Riding the Hound
by Michael C. Keith
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: None.
Description: A young boy rides west on a Greyhound.
_____________________________________________________________________
I have found that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them. – Mark Twain
The first thing that caught 13 year-old Darren Colby’s eye when the bus left the Omaha depot was a billboard announcing the new 1957 Mercury Montclair. Someday I’ll have a car like that, and I’ll go everywhere, he thought. However, at that particular moment he couldn’t have been happier. He had a bus ticket that would keep him on the two-decker Greyhound Scenicruiser for 16 hours, at which point he’d arrive in Salt Lake City.
Four years had passed since his mother’s sudden demise, and Marcus Colby had found a new love after a dark period of mourning. Darren was okay with her, though he still felt she had invaded his inner circle. Pleased that his father was finally in a better mood, he would have preferred if life had remained something shared by just father and son.
But now Darren was being sent to his aunt’s house for a month so that his father could go on vacation with his girlfriend. While Darren could tolerate his father’s lady friend, as he called her, he was far less enthusiastic about his dad’s sister. Clare was not among Darren’s favorite relatives, since whenever he’d seen her––thankfully not often––she acted indifferently toward him and always wore a scowl. He came to think of her as Auntie Prune Face.
“Why do I have to stay with her? She doesn’t even like me,” Darren grumbled.
“Sure she does. She invited you to stay with her,” answered his father.
“But you had to ask her, and she said no at first, right?”
“Well . . .”
“Can’t I stay with Uncle Phil? He’s fun, and he’d take me fishing.”
“No, he’s been under the weather lately. Docs are trying to figure out what ails him.”
“Maybe I could stay with Curtis. You know he’s my best friend and his mom really likes me.”
“Look, son, plans have already been made. Besides, you’ve never been to Utah. There’s a lake near Aunt Clare’s that nobody can drown in, because you can’t sink below the surface.”
“How come?”
“It’s got so much salt in it everything just floats.”
Darren had to admit that the idea of swimming in a lake he couldn’t drown in sounded pretty good. He had never learned to swim, despite a few lessons at the Y. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t keep from tensing up and sinking when he got in the deep end of the pool.
“Hey, pal, you’ll be on the bus alone . . . like a grownup. But you got to stick to yourself, okay? Don’t talk to strangers, unless they’re old ladies. You can talk to them if they ask you something. Aunt Clare will be there to meet you. Treat her nice. She’s had it hard. Uncle Herb died a year ago, and her daughter moved away for a job, so she’s been alone. You’ll be good for her to have around for a while.”
“But . . .”
“C’mon, we got to get you to the bus. I made you some sandwiches for the trip. Put a thermos full of cold milk in your bag, too.”
Darren had said little on the way to the Greyhound station, and while he was not happy with the prospect of spending time with his aunt, the idea of the solo trip ahead lifted his spirits. He had never been west of Lincoln, Nebraska, where his uncle lived, and he had always been attracted to the exotic western landscape depicted in cowboy movies and magazines.
“You keep the money I gave you out of sight so you don’t get robbed. Can’t trust everybody to do the right thing. Use it so Aunt Clare doesn’t have to pay for you when you go places, like the movies.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“I’ll give you a call in a few days,” said Marcus, patting his son on the back as he climbed aboard the bus.
“Tell Aunt Clare I said hi and for you two to have a good visit.”
* * *
Darren was disappointed to find that the front seat on the bus was already occupied. He’d hoped to have a perfect vantage point to view the landscape change from rolling hills to flat arid plains before the sunset. It was something he’d seen on TV as wagon trains moved across the state. He had to settle for an empty seat in the middle of the crowded bus. A heavyset elderly woman sat in the aisle seat.
“You can sit next to the window. Folks like to look out the window, ‘specially kids your age, but it don’t matter much to me. I seen what’s out there for near 70 years, and it never changes,” said the woman, rising to let him pass.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Darren . . . Darren Colby.”
