Copyright © 2009 Holley Gene Leffler
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-4392-3076-5
ISBN-13: 9781439230763
Kindle ISBN: 978-1-61550-565-4
LCCN: 2009904851
Visit www.booksurge.com to order additional copies.
This book is dedicated to my dad, Eugene Irish Hammond, Jr.
It was because of him that I went on the trip of a lifetime.
Even more importantly, he is the link to my Grampa Hammond.
Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
PART ONE: A LETTER FROM THE FUTURE
PART TWO: HAM’S STORY
PART THREE: A LETTER FROM THE PAST
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTES
APPENDIX
THANKS TO
Imagine there’s no night or day,
No clock to mark the hour.
Each moment is a brand new start.
The future’s in our power.
Holley Gene (Hammond) Leffler
PART ONE
A LETTER FROM THE FUTURE
In 1903, two adventurous men drove across the United States in a Curved Dash Oldsmobile. It was a groundbreaking trip—eighty days and at least 5,000 miles through mountains, deserts, and mud, on mostly uncharted roads. The two men who made this transcontinental trip were Lester L. Whitman and Eugene I. Hammond, my future grandfather. I knew him as Grampa Hammond.
In 1985, my dad was asked to represent the Hammond family when three men with their own antique Curved Dash Oldsmobiles (CDOs) recreated the historic trip. Whitman had no children, so Dad, who is one of Grampa Hammond’s six children, and I were the living links to the two men. But most importantly, my dad is a junior, Eugene Irish Hammond, Jr.
I had heard stories and seen photos of my grandfather’s trip. He was only twenty-three at the time and went along as the mechanic. Whitman, the driver, sat on the right-hand side of the car and used a nickel plated tiller for steering. He was almost twice my grandfather’s age. I mean no disrespect to Whitman when I refer to the crossing as my grandfather’s trip.
Dad and I went along as invited guests on this 1985 re-creation of the trip, which was supported by the Oldsmobile Corporation. The route was accurately retraced using Whitman’s diary as a guide. For this re-creation, there was a 1902, 1903, and 1904 CDO.
When Dad and I met the group in San Francisco, I had never seen a CDO, let alone ridden in one. When I finally had the opportunity to sit atop this horseless carriage, it stole my heart. “We just have to make the trip, too,” I told my dad.
This eight hundred-pound vehicle had a 4½ horsepower engine with one cylinder. The body had a shiny black finish with cherry red trim. There was no windshield or top, bumpers, windows, or doors on the car. The starting crank was located on the right side of the vehicle so it would be handy for the driver to start the engine and jump up into the car. I was grateful I didn’t have to do this. It was enough of a challenge just to get up onto the seat.
I made the decision first thing that I would not sit in the little car unless I wore appropriate turn of the century clothing: a long skirt, a high-necked pigeon front blouse, laced-up boots, and a hat. It was my way of honoring the car. Dad wore a leather jacket, and I made puttees (leggings) for him to cover his pant cuffs and shoes. To complete his costume, he wore a chauffeur’s cap with goggles. The drivers wore dusters (coats) with their caps and goggles. My dad rode in the 1903 car. And since the seat could only hold two people, a driver and a passenger, I rode in the 1902.
Before we started our 1985 trip, my dad went with the driver in one of the little cars to pick up a letter from the mayor of San Francisco. We planned to deliver the letter to the mayor of New York as my grandfather and Whitman had in 1903. Their letter was the first mail ever to go coast to coast by auto.
All three cars were to meet on the beach in front of the San Francisco Cliff House for a photo op. We wanted to reenact the beginning of the 1903 trip when Whitman and Hammond dipped the back wheels of their car in the Pacific Ocean. They also dipped the front wheels in the Atlantic, so there would be no question the vehicle had gone from coast to coast. We have a photo of the pair on the beach by the Cliff House.
It was a short distance from our motel to the beach where we would start our trip. I sat, full of enthusiasm, dressed as a lady of the 1900s—hat tied on, perched atop the 1902 two-seater. Listening to the rhythm of the engine, all other sound stopped. Out of the corner of my eye, cars disappeared and were replaced with horses and buggies. In the excitement, was my mind playing games with me? It seemed a veil lifted, and I went back in time—houses disappearing, vegetation changing—and I began to see things as they appeared at the turn of the century. Why was I seeing things from another time? Could I believe what I was experiencing? Was this really happening to me? Then I snapped back to 1985 and reality.
I found that I could play this time game now and then as we retraced the 1903 trip.
Our little parade arrived at the beach. Trying to get three cars lined up for the TV and newspaper cameras was like a Keystone Cops movie. As we tried to place the back wheels of the cars in the Pacific, the waves would splash on one car but miss the others. People pushed and pulled the cars back and forth trying to line them up. Then another wave would come in. Several of the support team got wet. I yelled, “Be sure to get a picture of the Cliff House in the background.”
