It was mid August 1977.\u00a0Summer had fewer days ahead then it had behind and I had precious little time to find a new school to attend. A year commuting to a local New Jersey state college as a freshman left me wanting a real college experience\u2026 A quad, dorms, more girls and a meal plan. That led to a road trip.<\/p>\n
The challenge: drive 700 miles from northern New Jersey to Richmond, Va. and back in one day. The destination: Virginia Commonwealth University. My driving companion: my stepfather.<\/p>\n
Much can be said about my stepfather. The adjectives roll toward and past you like a verbal Doppler effect.\u00a0You hear the oncoming words, but the latter ones make the lasting impression:\u00a0Intelligent, charming, polite, corny, syrupy, temperamental, grumpy, boorish, insecure, imperious, hypercritical, hostile. Picture Charlie Rose with horns.<\/p>\n
My stepfather lived in an alternative universe with the home planet called Hubris.\u00a0Professional triumphs equaled as many personal failings. But his path to self-examination was about as far away as Bayonne is from Beijing.\u00a0His type only remember and extol successes and forever bury failure in their personal backyards.\u00a0Don\u2019t dig these deficiencies up, let alone bring them up. It won\u2019t be pretty for the excavator.<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll refer to my stepfather as Baymur B.H.\u00a0One of my younger brother\u2019s friends gave him this moniker, the genesis of which to this day I know not.\u00a0This kid likely glimpsed the refracted light of Baymur\u2019s one-way prism of perceived perfection and saw right through him. My guess is Bevis and\u2026 (had it been on at the time).<\/p>\n
Mercurial, yes. But this day, Baymur seemed even-keeled. Knowing him for six years, the fact that he cheerfully volunteered for the task held out hope that he had some redeeming qualities. I recognized and appreciated the effort.<\/p>\n
Our vehicle for this journey was a 1976 Plymouth Grand Fury, the last of the Big Three land barge station wagons. Cranberry red with a cream, leather interior, it was\u00a0wide and long. Pulling out of the garage, I got the same sensation of bulk when an airliner backs away from a gate.<\/p>\n
With Baymur at the helm and me sprawled on the backseat, we set off before dawn. I awoke three hours later, the wagon barreled through Baltimore and emerging from the south end the Harbor Tunnel Throughway.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou up?\u201d asked Baymur.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I said yawning and blinking at the sun.\u00a0 \u201cHow much farther?<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout three more hours,\u201d he said. \u201cHow about breakfast?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOk, yeah, sure,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n
No, not sure at all, really.<\/p>\n
Punctuality is important to me. Our appointment in Richmond was at 12:30 p.m. and I wanted nothing to chance. Not even food. \u00a0But the quintessential breakfast guy\u2019s stomach growled. Not too far into Virginia, we stopped.<\/p>\n
We entered the rest area restaurant and were seated. I ordered pancakes; Baymur went for his usual eggs, bacon and short stack. The food arrived. I half-heartedly picked at my flapjacks while Baymur methodically pierced and cut his eggs, placing a piece on a portion of his buttered toast, pacing even consumption of both.<\/p>\n
*\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0\u00a0 *<\/p>\n
Fast-forward a handful years to a Saturday morning at my mother\u2019s house where I was living temporarily. I had made myself two eggs, over easy, with two pieces of white toast and went to consume them in the den. I sat in the hunter green recliner, pulled up a TV tray, flicked on the TV and settled on a Road Runner cartoon.<\/p>\n
Watching the show, I first consumed both eggs, leaving enough yellow yoke to dredge up with the toast. I took a hunk of the bread, and brushed it across the plate.\u00a0Raising it to my mouth, I took a bite, and over a low point of the Carl Stalling score, heard a voice say:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou ate that wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
I froze.\u00a0 Slowly turning my head left I saw Baymur standing outside the door, somewhat obscured by the darkness of the hallway. My brain jolted, as if pierced by a large caliber bullet, trying, vainly, to reconnect nerves that were forever to stay severed.\u00a0I momentarily turned my gaze back toward the plate, and then glanced back to where Baymur stood, but he was gone. I stared straight ahead, stunned for what seemed an eternity. I was still holding the piece of bread and the bite I took fell out of my mouth.<\/p>\n
*\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0\u00a0 *<\/p>\n
I looked at my watch, but Baymur made no move to speed things up. Being the engineer that he was, he likely calculated distance and speed and already knew we had more than enough time. I was relieved when he laid his utensils to rest across his plate and motioned for the check. We exited and were back on I-95, sprinting to Richmond.<\/p>\n
Upon our arrival, my immediate impression for the school was summed up with three words: I hated it.\u00a0Virginia Commonwealth University in 1977 was an urban landscape of haphazard looking buildings and sun-baked sidewalks wilting under oppressive summer heat. No quad, just blocks of row homes and buildings that had seen better days.<\/p>\n
A coed politely and efficiently showed us around.\u00a0 My despair grew with every step.\u00a0After about an hour and half, she bade us good-bye and said something like \u201cyou\u2019re going to like it here.\u201d I looked around, making a complete 360-degree turn where I was standing, and then looked at Baymur.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d he asked.\u00a0 \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t lie to him.\u00a0 \u201cWell\u2026.\u201d I let draw out, \u201cI think its o.k.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was then that Baymur uttered a string of short sentences for which I hold him in high regard to this very day.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t want to go here,\u201d he said.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s lousy.\u00a0 Let\u2019s go home.\u00a0 I\u2019ll go call your mom and tell her we\u2019re on our way.\u201d<\/p>\n
Life sometimes takes you out of your way to help you find something else closer by.\u00a0Upon his return, Baymur told me that another school, Rider College, was interested in meeting with me. Ironically, we had driven within several hundred yards of its central entrance.<\/p>\n
We rocketed home. North of Baltimore, after exhausting mutual topics of conversation, Baymur turned to the radio. That\u2019s when we heard it.<\/p>\n
Elvis died.<\/p>\n
It was about as shocking as (later) hearing about Michael Jackson. The passing of huge star is big news.\u00a0I knew who Elvis was. \u00a0But I was never a fan of 50\u2019s era rock-a-billy, and paid less attention to the fat, jump-suited, drug-taking Elvis. For the rest of the evening, it was all Elvis, all the time.\u00a0 We stopped, ate dinner, and drove the last 150 miles in darkness, arriving home at 11:30 p.m.<\/p>\n
Thirty-three years later, I realized that trip was filled with endings and foreshadowing.\u00a0The first true American superstar of the television era had passed on. So, too, did a younger version of myself as I traveled through Baltimore and Washington, D.C., two cities that would shape my personal and business lives for years to come.\u00a0I also realized that my stepfather, for all his many flaws, proved to be a calm and worthy travel companion.<\/p>\n
For a day at least.<\/p>\n
Six weeks is another story entirely.<\/p>\n
R. Allan Reed is a collector of people\u2019s first and second most favorite places on earth at his destination blog, SecondSpot.com<\/a>. He\u2019s looking to accumulate one thousand new spots by year\u2019s end. He lives and works in Naperville, Ill.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n Why I like this story: Diners, road trips, ghosts and Elvis. Really, do I need to say more? It was mid August 1977.\u00a0Summer had fewer days ahead then it had behind and I had precious little time to find a new school to attend. A year commuting to a local New Jersey state college as a freshman left me wanting a real college experience\u2026 A quad, dorms, more girls and a meal plan. … <\/p>\n
\n<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"