“Colby, eh? You got family in Kearney? There’s some Colbys there. That’s where I live.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t think so. Least I never heard of any there.”
“Got a Colby on the town council. He’s the fella always bellyaching about the need for doing something to keep the Platte from flooding the town. By the way, how come you’re traveling by yourself?”
“I’m thirteen, a teenager, so my dad figured I was old enough to go visit my aunt on my own. She’s going to meet me when I get there.”
“Where is there?”
“Huh?”
“Where is your aunt going to meet you?”
“Oh, sorry . . . in Salt Lake City, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s a far piece. Never been west of Scottsbluff myself.”
During the two hours it took to get to the woman’s destination, she told Darren several stories about what it was like in her hometown of Kearney when she was a little girl. He found the accounts interesting, if not always intriguing.
“We didn’t have radio back then. Didn’t even have autos. But we had horses, and Daddy would hook ‘em up to our buckboard and take us out to Fort Kearney for a picnic almost every Sunday after church service.”
“Was it a real cowboy fort?”
“Well, it was a home station for the Pony Express and there was Pawnee Indians there. They was scouts for the cavalry and homesteaders.”
“Real Indians?”
“Well, they wasn’t fake ones, that’s for sure.”
The woman’s tale that Darren liked best concerned a tornado that had carried her family’s outhouse two miles away. It landed on top of a neighbor’s barn, causing it to look like a church steeple.
“My husband called it the Church of Holy Crap, ’scuse my language. Course it didn’t smell like a house of worship, I can tell you that.”
* * *
As the woman got off at her destination, another passenger took the seat next to Darren.
“Hi there. Name’s Kyle. What’s yours?” asked the young soldier holding out his hand to shake.
“Darren. I’m going to Utah to see my aunt. Are you in the Army?”
“Marines. I’m on leave. Going home for two weeks before I ship out to my next base.”
“Are you going to war?”
“No, ain’t no war going on right now. Kinda wish there was. Like to win more medals ‘sides the two I got,” said the soldier, pointing to his chest.
“What’s that one that looks like a cross?”
“A sharpshooter’s medal. Almost made expert, but I ended up in sickbay with pneumonia for three days and missed most of the shooting range.”
“What’s the stripe on your sleeve?”
“Private First Class, but I’m up for Lance Corporal.”
“How do you get to be a General?”
“Shoot a Colonel.”
“What?”
“Just joking. Hey, you want a piece of chew?”
“Gum?”
“No, tobacco. How old are you anyway? Think you’re probably too young for it.”
“I’ll be fourteen in December.”
“Thirteen is a mite young to start this dirty habit. I got gum, though,” said the Marine, digging into his pocket and handing a piece to Darren. “Dentine. It’s good for your choppers.”
“Is it fun to be a soldier?” asked Darren, unwrapping the gum.
“Not sure I’d call it fun, but it was better than staying at home after I left high school. My old man was on my back all the time about getting a job. I just didn’t want to work at the local grain mill. It got pretty bad, especially when he got to drinking. Then he would get real nasty. Try to start a fight with me. When I wouldn’t mix it up with him, he’d unload on Ma or my sister Amy. Finally, I just had it, so I signed up for the Marines to get away. There was nothing for me in Julesburg.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just over the state line in Colorado. Not sure how long I’ll stay. There’s this girl I like, but I’m not sure if she has eyes for me. If not, I’ll just go on to my next assignment. Not going to hang around and start fighting with Pa.”
“Want a sandwich?” asked Darren.
“Sure. What you got?”
“Cheese, I think.”
“I got a couple of soda pops here in my knapsack. You can have one,” said Kyle, handing a bottle to Darren.
The sun was setting when the young Marine reached his stop. Darren had already developed a feeling of kinship with him and was sad to see him leave.
“Think you’d make a good Marine, Darren. You got the warrior spirit in your eyes.”
“Really? Thanks,” said Darren, flattered.
He watched as the Marine tossed his duffle bag over his shoulder and wandered off the bus alone. Darren wondered why nobody was there to meet him, and felt sorry for his former travel companion.
