Went to see the Lloyd shopping center. Visited Jo Doty and we took the kids swimming and talked. Went back to camp early so Tim could fish.
Marge Binder, July 26, 1969
A few things here. Jo Doty was Mom’s roommate at Central Michigan when she and Dad met.
As for the Lloyd Shopping Center, it was a big deal! For a while it was the largest shopping center in the country. Huh, an open-air mall in rainy Portland: Genius! Someone finally figured out that a roof might help with the shopping experiences. Happily, it is indeed now enclosed.
Also, Tim fished.
The Price of Things…
It’s no surprise that prices increase over time, whether due to inflation or compassionate corporate stewardship. Here’s a sampling of some key items for families, including the ingredients for a killer cheese sandwich, a roadtrip staple.
ITEM
1969 Average
2019 Sampling/Average
Loaf of bread
$0.23
$2.19
Velveeta
$0.68 (on sale! see below)
$7.98
Yellow mustard
$0.34
$3.43
Gallon of gas
$0.32
CA:$3.84 MI:$2.75 VA:$2.49
Dozen eggs
$0.62
CA: $2 MI: $0.48 VA: $0.98
A&W Papa burger A&W Mama burger
$0.95 $0.55
$3.99 $2.99 (only in Canada!)
In-state college tuition
$1410
$20,150
Movie ticket
$1.42
$13.49
Annual wage
Men: $6,860 Women: $2,250
Men: $38,900 Women: $24,900
Dollar
$1
$6.92
A late addition here, and I couldn’t get this table to update:
The first KOA in Billings, Montana charged $1.75 when it opened in the mid-60s. I just tried to book at the same place for a tent campsite. $55 a night! Maybe the campground business IS the future!
Back on June 26, I showed you how you could buy yourself a KOA. Too easy? Then check out how to BUILD one.
Got an early start—8 AM. Stopped at Medford for breakfast then Jim drove 300 miles to Portland. Camp there full so set up at Paradise Point, Washington. Cold & windy.
Marge Binder, July 24, 1969
Here’s a poster for United Airlines from 1969, sans craft beer, man buns, scooters and quinoa.
One of the very few times Mom cites of not having a place to stay. She and Dad pushed on north of Portland for Paradise Point just over the border in Washington. We are one week removed from the hippies, and now we dwell among the hipsters. Actually, I’ll bet Portland was about the exact opposite of hip back then.
Long known as the Rose City, Portland once called itself “The Gateway to Health and Prosperity.” In 1995 it adopted “The City that Works” as its slogan. While the city has attracted some big corporations (I’ve been there for Intel), the mystique has become more of The City that Doesn’t Really Want to Work. Or, as Portlandia termed it: The place where 20-somethings go to retire.
In 2003 the city’s newest (and likely unofficial) slogan “Keep Portland Weird” took hold, “inspired,” they say, by Austin, Texas.
Packed everything down the hill and were ready to go by 9:15! Drove north to Richardson Grove State Park in the redwoods and set up in Oak Flats. The kids swam in the river. Tim had a narrow escape on a cliff.
Marge Binder, July 18, 1969
I checked with Maw recently about Tim’s “narrow escape.” She laughed and assured me that “that happened all the time.” Tomorrow we delve deeper into that topic.
Mom made full advantage of state parks along the way, opting for their modicum of luxury for a discounted fee or even none at all.
Richardson Grove looks to be an idyllic example with all of the right ingredients: rugged terrain, a swimmable river, robust flora and fauna (a stray dog tried to bite Mike), all set amidst the mighty redwoods.
Did you know there are now over 8,500 state parks in the country? Here’s a recent article all about state parks from The New York Times.
Ever think of becoming a park ranger? (I think you know who I’m talking about.) Here’s a good site to get started.
Feels like the blog needs a little tap on the gas. Might be that all those hippies got us digging our mellow.
Earlier I covered some of the diversions we had for long days in the car, one of which was Tim reading aloud from John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley. Even though we’re a little north of Steinbeck country by now, it got me thinking about some of the other books about roadtrips.
Of course, first we need to agree on what constitutes a roadtrip. Does any quest like The Hobbit suffice? The Odyssey? Huck Finn? I’m going to limit it to books that center on a motorized vehicle and the surfaces laid down for them. That’s going to constrict the scope a bit. But hey, I haven’t read that many books about roadtrips anyway, as you’ll see.
Five Favorite Books About Roadtrips
First off: Honorable Mention goes to Mom’s diary from the 1969 roadtrip. Friends and followers have praised her terse but comprehensive style as of “Hemingway.” Had she not documented the trip on a daily basis (no doubt a task past exhaustion most nights), this retracing would not have been possible or even conceivable. Thanks to her for allowing me to use it as the basis for this 50th anniversary project.
5. Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck. 1960
I jumped on the Steinbeck wagon after reading The Grapes of Wrath in middle school. Travels with Charley featured less angst than Grapes, and a dog. To a nerdy high schooler living in the suburbs in the early 80s, this book made solitude seem like a reward (and I was so winning!). Of course, a lot of us were craving “freedom” at that age; the open road, adventure and experience sounded pretty good. I got the impression from Charley that Steinbeck wasn’t looking for that anymore. That’s why this was not my favorite of Steinbeck’s and, for all the catharsis, I’ve heard it was not a favorite of his either.
4. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson. 1971
I didn’t read it. I tried, I really did. But I never found a way in. Same with Tom Wolfe’s Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Yep, feels good to admit it. Perhaps I’ll start another blog of all the other staples and classic literature I didn’t read. First up: Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. If anyone actually made it all the way through that behemoth, I’d love to hear what it’s about.
Kerouac wrote the book on, well, roadtripping books. Reading it was an exhausting rite of passage, as most Beat books were, forcing you to wake up, get hip and keep up. It reads like the kind of frenzied work that went into it: three nico-caffeinated weeks typing on one continuously scrolling piece of paper. It oozed with the restless angst that Charley didn’t.
In the end, after all of the drama and adventure, the road leads nowhere and nothing really matters.
“‘Where we going, man?’ ‘I don’t know but we gotta go.’”
This book made me proud to have read it. Steinbeck was a master of restless dreaming, of seeking out a better life somewhere, someday. Of course, it doesn’t work out that way. It’s the journey that helps us arrive at who we really are. Okay, enough psycho babble. The Joads got a raw deal, and the raw deals kept coming everywhere they turned. There’s plenty of political and social symbolism (and the reality of migration, xenophobia, desperation and human nature) in here, but I always come back to this: Tom Joad was an idiot. I’m sure not everyone would agree.
1. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig. 1974
This was an assignment for a sociology class during college May session, and it changed my summer and my life. For one thing, it made me a pretentious ass — or, rather, it made me aspire for pretentious assiness. Example: the word chautauqua. For years (and even a recently as last month) I will refer to some occasions five or more people are chatting as a chautauqua. Someone needs to break an acoustic guitar over my head.
After 30 years, a few symbols still resonate with me from this book — forgive the brevity:
The road is time: the past, future and the present. Be conscious of which is most important at any given moment.
The motorcycle represents one’s life: there is the right way to make it work, and there are other ways. Seek out what is the right way for you. Understand the machine well enough so that when it acts up, you are able to make it right again.
“Helmets” (while a good idea, I suppose) prevent us from fully experiencing the world around us. Remove it and see the world with better clarity, feel the wind and breathe it in, and savor the nits and gnats as you encounter them along the way.
What really took me in was the indefinable matter of values and quality that we are immersed in everyday. At age 20, this was an epiphany. The prologue is a grabber:
“What is good, Phaedrus, and what is not good, Need we anyone to tell us these things?”
As for Phaedrus, I still spar my own Phaedrus every day. I’m happy to observe that with age comes wisdom, and so my Phaedrus and I have arrived at a healthy entente.
I encourage you all to meet, know and feed your own Phaedrus.
Though the events of these books are a far cry from Mom’s July 17, 1969 — the laundry and Mike’s shot — I’ll bet she learned a lot about all of the above that summer.
Tim & Jim took a hike while Mike got his shot and we did the laundry. Took us 2 hours to find Dee’s at Hayward but had a nice visit and dinner. Got back about 10.
Marge Binder, July 17, 1969
I’ve been living in the Bay Area for 12 years and have yet to visit Mt. Tam or Hayward. I’m not really proud of that. But there it is.
Clamming, Pismo style. I guess it all can’t be surf ‘n’ sun.
Maw still hums this song every now and again. The data agrees (see below), at least for July. We learned a very different lesson back in ’69.
Speaking with Maw a few weeks ago she recalled this day in detail. I added up all of the challenges: thunderstorms, heat, tent camping, laundry, more rain, power outage with soaked clothes. That must have been the worst! Mom was like, meh.
Actually had thunder and rain – then a fairly hot day. Went to San Luis Obispo to buy Tim a new rod. They swam. Another shower in the evening and the power went out just as I was finishing the laundry.
Got Mike’s shot and new tennis shoes. Packed and drove along the coast thru L.A. to Pismo Beach. Set up at state beach park. Ate at the A&W.
Marge Binder, July 10, 1969
Though there was a McDonald’s in our little hometown of Vienna, VA, we didn’t patronize a single one on this entire journey — at least not according to Maw’s diary. As I’ve observed before, there were very few fast food chains back in the day. And the ones that existed like Burger King, Kentucky Fried Chicken and even Taco Bell were limited in area and number. Dave Thomas was still four months away from opening the first Wendy’s.
Here’s a little wiki-history of fast food that reaches back to ancient Rome. Good luck getting them to “hold the pickles, hold the lettuce.”
We were an A&W family. Papa Burgers, Mama Burgers, Teen Burgers, Baby Burgers, Olive Burgers, so much selection! Of course, the A&W root beer was second to none. A root beer float passed into the backseat at one of their drive-ins? Sugary, creamy, carbonated heaven. And such convenience!
Here’s a little history of A&W, not including the fact that the Mama Burger is now only available in Canada. Canada!
Fun Fact
A&W celebrated its 50th anniversary in 1969, meaning that they are now 100 years old!