“Wave your hands!” The perfect photo was taken, and then the Keystone Cops movie began again. The cars didn’t want to move on the sandy beach, and there was more shoving and rope tricks to get back on the road. “Cut! Take two!”
I noticed that the Cliff House of the original trip was not the same as the one we were seeing. The San Francisco earthquake of 1906 damaged the original structure.
The three CDOs drove through the city about twenty to twenty-three miles an hour. Although there are limits as to how fast a car can go, there are no tickets given to people going too slow. We didn’t want to cause a disruption in traffic with people looking at our parade, so we asked for a police escort prior to driving through San Francisco and over the Oakland Bay Bridge. The police declined, but when we drove up on the last on-ramp to the bridge, there were two police cars waiting for us.
I kept my eyes on the police car in front of us. I didn’t want to experience the past because there was no bridge back in 1903, when Whitman and Hammond made their trip! They had to take a ferry across the San Francisco Bay.
We finally drove past the Bay Area on our way to Sacramento. In the open countryside, I was able to practice my newfound ability to experience the past. I came to the realization that since I was riding in the 1902 car, I was seeing the country a year before my grandfather would pass through the same route! My suspicions were confirmed when a sign appeared on the side of a barn: “Come see the circus of 1902.” Eventually, I was able to take my peripheral visions of the past and expand my view to surround me. What I was experiencing was so real! I wanted to talk to the people we drove past, but although I could see them, they could not see or hear me.
Wouldn’t it be something if I could send a letter back in time to my grandfather, giving him tips on how to make his trip easier and clues about what he was to see? This thought intrigued me, and, in case this would be possible, I kept notes throughout my trip.
Whether I was experiencing the past or enjoying 1985, nature seemed so close to me. Sitting in the little open car was like riding on a motorized bicycle, with the putt-putt engine taking us along. As we went along, I could reach down and pick a wildflower from the edge of the road. This was certainly a good way to see our country.
I woke up each morning so e
xcited to get started. The air smelled so good around us in the open car, and the colors of the vegetation were so vivid. When we passed by people at our slow speed, they felt obliged to say, “Hi,” or “Get a horse!” The car looked much like a horse-drawn buggy—without the horse! For fun, we posed a team of horses in front of the 1902 car and took a photo.
Whitman and Grampa Hammond took 150 photographs on their trip. I looked for bridges, houses, railway stations and other landmarks they had photographed, but it was difficult to identify things that might have existed back in 1903. The highways we traveled on in 1985 had changed the landscape.
Oldsmobile had helped to plan each day by finding a dealership we could visit to show off the cars. Owners of other Curved Dash Oldsmobiles often met us at the edge of town and joined our parade. Sometimes, though, the three CDOs traveled on their own. This way we could take our time between destinations to stop and see the sights. We would all meet at night at our motel and share our adventures. We loved to hear the stories Dad had to tell about his dad’s trip. Seems Grampa Hammond killed several rattlesnakes on the crossing. Each time he told the story, the number of snakes got larger. “How many snakes, Dad?”
The rope story was another tale. Near Dun Glen Peak, Nevada, the towrope fell off the luggage box, and Grampa Hammond had to hike two miles back along the trail to find it. “Dad, did you keep your eye on the towrope, today?” Whitman and Hammond carried a rope with them in case they needed to pull the CDO out of the mud, sand, or water.
In my glimpses of 1902, I noticed the lack of fences. People were freer to travel across open land. Property lines were not always evident. Nowadays, highways are fenced off. Not like 1902 when pigs got loose and cattle meandered across the road.
On our trip, we stopped at several antique stores. At one in particular, I noticed a man working on his stamp collection. There I was, dressed in an outfit of the 1900s. I asked him, “What would it have cost to send a letter in 1902?” He looked up from his desk and said, “Here’s an unused eight cent Martha Washington stamp. I have several of them. Would you like to have one as a souvenir? I thanked him, took the stamp and put it in my wallet.
This trip was so special to me in so many ways. I enjoyed the countryside, and our weather was good; it was not like the mud and rain my grandfather experienced. Even so, I still felt like I was experiencing my grandfather’s trip. As those thoughts crossed my mind, I could hear in my head Grampa Hammond say, “But I didn’t have a dame like you sitting beside me on my trip!”
All along the trip I thought about my grandfather and Whitman. What an unbelievable adventure they had been on, creating the experience that I was now enjoying. I continued to play my game of noting things for my grandfather.
Oldsmobile had a special party for us when the three cars reached Oldsmobile Headquarters in Lansing, Michigan. I had made a pretty turn of the century, Alice blue gown, complete with pigeon front, high neck lace collar, and long sleeves. I tied on my hat and carried a lace parasol. It was a lovely party.
We crossed into Canada from Detroit, as my grandfather had, because it was a more direct route to New York City. When we crossed the border back into the United States, a photographer took our picture. I made front page of the Niagara Falls newspaper. The caption under the photo quoted the border crossing guard asking me, “When—‘er—where were you born?”