* * *
Darren was left without anyone sitting next to him, as a couple filled the empty seats across the aisle from him. The man’s face was weathered and lined in stark contrast to the smooth youthful skin of his female counterpart. Both wore dungaree jackets and pants and had on boots.
Darren was about to doze off when the man leaned toward him and asked where he was headed.
“Salt Lake City,” replied Darren, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“You a Mormon? Course that’s none of my beeswax.”
“No, I’m Irish.”
The man chuckled, “Me, too. Irish, but Mormon is a religion. Like Baptist or Methodist. Salt Lake’s their headquarters. We been to their Tabernacle to hear the choir. You live there?”
“Nope. I’m visiting my aunt for a while.”
“This here is Lilly,” said the new passenger, gesturing to the woman at his side. “And I’m Wes. What’s your name?”
“Darren.”
“Well, Mr. D., we’re please to make your acquaintance. You traveling alone?”
“My Dad put me on the bus and my aunt’s meeting me when I get to her city.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement. You like riding the hound?”
“Huh?”
“The Greyhound.”
“Oh . . . yeah, I like it a lot. It’s fun. Do you?”
“Love it,” said Lilly, with a disapproving expression.
“I don’t mind it. Better than walking,” said Wes.
“Not by much, hon. Wes is easy to please.”
“You have high standards, my little peapod. If you had your way, it would be first class all the time.”
“This old bus is a long way from first class.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s one of them new Scenic-things.”
“Scenicruisers,” offered Darren.
“How many buses you been on that have two floors, Lilly? That’s pretty darn classy, I’d say. What do you think, Mr. D.?”
“I like it a lot.”
“Darn right! See there, Lilly, this young gentleman has a high opinion of this mode of transportation.”
“I’m going to sleep, Wes. Wake me when we get there, sweetie.”
The woman wrapped her arms around herself and rested her head against the window.
“Pleasant dreams, darlin’,” said Wes, winking at Darren.
“Where are you going?” asked Darren.
“We live outside of Rock Springs. Got a little spread where we raise a few head of cattle. Moved there from Wichita three years ago after finally saving up enough money to buy it. You ain’t a cattle rustler, are you?”
Darren laughed and swore he wasn’t, adding that he’d never even been on a cattle ranch.
“Nothing like ranching . . . except for the flying saucers,” said Wes, lowering his voice.
“Flying saucers?”
“Well, I probably shouldn’t be telling anybody about the spacemen in case they’re listening in, but we seen Martians out there during roundup. They were funny little critters about two feet tall with giant heads. We were just glad they didn’t have ray guns.”
“Really?” asked Darren, wide-eyed.
After a pause, Wes let out a laugh. “No! Gotcha, little buddy.”
Darren was treated to story after amusing story until he could no longer keep his eyes open. When he finally woke up, the couple was gone, and what appeared to be the outskirts of a good-sized city filled the view outside the window. Within minutes they were pulling into the Salt Lake City depot. A sense of deep regret filled Darren when he realized his long bus ride was over. He had enjoyed every minute of it, and he wished he were continuing on to the bus’s final destination way out in California.
As soon as he climbed from the Scenicruiser, he spotted his aunt.
“Hi, Aunt Clare.”
“Hello Darren. Let’s get going. I want you to meet my knitting group and after that my church lady friends,” declared his aunt.
Auntie Prune Face, he thought, and then he was struck with an idea.
As they walked to the parking area, Darren told her he’d left something on the bus.
“Okay, go get it, but be fast. I’ll get the car. We can’t be late, young man.”
Darren ran inside the bus station and, using the money his father had given him, purchased a ticket on to California. He then dashed to catch the bus that he’d just been on as it was about to pull out. And this time there was nobody in the front seat.
Swearwords: None.
Description: A young boy rides west on a Greyhound.
