In the 50's and 60's, when we traveled in cars, or station wagons
pulling trailers for the gear, we all took turns driving. It was no big deal, in
fact it helped break the boredom of sitting all scrunched up together for all
those miles down the two lane highways. However, as we started making a little
more money on the gigs, we wanted to move up to a better mode of transportation.
The big names were buying the Silver Eagles and the MCI busses, but down
in the trenches, us regular folk who were not pulling in the big bucks yet, were
happy when the 60's brought in a new wave of campers . . . yeah, motor homes.
The name inspired visions of being right at home, even when you were traveling.
Well, I visited an outdoor show, walked through a bunch of these campers, motor
homes, and decided I just had to have one. It was about 1967 when I went to the
biggest dealer in Nashville and found a Dodge Motor Home with a bedroom in the
back, bunk beds, a kitchen, a shower, a dinette and all the goodies; and I just
had to have it. Now friends, you have to realize that the good engineers
designed these things for the normal, everyday consumer; anybody that had the
sense that God gave a goose. They did not have in mind a bunch of wild-eyed,
long-haired, hillbilly musicians that could tear up a Caterpillar tractor if
given the chance. I bought this fifty-foot long monstrosity and took it to show
the band; proud as could be, announcing that from now on, The Stan Hitchcock
Show was gonna travel in style. Well, that first weekend we were booked in Ft.
Worth, Texas at Panther Hall, playing a show with Wynn Stewart and his band and
we couldn't wait to get on The Road with our new toy.
I always took the
first shift of driving, so I took us on down The Road to Texarkana, Arkansas;
just smooth as glass, truckin' on like the big boys, no problem. I pulled it
over at a truck stop, filled it up and woke Buck Evans, my band leader and bass
player, so that he could drive us on into Texas. I crawled on back into my bunk,
with my head on the pillow right at the rear bulkhead, and went to sleep
thinking this was a great life man, traveling in style. About four hours later,
I was awakened by this horrible ripping sound. I opened my eyes and found myself
staring out at the blue sky over my head. Buck had pulled into a gas station to
get some coffee and when he backed up to leave . . . he backed up over this
filler pipe that was sticking up out of the concrete, (the one that the gas
trucks would fill up the hidden gas tanks with). This pipe stuck up about two
foot; just high enough to catch the back end of the fiberglass rear end cap of
our motor home, and rip it off when he pulled forward. Our brand new home on
wheels looked like it had been in a tornado: the whole rear end was gone. I was
speechless; sick to my stomach, just lying in my bunk with only my skivvies on
for the whole world to see. "Buck, how the heck could you do this to my new
motor home?" Buck felt it could have happened to anyone. Well, I been to two
county fairs and four goat ropings and I ain't never heard of anyone doin' it!
Oh dang, never mind. I don't want to hear it. Let's see what we can do to fix
it. We bought all the duct tape that the station had, pushed and shoved the cap
back on to the frame and taped it all the way around. It was so ugly. I was mad.
We made it to the show on time. Buck said it would never happen again. I forgave
him.
We left Ft. Worth and headed to our next series of shows down in
Florida. Two days later I was back in my bunk, sound asleep. Buck was driving
and he stopped to get gas in Orlando, Florida. I was awakened by this horrible
ripping sound. Buck had misjudged the height of the canopy over the gas pumps
and torn off our air conditioner, which used to sit on top of our motor home
roof. It was a hundred degrees in the shade as we finished our Florida tour . .
. without the benefit of air conditioning. It was ugly. I was really mad. Buck
was sorry . . . I forgave him.
Six months later, Buck ran all over
another car that was stopped at a stop sign in Mayfield, Kentucky, slid on the
ice, smashed up this poor old couple's Buick and messed up the front of the
motor home. I realized that the only end of the camper that Buck hadn't torn up
was the bottom. He had got the back, the top and now the front end. It was ugly.
I was just tired of being mad. Buck was sorry. He didn't get to drive no more. I
might have forgave him, but I ain't never gonna forget it. My beautiful home on
The Road looked like a crumpled-up tin can. I had to look at a brochure the
dealer had given me to remember what it used to look like.
I never did
get to take it camping like normal folks do…that is what I was thinking a year
later when I sold it for half of what I had paid for it. I finally gave up on
the thing when the engine blew just outside of Wheeling, West Virginia…which was
right after we put in the new transmission that had blown in Shreveport,
Louisiana…which was right after someone broke the door window out in Poplar
Bluff, Missouri and stole all my personal articles…which was right after the
shower froze up and busted in Minneapolis, flooding the whole floor of our home
away from home with about a foot of water…which was right before the stove
caught on fire, causing massive smoke damage, as I was barreling down the
highway in North Carolina, and I hit the brakes when a dog ran across The Road.
Buck was frying some chicken fried steaks. Dang, that chicken fried steak grease
is hard to put out when it gets on the carpet. Buck was pretty mad. I said I was
sorry. Buck forgave me.
Other than those few little setbacks, I kinda
enjoyed having the motor home. Think of the adventures we could have had if we
had a big, old Greyhound bus like Jack and Jeannie…and Cal Smith…and Bare…and
Porter. Oh well, poor folks have got poor ways and it would have just been more
to tear up, I reckon. Yes sir, you got to be tough to hold up under the pressure
of a traveling band of gypsy hillbillies.