My First Real Trip James L. Cowles (c) Copyright 2026 by James L. Cowles

Photo by Pixabay at Pexels.

Seventy-five years ago this coming September, my mother visited my fifth-grade teacher with me to tell her that I would be missing two weeks of school. As I recall, school had only been in session for a week or so, and my teacher hardly knew me. I vividly remember that session, because my new teacher, Ms. Rader, wasn't thrilled about one of her students missing so much of the early part of a new term.

I sat nervously beside my mother during what seemed to me to be a very lengthy meeting. I obviously did not know Ms. Rader very well, but what I knew of her, I didn't like. The few days that I had been in her class, she had not even so much as smiled at any of us kids, and she was very strict. Mom had made up her mind – I would be going on a family trip during the school term, and that was that. It's not good for a kid to be present when a parent is talking with your teacher about you, especially this meeting, which I sensed was not going well. If this had been my 4^th grade teacher, Ms. Bramer, there would have been no question about getting her approval. She was my favorite teacher; she searched all over the school for a left-handed desk for me, and she was determined that I would hold my pencil correctly, and not in some contorted, twisted way like most left handers do, and she was successful. I had already developed some bad habits, but she taught me how to hold my pencil correctly. More importantly, she smiled, and she did that all the time. All of us kids liked Ms, Bramer. What would have been a short visit with her, turned into an hour-long session with Ms. Rader. I remember the look on mom's face as Ms. Rader explained the importance of those first few weeks of school. She said, “This is the time I give my students the foundation of this entire school year. If Jimmy misses it, he may very well have to repeat the 5^th grade; in fact, I'd recommend you plan on it.” What a thing for a kid to hear. Not only was Ms. Rader a sourpuss; she was controlling, and seemed determined to have it her way, or the highway.

My mother was a quiet woman, rarely given to raising her voice, but when I saw her tense up, I slid down in my seat, and closed my eyes. For some reason I can't remember the next part of the conversation; I was dwelling on the embarrassing thought of having to repeat the 5^th grade, while all my friends moved on to the 6^th grade. I believe that mom told Ms. Rader that I was a good student, and that I would make up for any lost time. She may have mentioned Ms. Batches' name, who was the principal of James Russell Lowell Elementary. I know that would have been mom's next stop, if she couldn't come to some agreement with Ms. Rader. I remember mom telling Ms. Rader that a visit to our Nation's Capital would be a wonderful learning experience for any young student, and looking back, it sure was.

Yes, I would be going with my family to Washington, D.C to visit my favorite Aunt and Uncle, Aunt Mary, mom's sister, and Uncle Roy. It was my first visit to the U.S. Capitol, but more importantly, it would be the first time for mom to see where her sister lived. We were all excited, and I put Ms. Rader and her sourpuss out of my mind and began thinking about how great our trip would be. The next part of my story could be a whole story on its own. It was as exciting to me as the visit to D.C., because I had never been anywhere that far away in my life. Let me set the stage for this part. First, my father did not have a car, so we would be going to Washington in a 1948 Fraser with My sister, Mary, and my brother-in-law, Gordon. Gordon would do all of the driving during this part of our adventure, with Mary sitting beside him, and in the back seat, mom, dad, and me. They let me sit by the window so I could be entertained, at least for a while. The Fraser automobile was A six-cylinder car produced by the Kaiser-Fraser Company, one of many Auto Companies in the U.S. that have come and gone over the years. Gordon was not a mechanic, and dad was apprehensive about the car making it on such a long trip. In fact, there was a joke in the family about Gordon and his lack of mechanical ability. Dad joked that Gordon only had one tool, and it was an extra-long screwdriver, which he used to adjust the car's carburetor. Indeed, Gordon did use that screwdriver about every time he stopped to refuel. I don’t remember any problem with the car at all, so perhaps Gordon’s skill, or lack thereof, had been misjudged. The screwdriver was the only tool needed for the entire trip.

Keep in mind, it is approximately six hundred miles from Louisville to D.C., and the only real expressway system the whole way was the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and that was just a very short distance; that highway was far from complete. We made this trip one whole day and well into the evening, so the adventure soon turned into drudgery. We got lost a few times but were able to get directions from a service station attendant. They actually wore uniforms and pumped gas back then. But I remember once when there was no service station to be found, and Gordon spotted a bar that was open, and stopped to get directions. Now to explain, my whole family were tee-totalers. Gordon had been in the Navy, and I'm pretty sure he hoisted a few cold ones once upon s time, but this need for directions made the entire family apprehensive. Would Gordon be walking into a dangerous place? Of course not, but none but Gordon had ever been in a bar, at least, supposedly so, We all sat there for a time, then suddenly dad spoke up. “Come on, Gordon,” he said, as he turned to mom and me and said, “I’m going in with him!” I could see worry on mom's face as she shook her head in agreement. With that, they both headed toward the door of the bar. I'm reminded of the Holiday film, Christmas vacation, when the squirrel jumped out of the Christmas tree, and Sparky’s father turned to the family, saying, “I’m going in with him.” Oh, the bravery, as he and Sparky tippy toed toward the tree.