_____________________________________________________________________
I have found that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them. – Mark Twain
The first thing that caught 13 year-old Darren Colby’s eye when the bus left the Omaha depot was a billboard announcing the new 1957 Mercury Montclair. Someday I’ll have a car like that, and I’ll go everywhere, he thought. However, at that particular moment he couldn’t have been happier. He had a bus ticket that would keep him on the two-decker Greyhound Scenicruiser for 16 hours, at which point he’d arrive in Salt Lake City.
Four years had passed since his mother’s sudden demise, and Marcus Colby had found a new love after a dark period of mourning. Darren was okay with her, though he still felt she had invaded his inner circle. Pleased that his father was finally in a better mood, he would have preferred if life had remained something shared by just father and son.
But now Darren was being sent to his aunt’s house for a month so that his father could go on vacation with his girlfriend. While Darren could tolerate his father’s lady friend, as he called her, he was far less enthusiastic about his dad’s sister. Clare was not among Darren’s favorite relatives, since whenever he’d seen her––thankfully not often––she acted indifferently toward him and always wore a scowl. He came to think of her as Auntie Prune Face.
“Why do I have to stay with her? She doesn’t even like me,” Darren grumbled.
“Sure she does. She invited you to stay with her,” answered his father.
“But you had to ask her, and she said no at first, right?”
“Well . . .”
“Can’t I stay with Uncle Phil? He’s fun, and he’d take me fishing.”
“No, he’s been under the weather lately. Docs are trying to figure out what ails him.”
“Maybe I could stay with Curtis. You know he’s my best friend and his mom really likes me.”
“Look, son, plans have already been made. Besides, you’ve never been to Utah. There’s a lake near Aunt Clare’s that nobody can drown in, because you can’t sink below the surface.”
“How come?”
“It’s got so much salt in it everything just floats.”
Darren had to admit that the idea of swimming in a lake he couldn’t drown in sounded pretty good. He had never learned to swim, despite a few lessons at the Y. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t keep from tensing up and sinking when he got in the deep end of the pool.
“Hey, pal, you’ll be on the bus alone . . . like a grownup. But you got to stick to yourself, okay? Don’t talk to strangers, unless they’re old ladies. You can talk to them if they ask you something. Aunt Clare will be there to meet you. Treat her nice. She’s had it hard. Uncle Herb died a year ago, and her daughter moved away for a job, so she’s been alone. You’ll be good for her to have around for a while.”
“But . . .”
“C’mon, we got to get you to the bus. I made you some sandwiches for the trip. Put a thermos full of cold milk in your bag, too.”
Darren had said little on the way to the Greyhound station, and while he was not happy with the prospect of spending time with his aunt, the idea of the solo trip ahead lifted his spirits. He had never been west of Lincoln, Nebraska, where his uncle lived, and he had always been attracted to the exotic western landscape depicted in cowboy movies and magazines.
“You keep the money I gave you out of sight so you don’t get robbed. Can’t trust everybody to do the right thing. Use it so Aunt Clare doesn’t have to pay for you when you go places, like the movies.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“I’ll give you a call in a few days,” said Marcus, patting his son on the back as he climbed aboard the bus.
“Tell Aunt Clare I said hi and for you two to have a good visit.”
* * *
Darren was disappointed to find that the front seat on the bus was already occupied. He’d hoped to have a perfect vantage point to view the landscape change from rolling hills to flat arid plains before the sunset. It was something he’d seen on TV as wagon trains moved across the state. He had to settle for an empty seat in the middle of the crowded bus. A heavyset elderly woman sat in the aisle seat.
“You can sit next to the window. Folks like to look out the window, ‘specially kids your age, but it don’t matter much to me. I seen what’s out there for near 70 years, and it never changes,” said the woman, rising to let him pass.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Darren . . . Darren Colby.”
“Colby, eh? You got family in Kearney? There’s some Colbys there. That’s where I live.”
“No, ma’am, I don’t think so. Least I never heard of any there.”
“Got a Colby on the town council. He’s the fella always bellyaching about the need for doing something to keep the Platte from flooding the town. By the way, how come you’re traveling by yourself?”
