US Route 41 (Sid)

Wigwam Village Inn #2 was completed in 1937 in Cave City, KY
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My brother's circumcision naturally brings to mind this historic highway. It seems to me that every December after Christmas we packed up and headed down to our rental stucco duplex cottage in North Miami. I remember the trip taking 5 days! Is this possible? The trips were a mixture of horrible boredom with rare memorable moments along the lines of sleazy Seminole Indians wrestling alligators behind gas stations. There were, of course, more healthy family moments, like Alma breaking into enthusiastic song in the front passenger seat, leading by example, urging strongly that we sing along “Way Down Upon the Suwanee River.” This happened on cue in Northern Florida when one of those many tepid waterways wending through the Great Swamp happened to have the official green sign. I might add that the response northbound was more muted than the southbound.

One season my brother's weenie became a bother even more than the usual bother of a weenie brother. I would guess that it was about Evansville, Indiana that the debate started in the front seat. Ha! It doesn't take a genius to piece together the dialog. “We should go back.” “No we've gone too far.” “Maybe it'll clear up.” I was vaguely interested. But having survived a long time in the family trenches, I, the wily veteran doughboy wasn't going to lead the charge and take the lead. So I waited. Although stricken when we rushed past our Stuckey's of time-honored tradition, the lead flying was hot and fast and I stayed low and mute in my backseat foxhole. The familiar landscape slid past: roach infested Wig-Wam Motel Courts, smelly Reptile Farms, Chew Mail Pouch Tobacco barns, See Rock City billboards and of course the immortal work of advertising genius, Allan Odell (and to hyper-extend the stretched metaphor): Hinky-dinky - Parley voo - Cheer up the face - The war - Is thru – Burma Shave


I don't have any recollection of the medical facility. Most likely I never saw it having been stashed in a AAA approved Motel for the duration. The AAA thing was a predictable front seat fight. Ha! It doesn't take a genius to piece together the dialog. “We should stop at this motel. It's a Triple A.” “Its too early.” “Look! A Triple A! Oh No! No Vacancy. I knew it! YOU Should a...” What? Weren't there telephones and motel reservations in 1959? We did this trip Every Year! Never, never, did we know where we were going to find a room. Were those two in the front seat morons?

 Anyhow the medical facility must have been in South Georgia, the land of boiled peanuts and roasted pecans. I surmise this because when we resumed our trip and got to the land of the Suwanee, it was time for the little uncrowned weenie to do its thing. No singing this trip.