Un-fun Fact
A&W doesn’t even rank in the Top 50 fast food chains anymore. It has fewer than 600 stores in the US (only about 300 stand-alones), compared with 14,000 McDonalds and more than 25,000 Subways. [insert Sad Burger emoji]
I had originally titled this post “The Sea Slug” (see Mom’s entry below). But then this Washington Post story came across my feed yesterday (as well as a second sighting by Steven Pine from the NYT).
For those keeping score: in 2019, San Diego is celebrating 250 years, the first “successful” coast-to-coast roadtrip happened 100 years ago, and our little jaunt turns 50. Btw, Mom made better time, served better food and planned for more swimming and fishing than Ike & Co.
Went on a 2 hour harbor cruise. Had pizza and walked and drove around a bit. Tim and the others swam and then caught more sharks, rays and a sea slug. I got the oil changed and did the washing, etc.
Marge Binder, July 9, 1969
I don’t think that’s a “sea slug.” And I don’t think the photo is from this trip. But that is Tim holding something gross and dead. So it fits Mom’s narrative.
The 60s were a thing. Lots of mystique and tumult, triumph and tragedy. War, assassinations, race riots, civil rights, the moon landing. The Beatles. JFK. The Summer of Love. Freedom Rides, MLK, RFK. My birth.
As I was preparing this blog, I looked back at the events of 1969 to see if there was a way or a reason to correlate the events of our days with the events of the day. Turns out, 1969 wasn’t the s**tshow of the previous two years.
In fact, June and July 1969 were surprisingly un-60s-like. Yes, troops were still in Vietnam and Ted Kennedy drove off a bridge. The Stonewall uprising happened, but it wasn’t in the news outside New York for a while.
The one current event Mom includes in her diary is the moon landing in July 20.
Woodstock happened in August. It was three days of rain, drugs and misery that have been romanticized into something altogether different. That same month saw the Tate-LaBianca murders in Benedict Canyon, at the hands of the Manson clan. This is featured in yesterday’s post.
By year’s end there would be death at a low-rent Woodstock wannabe (Altamont), which some people cite as the end of the Age of Aquarius. Conveniently, that was also the end of the 60s. The 70s, to me, were the hangover (and puberty).
As for the 80s. The best decade. Ever. News-wise, I know that’s debatable.
Packed, washed and headed for San Diego. Found the state beach park full so we settled at Mission Bay in an unfinished Camplands. Took a drive around.
Marge Binder, July 7, 1969
Another Deluxe Campground
Maw says that she called ahead to some of the campgrounds, especially if she was in need of a deluxe experience (i.e., showers). This one was a beauty, and the unfinished Camplands looks to be thriving today after 50 years. Happy Anniversary!
Took a drive around Beverly Hills. Had hamburgers in Hollywood. The boys swam at Redondo Beach.
Marge Binder, July 6, 1969
In addition to it being the 50th anniversary of Marge Binder’s Epic Adventure, this summer also marks 50 years since the Tate-LaBianca murders at the hands of the Manson family. That’s why there is a picture of Leo D on this page: he’s starring in a new Tarantino movie about the crime. Looks good, except for it starring Leo.
Tomorrow’s post looks at other memorable events of 1969. Spoiler: It was a pretty good year, compared to the previous few.
Casting Call!
Here’s a thought: If Quentin did a movie about the roadtrip, who would play Mom? Too bad MTM has passed. She was Mom: fun and smart, a loving wife/mother like Laura Petrie. A trailblazer like Mary Richards. And as pretty as they come.
What about Uma? Pretty badass. That’d work too.
Mom wasn’t really a smoker, but she knew how to get a laugh.
I’ll admit it: I have no recollection of this day. Chances are I was still fretting over the sad fate of Mr. Lincoln. Or perhaps the Disneyland fireworks were still popping inside my brain.
Actually, I don’t remember most of this trip. So when I started tinkering with the idea of recounting it, I knew I needed some meat. What a revelation to find Mom’s diary (thank you, Helen Binder!) and to get her permission to use it. The surviving photos offered some assistance as well (Thanks Miko!). But the actual memories are few and far between; I’ve conveyed them in here when applicable.
I’ve also attempted not to co-mingle memories from other trips and similar experiences. So I didn’t include a picture of Mike and me in the Redwoods in 1969 because — as I discovered a few weeks ago — it wasn’t taken in the Redwoods in 1969. It was, in fact, taken in the early 70s in front of very Redwood-looking trees towering over north-central Michigan.
One of my other distinct memories I had attributed to this trip was at Pismo Beach, where Mike and I stormed the surf, throwing rocks and yelling “Bomb Cambodia!” (We Binders were a hawkish bunch back then.) Mom recently set me straight: Bomb Cambodia happened somewhere in Ohio a few years later. Figures. Mom remembers best.
Got the car washed. The kids swam twice at Redondo Beach. Had fried chicken and toured Ports of Call at San Pedro.
Marge Binder, July 4, 1969
I almost forgot! Here’s an interesting article about “childhood amnesia.”
Marge Binder's Epic Adventure 