“I’m thirteen, a teenager, so my dad figured I was old enough to go visit my aunt on my own. She’s going to meet me when I get there.”
“Where is there?”
“Huh?”
“Where is your aunt going to meet you?”
“Oh, sorry . . . in Salt Lake City, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s a far piece. Never been west of Scottsbluff myself.”
During the two hours it took to get to the woman’s destination, she told Darren several stories about what it was like in her hometown of Kearney when she was a little girl. He found the accounts interesting, if not always intriguing.
“We didn’t have radio back then. Didn’t even have autos. But we had horses, and Daddy would hook ‘em up to our buckboard and take us out to Fort Kearney for a picnic almost every Sunday after church service.”
“Was it a real cowboy fort?”
“Well, it was a home station for the Pony Express and there was Pawnee Indians there. They was scouts for the cavalry and homesteaders.”
“Real Indians?”
“Well, they wasn’t fake ones, that’s for sure.”
The woman’s tale that Darren liked best concerned a tornado that had carried her family’s outhouse two miles away. It landed on top of a neighbor’s barn, causing it to look like a church steeple.
“My husband called it the Church of Holy Crap, ’scuse my language. Course it didn’t smell like a house of worship, I can tell you that.”
* * *
As the woman got off at her destination, another passenger took the seat next to Darren.
“Hi there. Name’s Kyle. What’s yours?” asked the young soldier holding out his hand to shake.
“Darren. I’m going to Utah to see my aunt. Are you in the Army?”
“Marines. I’m on leave. Going home for two weeks before I ship out to my next base.”
“Are you going to war?”
“No, ain’t no war going on right now. Kinda wish there was. Like to win more medals ‘sides the two I got,” said the soldier, pointing to his chest.
“What’s that one that looks like a cross?”
“A sharpshooter’s medal. Almost made expert, but I ended up in sickbay with pneumonia for three days and missed most of the shooting range.”
“What’s the stripe on your sleeve?”
“Private First Class, but I’m up for Lance Corporal.”
“How do you get to be a General?”
“Shoot a Colonel.”
“What?”
“Just joking. Hey, you want a piece of chew?”
“Gum?”
“No, tobacco. How old are you anyway? Think you’re probably too young for it.”
“I’ll be fourteen in December.”
“Thirteen is a mite young to start this dirty habit. I got gum, though,” said the Marine, digging into his pocket and handing a piece to Darren. “Dentine. It’s good for your choppers.”
“Is it fun to be a soldier?” asked Darren, unwrapping the gum.
“Not sure I’d call it fun, but it was better than staying at home after I left high school. My old man was on my back all the time about getting a job. I just didn’t want to work at the local grain mill. It got pretty bad, especially when he got to drinking. Then he would get real nasty. Try to start a fight with me. When I wouldn’t mix it up with him, he’d unload on Ma or my sister Amy. Finally, I just had it, so I signed up for the Marines to get away. There was nothing for me in Julesburg.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just over the state line in Colorado. Not sure how long I’ll stay. There’s this girl I like, but I’m not sure if she has eyes for me. If not, I’ll just go on to my next assignment. Not going to hang around and start fighting with Pa.”
“Want a sandwich?” asked Darren.
“Sure. What you got?”
“Cheese, I think.”
“I got a couple of soda pops here in my knapsack. You can have one,” said Kyle, handing a bottle to Darren.
The sun was setting when the young Marine reached his stop. Darren had already developed a feeling of kinship with him and was sad to see him leave.
“Think you’d make a good Marine, Darren. You got the warrior spirit in your eyes.”
“Really? Thanks,” said Darren, flattered.
He watched as the Marine tossed his duffle bag over his shoulder and wandered off the bus alone. Darren wondered why nobody was there to meet him, and felt sorry for his former travel companion.