A Niagara Falls Historical Society representative met us and brought with him an elderly gentleman who wanted to sit in the car with me. I quickly made up a sign that said, “Just Married,” and put it on the CDO. We sat in the little car and photographers took our photo.
One day, we drove down into a lovely valley, where there was a colorful aerial crop duster flying overhead. He tipped his wings to us and flew on to complete his crop dusting.
When we drove through farm country, my 1902 visions showed farmers working hard in the fields. They used horses to help them plow. And all harvesting was done by hand—no machinery.
There seemed to be more scarecrows back then. They were funny-looking characters, as though they had been made to amuse the townspeople as well as scare away the crows. I wonder if Grampa Hammond will get a kick out of seeing them.
Women hung out their wash on clotheslines to dry, and it seemed like every day was washday.
The biggest difference between then and now was the lack of buildings. The year 1902 would fade in and out. I would see houses—wilderness—then houses again.
Children played outside and were happy with simple toys.
I wonder what my grandfather used for suntan lotion. I noticed from their photos they got a good tan. I got sunburned on my trip and looked like I had “raccoon eyes” when I took my dark glasses off.
I had to be in costume and in the little car to have the visions. I couldn’t tell you what happened at night in 1902 because we were off the road and in a motel before dark.
We were often asked, “What do you do when it rains? There’s no top on the car.” I answered that we wore waterproof ponchos. But even then, the seat we sat on collected water.
The final day came; the end of our re-creation was to be New York City. We made it to the designated hotel on time. It had taken us thirty-five days. The trip was as close as possible to the original one of Whitman and Hammond, which took them eighty days, fifty-four of which were on the road. We didn’t have any major repairs as they did. Also, we had paved roads, gasoline stations, and comfortable accommodations.
The next morning, we were to deliver the letter at City Hall, but our adventure was not over yet. Driving into New York City, we had to use one of the arterials to get to City Hall. We made a formation and drove close together, hoping we would be more visible, and traffic would slow down around us. Then, the drive chain on the 1902 car I was riding in broke and fell onto the freeway.
We were lucky. A motorcyclist picked up the greasy chain and brought it to us as we rolled to a stop. No modern car or tow truck had helped any of the Curved Dash Oldsmobiles on any part of the trip, so we weren’t going to wait for AAA. We connected the 1902 CDO to one of the other little cars with a rope, and it pulled us off the freeway to where the driver of the car could fix the chain. Then it was on to City Hall in New York.
City Hall still looked like it did in the photographs Whitman and Grampa Hammond took eighty-two years earlier. There were arched windows, and stone stairs leading up to pillars at the entrance. We lined up the cars, waiting for the mayor to receive his hand-carried letter. When we were told it would be awhile, we walked into the building. The entry hall was elegant, all in marble and white wrought iron. I was wearing my blue dress, holding a parasol. As I ascended the magnificent stairs, photographers snapped my picture. When my eyes recovered from the flash, I turned to look, and the room was empty! Where had they all gone? Maybe I should have asked instead, “Where had I gone? In what year was I standing?”
As I looked around the white marble room for a clue, I noticed a brass box that had the word MAIL printed on it. Then I remembered the stamp I had been given. If I had stepped into the past, was it possible to mail a letter to my grandfather? I quickly took from my reticule (handbag) my notes, which were already in an envelope for safekeeping. I wrote a short letter to my grandfather and enclosed it. I penned the following directions to R.E. Olds on the back of the envelope:
Dear Mr. Olds,
Would you do me the favor of placing this letter under the passenger’s seat cushion of the 1903 CDO you are shipping to the West Coast for the cross-country trip?
Thank you,
A Hammond Family Well-Wisher
Then I addressed the envelope to R.E. Olds, Lansing, Michigan, because I had no address for Whitman or Grampa Hammond. I knew my grandfather would give the car a good once-over and would find the letter. Across the top of the envelope I wrote “Please deliver this before April 1903.” I put the 1902 stamp on the envelope, held my breath, and dropped the letter into the mailbox. I said to myself, Please get there in time!
As I walked back outside through the front door of City Hall, it felt like a bubble burst. The little cars with their drivers were waiting. Dad was talking to a reporter. The mayor’s representative received the letter and presented his souvenirs. I was back in 1985.
PART TWO
HAM’S STORY*
You don’t know me, but you will after I tell you my story. And what a tale it is! I’m going to take you step by step, day by day, otherwise you might not believe what I have to say.
My name is Eugene Irish Hammond. My friends call me Ham. I was born May 3, 1880, the twin brother of Joseph Irish Hammond. My dad, John Smith Hammond, is an architect and builder in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, and my mother, Sarah Peace Irish, is a native of Newport, Rhode Island.
In Remembrance of You Page 1