It seemed like it was forever before they came out. The three of us, Mary, mom and I, sat silently waiting when suddenly the door burst open, and both dad and Gordon walked out, laughing their heads off. When they got in the car, mom asked if they had directions. Dad was the first to speak. “Yeah, we got ‘em, but Gordon had to drink a whole glass of milk to get ‘em.” Gordon was still laughing hysterically and said, “Well, I felt like I had to buy something before I asked the man for directions.” It turned out, we were only about 50 miles away from Aunt Mary's, but fifty miles takes a lot more time without expressways. It was very late when we made it to our destination, and I don't remember a lot about our arrival. I had finally enjoyed as much of a very long trip as I could stand, and someone led me to a bed, and I collapsed. That next morning, I awoke refreshed and ready to go. I wanted to see our nation's Capital, but Aunt Mary said it would be a good idea for me to be introduced to some of the kids in the neighborhood, and to see some of the area, so after breakfast, we walked down a hill on the other side of the street, through a little wooded area, to a flat wide-open space. The area was just the right size for a baseball field, and there were kids everywhere. Aunt Mary introduced me to several kids, and I played ball with some of them for a good while, before walking back over to Aunt Mary and Uncle Roy's house. Seems the adults were worn out and needed to rest a little after the long trip, and there was not much happening on Sunday anyway. I remember being disappointed, at least until my aunt and uncle began telling me about some of the things we would be doing during the next few weeks, while Gordon worked making homemade ice cream.

My Aunt worked for Sealtest, which was headquarter in D.C., and my Uncle Roy was in management at the U.S. Treasury Department. They had no kids, but they treated my sisters and me as if we were their children. I know they were favorites of mine, and they were excited as they talked about all the things they had planned for us, especially me. The next morning, Uncle Roy loaded me into his car and took me to the Treasury Department. I could tell he was excited to take me down on the floor where the U.S. money was printed, but not near as excited as me. There were balconies covered by glass which overlooked the very large presses, and I had to get approval for admission down on the floor. I felt special, because I was right there watching sheets of dollar bills coming right off the presses.

Over the next two weeks we visited many wonderful places, each of which made a big impression on me. Mount Vernon, Virginia, where George and Martha Washington lived. Our first President made a little beer during his years, but not necessarily for personal consumption. He had a simple, low alcoohol, formula, which he said was safer for his troops to consume than many sources of water. He also produced much of his food right there on his estate, which overlooked the Potomac River. What a beautiful home, but I can remember a sense of disappointment that our first President owned slaves. Such were the times.

 Over the next two weeks we visited many great, and very impressive places. Lincoln Memorial, Thomas Jefferson Memorial, the White House, though all we did was stand outside the gates looking in, The House of Representatives, where from the balcony, we observed the House in session, A tour of the Capitol Building, A drive by the Blair House, where many foreign heads of state stay when they visit the U.S., The Senate, The Washington Memorial, where Gordon and I both climbed and descended all those many steps; The reflection pool was beautiful, The Tomb of the Unknown soldier, so sad, yet a beautiful expression of honor we give those who have given their all for our country. I was inspired as I watched the changing of the Guard at the Tomb, and of course, it is a part of the Arlington National Cemetery, and all the graves of the fallen. All of those crosses. If you do not shed a tear as you think about all those who have died in the service of our country, you are not human. I remember geting choked up and noted how solemn my family had gotten. While still in Virginia, we visited Thomas Jefferson's home, Monticello. Again, the slave quarter’s made me sad, but hearing how Jefferson was responsible for writing our Declaration of Independence, filled me, A 10-year-old, with inspiration. The Smithsonian Institute was one of the most fun things we saw. My eyes immediately spotted the Spirit of St. Louis hanging from the ceiling and I remembered the significance of its flight. You could spend two weeks in that place, easily.

When the two weeks were finished, I dreaded going home. That long trip back was not at all memorable. In fact, it was pure drudgery, but we decided to stop about halfway back, and spend the night in a Holiday Inn. That made it all a little more bearable. I also am glad to say that I made Ms. Rader smile when I stood in front of the class and excitedly told the class about my trip. I think she knew that I learned more during those two weeks than she ever thought possible. She smiled even more as the year passed, and I passed that year with flying colors, and was promoted to the 6^th grade, and Ms. Vic’s class (pronounced, “Weeks,” whose husband was Norwegian). After all these many years later, those two weeks stand out as my favorite vacation, ever. The reason could be, it was my very first vacation outside Kentucky, and I got to spend a full two weeks with my favorite Aunt and Uncle. God Bless America!