* * *
Darren was left without anyone sitting next to him, as a couple filled the empty seats across the aisle from him. The man’s face was weathered and lined in stark contrast to the smooth youthful skin of his female counterpart. Both wore dungaree jackets and pants and had on boots.
Darren was about to doze off when the man leaned toward him and asked where he was headed.
“Salt Lake City,” replied Darren, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“You a Mormon? Course that’s none of my beeswax.”
“No, I’m Irish.”
The man chuckled, “Me, too. Irish, but Mormon is a religion. Like Baptist or Methodist. Salt Lake’s their headquarters. We been to their Tabernacle to hear the choir. You live there?”
“Nope. I’m visiting my aunt for a while.”
“This here is Lilly,” said the new passenger, gesturing to the woman at his side. “And I’m Wes. What’s your name?”
“Darren.”
“Well, Mr. D., we’re please to make your acquaintance. You traveling alone?”
“My Dad put me on the bus and my aunt’s meeting me when I get to her city.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement. You like riding the hound?”
“Huh?”
“The Greyhound.”
“Oh . . . yeah, I like it a lot. It’s fun. Do you?”
“Love it,” said Lilly, with a disapproving expression.
“I don’t mind it. Better than walking,” said Wes.
“Not by much, hon. Wes is easy to please.”
“You have high standards, my little peapod. If you had your way, it would be first class all the time.”
“This old bus is a long way from first class.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s one of them new Scenic-things.”
“Scenicruisers,” offered Darren.
“How many buses you been on that have two floors, Lilly? That’s pretty darn classy, I’d say. What do you think, Mr. D.?”
“I like it a lot.”
“Darn right! See there, Lilly, this young gentleman has a high opinion of this mode of transportation.”
“I’m going to sleep, Wes. Wake me when we get there, sweetie.”
The woman wrapped her arms around herself and rested her head against the window.
“Pleasant dreams, darlin’,” said Wes, winking at Darren.
“Where are you going?” asked Darren.
“We live outside of Rock Springs. Got a little spread where we raise a few head of cattle. Moved there from Wichita three years ago after finally saving up enough money to buy it. You ain’t a cattle rustler, are you?”
Darren laughed and swore he wasn’t, adding that he’d never even been on a cattle ranch.
“Nothing like ranching . . . except for the flying saucers,” said Wes, lowering his voice.
“Flying saucers?”
“Well, I probably shouldn’t be telling anybody about the spacemen in case they’re listening in, but we seen Martians out there during roundup. They were funny little critters about two feet tall with giant heads. We were just glad they didn’t have ray guns.”
“Really?” asked Darren, wide-eyed.
After a pause, Wes let out a laugh. “No! Gotcha, little buddy.”
Darren was treated to story after amusing story until he could no longer keep his eyes open. When he finally woke up, the couple was gone, and what appeared to be the outskirts of a good-sized city filled the view outside the window. Within minutes they were pulling into the Salt Lake City depot. A sense of deep regret filled Darren when he realized his long bus ride was over. He had enjoyed every minute of it, and he wished he were continuing on to the bus’s final destination way out in California.
As soon as he climbed from the Scenicruiser, he spotted his aunt.
“Hi, Aunt Clare.”
“Hello Darren. Let’s get going. I want you to meet my knitting group and after that my church lady friends,” declared his aunt.
Auntie Prune Face, he thought, and then he was struck with an idea.
As they walked to the parking area, Darren told her he’d left something on the bus.
“Okay, go get it, but be fast. I’ll get the car. We can’t be late, young man.”
Darren ran inside the bus station and, using the money his father had given him, purchased a ticket on to California. He then dashed to catch the bus that he’d just been on as it was about to pull out. And this time there was nobody in the front seat.
About the Author
Originally from Albany, New York, Michael C. Keith has paternal family roots stretching back to Clan Keith of Caithness and Aberdeenshire. A leading scholar in electronic media in the United States, he is the author of over 20 books on electronic media, as well as a memoir and three books of fiction. Much more about Michael and his publications can be found on his website: http://www.michaelckeith.com