tour, a bit delayed, but still worthwhile.

This episode—though it had a happy ending—did me in for travel for years afterwards. Dana, however, has been on the road or in the air or at sea practically ever since. Just last weekend a bulletin came in e-mail form: he was off with friends to see a play in Chicago. He was traveling by train I understand.