A chapter from “An Artist’s Story,” the life story Lee wrote in his eighties. In his words, as he wrote them.
My Dad’s Trip
My father worked for Buick division for some 35 years. He knew the plant like no one else, being in charge of installations of new phones wherever they were warranted. He also was in charge of the multigraph and stationary dept as well as in plant mailing process. Because of this diversified responsibilities he knew practically everyone who had charge of any manufacturing procedure. Buick was the only GM plant that was complete in it’s self with it’s own fire dept and police force. It was a big place to say the least. Dad seldom ever took a trip other than by car but in the summer of 1938 he was offered his first flight in a commercial airliner.
What a trill this was, he talked about it for weeks. The accompanying letter and picture of the plane that he flew in says it all. This was a great experience for him when you remember that this was long before the high- flying jet engine plane of today.
He laughed when he told us that the pilot and co-pilot must have been all of 18 years old. Ha! Ha!
Transcription
Original spelling preserved; [brackets] mark uncertain or editorial readings.
Looking Back.
Commercial passenger airline service at Bishop Airport began 65 years ago when this Pennsylvania Central Airlines plane landed Jan. 15, 1937. The twin-engine Boeing aircraft had seats for 10 passengers and carried mail for the U.S. Post Office. (Flint Journal file photo.)
Transcription
Original spelling preserved; [brackets] mark uncertain or editorial readings.
July 39 [sic], 1938 — Mr. J. J. O’Donovan, Vice President, Allegany, Pennsylvania — Dear Mr. O’Donovan:
The hospitality shown and the remarkable generosity exhibited by your granting a guest trip to me will never be forgotten – my first ride in a plane.
The invitation was wholly unexpected and exceptionally sudden. I must have felt, when I received the invitation, much as the wealthy old maid who received an unexpected proposal of marriage which she anxiously but nervously accepted although it nearly floored her. A short time after returning from the honeymoon a friend asked how she liked married life to which she replied “I can’t see how heaven could be better or nicer.” With me I can’t concieve of any method of travel that can be better or nicer.
It has always been my wish to write so that I could adequately give a graphic description of my experiences. Business letters have been the only ones in which I am experienced and not too successful when it pertains to collections.
To one who has spent a half century on this globe every thing is accepted with more or less stoicism and no extra ordinary occurance is received with undue excitement. So with this plane ride. While I was the first to arrive at the airport, I was instructed to be there at 7:30. I was, and gladly too, as everything was arranged with preciseness as to my passage in an exceptionally efficient manner which was highly appreciated.
A series of quite good pictures were taken by me. The first being the incoming plane, and in a few minutes I was seated in the plane ready to go. The wait was frief and as the propellers rolled the great plane to the far end of the field, the experience was much the same that is sensed in rolling over a road not too smooth when seated in my Buick.
After “gunning” the “props” we were rolled at a faster rate, suddenly the bumpy sensation left and we were off with the wind.
The view was beyond any that was ever experienced by me. The perspective was so gorgeous; a clear green sheen enveloped everything. The land, the trees, the minature houses, the clouds and all passed as we were born up and up. No queer feeling, no discomfort, nothing but the feeling of comfort and solidity as the world moved beneath. One feeling did come over me and that was my own individual smallness.
Soon we landed in Saginaw and up again to land in Traverse City; then on our way to the “Sault”, each landing and take off were performed with equal smoothness.
It was good to relax and forget the traffic below, the dirt from dusty roads and the smoke of oncoming trains. Why do we travel any other way than the PCA Way? No red lights, no “stop” streets, no continuous annoying of the honking of horns. Nothing but the steady hum of the infallable motors which is more pleasant than all of the earthly sounds.
The courtesy extended, the methods of precision by which all things are done and the surety with which we traveled appearently is superceded by none.
I am preparing a little booklet with 18 pictures taken by me and if you would like one let me know and I’ll send you a copy which may prove of interest to you. The one thing I need is a copy of the pass you gave me to fit in the little envelope folder and a small picture of one of your planes about a 3″ x 5-1/4″.
Assuring you that the trip was most delightful and pleasing, and for the kind and generous courtesies I thank you. It all now remains a very delightful and refreshingly pleasant memory.
Yours very truly, John D. Mick — Charge Mailing Dept., Buick Motor Division, General Motors Corporation.
A Story About My Dad
My Dad told us of the time during college when he ran out of funds in between semesters. He and another college friend decided they could earn more by working together as salesmen selling a well-known brand of cream separators.
The area that was assigned to them was in the southwest where there were some large dairy farms the only problem was they were few and far between. They spent much of their time trying to hitch a ride between these sparsely located farms. It was interesting that the best sales came to them from some of the Indians on the reservations in the west. They found that the hospitality of the Indians far surpassed that of the dairy farmers so whenever they needed a place to stay they headed for the nearest Indian reservation. Their first trip netted them enough money to get them through another year at the U of M. The only way they could save enough to finish school was to use the free railroad fare that was available to them if they rode the empty box cars. This sort of travel was not always the best but it was fast. During college he and the same friend took part in the heavy weight tug of war team that was a very popular sport in those days. Whenever there was a competition between other classes or schools in this sport it would draw a large crowd of spectators mostly men. Tug of war competition did not seem to appeal to the opposite sex back then. This friend of my dads became a well- known lawyer in Indiana and they corresponded with each other for years.
Trip To Iowa
We often made the trip to Iowa to see Gramma Martha Mick. It was a long trip and I sat on a fold-up seat in back with my two brothers Bud and Allen. There were no super high ways then and our old 4- door Buick sedan went everywhere Dad wanted to drive it.
The fields of green corn were sometimes so high that all you could see of the flat farmland was corn, corn and more corn.
We boys kept our eyes peeled for a farmers sign advertising produce. Dad would then stop and bargain for a watermelon or two. If the price was right he would purchase a few.
In those days there were very few places to stop and eat along the road. Dad would find an un- traveled side road and we would pull over and stop at a good spot and eat our watermelon.
Sometimes depending on the generosity of the farmer and my dad’s Iowa accent we could purchase a big melon for less then 2 cents a pound. When you split them down the center with a jackknife they would fairly explode because of the abundance of juice in them. Of course at this price we only ate the heart of the melon you never bothered with the part that had all of the seeds.
Oh how sweet they were when they came right from the farm where they were grown. The running board on the old Buick carried everything we needed for camping. I don’t remember using sleeping bags or air mattresses then but somehow we made do, from the looks of us in this picture we made the trip in style.
