ROAD TRIPPIN'

THE FIRST ROAD TRIP THAT I REMEMBER was a nearly 1600-mile trip from Marshall, Texas to Compton, California back in the summer of 1961.

My Aunt Baby Doll and her husband – we called him "Daddy Al" – had come to pick up me and one of my favorite cousins, Bernard, on the way back from Mississippi so that we could spend the summer in California.

We hit the road in their 1956 Oldsmobile Holiday 98 before dawn so that we could “make good time.”

“No unnecessary stops," we were told. “Hit the bathroom before we leave, because we’re not stopping. We’re going straight through.”

Of course, it's not possible to drive 1600 miles "straight through." But the overall idea was to minimize the need to stop for this and that. It was, after all, 1961 and – with segregation not yet fully banished – Blacks were not exactly welcome in many places on the side of America's burgeoning highway system.

To help guard against the need to stop for food, my Aunt Baby doll had put a big red and white-trimmed cooler in the backseat. It was filled with ice, snacks, sodas and fried chicken that my grandmother had made the night before at Daddy Al's request.

California dreaming

Wedged in between the bags, suitcase, boxes and the cooler, the backseat became quite cramped. Since there would be no hotel stop on this 1600-mile journey – just my aunt and uncle taking turns at the wheel so that they could get some sleep – we also had pillows and my special purple blanket.

My cousin and I played games to keep ourselves busy. I learned how to signal to the big truckers to ge tthem to honk their big horns whenever we passed them.

A huge dust storm engulfed the car somewhere in western Texas or New Mexico. By the time it was over, reddish brown dust covered the entire car and even ever surface on the interior even though the windows had been rolled up.

My uncle sped whenever he thought he could and the dust didn't make it too dangerous to do so. From time to time the heat and the humming of the car as it cruised down the highway eventually lulled us to sleep.

I didn’t know exactly what or where California was, but I knew we were headed there and it was going to be special.

Stopping at Stuckey's

Most times, whenever we stopped, it was just to get gas or take a bathroom break. But there was one place where we finally got to go inside. It was called Stuckey's.

I didn't know it at the time, but Stuckey's was one of the few convenience stores in the South that didn't discriminate against Black people. Which explains why – beyond the fact that we had ate all the food in the cooler – it was the first place where we actually got to go inside.

In case anyone doubts that, consider what Ethel "Stephanie" Stuckey, the granddaughter of W.S. Stuckey – the founder of the Stuckey's chain – had to say in April of 2020 when she was asked if there was any secrets about Stuckey's that she wished more people knew.

"One of the many aspects of Stuckey’s history that makes me proud is the way my grandfather handled race relations during the Jim Crow era in the deep South. From time to time, I’ve been approached by African Americans in their 60s and 70s who thank me for my grandfather’s compassion towards them and his fight to ensure the stores were open to all visitors."

Now that I'm in my 60s myself, you can add my name to list of African Americans who are thankful that Stuckey's was fully open to all regardless of the color of our skin.

Pecan logs and souvenirs

For us as kids, being in Stuckey's was like being, well, a kid in a candy store. We were both wide-eyed in wonderment and fascinated by the endless shelves of pecan logs and rows upon rows of trinkets, toys and souvenirs – everything from rubber alligators to those Davy Crockett-style hats made from the hides of raccoons. We were both mesmerized. We both knew to point but not touch. We also knew not to ask if we could buy anything.

The time to leave Stuckeyland came far too soon. Sadly and reluctantly, we returned to the car. Fortunately, the Stuckey's fun was not over. My aunt produced a big box of fried chicken she had got from Stuckey's. Joy erupted as we feasted our eyes on the big golden chicken pieces with fries and red soda in a box. This might have been the very first fried chicken I ever had outside of my grandmother’s – and it was some kind of good!

Our obsession with the toys and pecan logs of Stuckey’s quickly faded as we argued over who would get the biggest chicken leg and most fries.

Stuck on Stuckey's

Many kids who grew up during the 1960s and 70s would lose their mind whenever they saw the brights red and yellow sign for McDonald's, the world-famous hamburger chain that got its start in 1955. But for me, I had that kind of reaction whenever I saw the bright red and yellow sign for Stuckey’s, which had erected thousands of red and yellow billboards on the sides of highways "long before the advent of McDonald's."

It didn't matter if we needed gas or not, whether I needed a bathroom break or not, or whether or not I was hungry. Whenever I saw a Stuckey's sign, I wanted to go to Stuckey's to relive the pleasure wrapped up in that first experience. It was never ever about the food or hunger, but the food and the experience became one and the same.

Very wisely, my grandparents nipped those excited requests in the bud. No matter how much I wanted to experience that original rush, that original excitement, my “let’s stop at Stuckey’s” was always met with cooler wiser heads. Besides, as farmers, my grandparents could always say, "We have food at home," and it woudl always be true.

My desire to relive the the joy of Stuckey's did not fade soon. Even once I learned to drive, earned my own money and bought a car, whenever I saw Stuckey’s, I would stop and buy whatever I wanted. It was like being a kid in a candy store all over again.

Reliving the fun

Eventually, Stuckey's became a thing of the past – largely because the chain dwindled in the 1970s. But I did happen to end up in a Stuckey's once at the end of the summer of 2020 during an annual road trip from Washington, D.C. to Hilton Head Island in South Carolina with my sweetie.

As we stopped to get gas, all the memories of that first road trip came flooding back. I let the nostalgia settle over me as I remembered my cousin, who had long passed away, and the fun we had on that trip and our first visit to Stuckey's.

But the impulsivity of my youth is no longer with me. So I didn't feel the urge to stock up on pecan logs, red soda, fries and fried chicken. And – as simple or strange as this may sound – I enjoy the peace that comes from being free from the desire to recapture the past through food.

I can just enjoy the memory without unconsciously trying to replicate it. So my sweetie and I just go our gas and continued on with our trip – knowing that the real adventure was the vacation that awaited us.