First Greyhound Bus Trip

When I was 7 in the summer of 1953, I took a Greyhound bus trip with my 10-year-old brother that is seared into my brain. The trip was part of a plan my Dad hatched to transport our family of 7 from Indiana to Vermont where we then lived. He had been meeting his colleagues and house-hunting in Indiana for a new job to start in October. My Mom had just given birth to my younger brother, was weak, and about to need a hysterectomy so my Dad was under a lot of stress.

The family car could handle only 5 with the new baby for the Vermont trip so he decided to send my brother and me by bus. Two daughters of a colleague were going to Boston and they agreed to accompany us by bus to Boston, then put us on a bus to Vermont. When we got to the Indianapolis bus station my Dad saw the direct trip to Vermont was a different bus from the girl’s bus and on the spot decided to buy us a direct ticket to Vermont. He gave my brother $5 for food and told him to look after me.

We boarded the bus in mid-afternoon and got off the bus in Cleveland at about 7 p.m. to transfer to a bus to Schenectady, which was to leave at 2 a.m. My brother checked with the bus clerk every 20-40 minutes if the bus had arrived. He was in constant fear we would miss it so he never slept. I slept a little. We sat on hard oak benches and I began 30 hours of asking for food. My brother said repeatedly to me we needed to save our money because it would be needed later for food. I ended up in Cleveland with one candy bar. We went to the upstairs bathroom only once because a drunk was in it and he offered us a drink from his bottle.

We got on the bus at 2 p.m. and got off at Schenectady around breakfast time. He finally, after my continuing hunger pleas, bought me an apple, some juice, and crackers. After waiting a long time, we got on another bus and arrived in Burlington at about Midnight. My brother had not slept fearing we would get left behind or miss our bus transfer. We changed buses again and got on the Essex Junction bus- where my uncle lived. The bus was full of drunk Air Force airmen and they exited at Fort Ethan Allen. The driver said since this was the last bus it was turning around.

We got off and went to the guard house. My uncle was a captain stationed there but off duty so the guard called my aunt who picked us up and drove us the 10 miles to Essex Junction, arriving there about 2:00 pm. She called my Dad, who had not told my Mom of our unaccompanied trip, and that was our only contact with him since leaving Indianapolis.

My aunt fed us and my brother slept at least 12 hours. My brother had about $2.50 left over.