The year was 1952, my dad W. F. "Mr. Fred" McNeill was driving a 1947 KB-7 International for W. H. Collins of Winnfield, Louisiana. Collins was a lumber dealer, buying tie siding lumber from the numerous tie mills around over north Louisiana. One of the larger mills was owned by Payne Brothers; Robert and Carthall Payne of Dodson, LA. They decided to move the mill to Antonito, Colorado, a tiny little town just over the state line north of Santa Fe, New Mexico. All of the mill and equipment was loaded onto their trucks and one load on the Collins truck which my dad drove. Payne drivers included Norman Broomfield and a black man named Coy "Watermelon" Hollinsworth, both of Dodson. There were many others that I don't remember. Payne's trucks traveled in a convoy of sorts, and stayed pretty well together.

My dad was a very strong family man, including us in everything he could. I had been riding with him in trucks since I was big enough to see over the dashboard. This was a chance for the family to see what the world looked like. This was the first time I had been out of Louisiana, now 50 years later I finally completed all 50 states. I was 7 years old, I had a sister Charlotte 9, and a troublesome baby sister Patricia 2 who cried a lot and vomited frequently. If you can possibly imagine, Dad, Mom, and three kids in a 2 man cab of a KB-7 International leaving for an adventure that would take us more than a thousand miles from home and last a week. I do remember very well how everyone shouted when we crossed the Louisiana state line and how glad we were to get home!

The truck was in pretty good condition, except that a rock from a rear tire had broken out the back window. No problem, it was summertime. The truck was painted in Collins company colors, as most Internationals were, red with black fenders. We were pulling a single axle flatbed, or "float" as they were called in Louisiana. The load consisted of a winch truck, a tractor, and numerous pieces of sawmill equipment such as flat-belt pulleys and shafts. It was a full load for the black diamond 269 engine even in the low flat country and more than it needed in the mountains. The next few days would prove this. To the best of my memory it had a four speed transmission backed by a single speed single reduction rear end.

We loaded a box filled with our clothes onto the truck frame behind the cab and hit the road at 4:00 AM on July 10^th, 1952. Our seating arrangement was always the same, Charlotte sat beside Dad, I had the window, and Mom always had the Brat on her lap. There were very few four lane highways anywhere on the route, truck speed limit was 45 but the truck seldom if ever saw such blazing speed. By noon we had crossed the state line into Texas on US 80 at Waskom.. There was a big 2 story country store west of town where we pulled onto the shoulder of the road. (The building is still there) From the store we bought bread, lunch meat, sandwich spread and cookies for a picnic on the ground. America had taken to the highways by 1952, there were numerous "roadside parks" with picnic tables for motorist to use, motels or "Tourist Courts" were plentiful. Most were in a row or an arc of small individual buildings. Each one was a locally owned enterprise, usually operated by the owner. National chains were just beginning. There was an excitement in the air everywhere we stopped, with people being genuinely interested in where we had come from and where we were going. They were also probably amused at how many people would fit into a truck cab. There were numerous roadside stands that sold souvenirs and apple cider. We bought picture post cards, cedar whatnots and various other things that caught the eye of excited kids. Somewhere on the trip we bought silk American flags to attach onto the heavy grille-guard of the truck. When they became tattered they were replaced by Texas flags that were made of heavy felt. Our first day came to an end at Grapevine, Texas, on State Route 114 near the current site of DFW airport. This was the first time we had ever spent a night in a motel; what a neat new experience. Day one of our trip had taken us about 300 miles.

Day two began early; we had a long way to go and the easy part was behind us. The elevation changes gradually as you go northwest from the Mississippi River; but when you reach the foot-hills of the "Caprock", the hills get longer and steeper. The "Caprock" is the name for the east edge of the Texas Plains. The wind was strong and the vegetation was scarce, mostly Mesquite and sagebrush. I was always excited to see a Jack Rabbit or a Prairie Dog. We stopped at a roadside tourist attraction that had a fenced off area with a Prairie Dog town in it. I tried to pet one, unsuccessfully. The towns we went through on day two included Wichita Falls, Vernon and Childerss. Day two ended at Claude, just as the sun was setting. The neon lights of the signs were always exciting. A few years ago I retraced our journey and found many buildings and sights that I remembered, unfortunately the Motel in Claude was only a few parts of walls and concrete foundations. We made good time on day two, considering the load, the long grades and the little flat-land truck. Our total progress for day two was 330 miles.

Day three put us on US-66 headed west toward Amarillo. I don't remember much about crossing the plains except the wide open spaces and lack of trees; it was much different from Louisiana. We were not spoiled to air conditioning like we are today, so I don't remember it being uncomfortably hot. Shortly (in miles, not time) after we crossed the state line of New Mexico we saw our first "mountain". Naturally we bought a picture post card of Tucumcari mountain. There was an account of the history of how the mountain got its name written on the back of the card.

In 1952 when we made our "big trip" a truck stop was a service station with maybe six or eight gas pumps and one or two diesel pumps; they pumped the gas, washed windshields, checked oil, bumped tires, fixed flats, did minor mechanic work and were glad you stopped. There was enough parking for six to ten trucks at the big places, then the trucks parked along the shoulder of the road on both sides. Ice was a necessity, it was kept in little ice houses about five feet square made of tin and were well insulated. Big truck stops had larger ice houses for loading the bunker-blower refrigerated trailers hauling produce from the west coast. I always enjoyed helping fill the water jug and watched the attendant chip ice from a 100 pound block of clear ice with an ice-pick. There was a special smell to the ice houses, probably from the wet cork insulation. Another smell I remember was new tires and the burning chemicals of hot-patches. We noticed a difference in the food in New Mexico as well as differences in people and customs. I had never seen A "real Indian" or Mexican before. I probably got a better geography lesson in one week than in my entire school tenure. One of the things I remember was one café that served everything on separate little plates; we had the table covered with them! I liked the coffee cream bottles, they were about two inches tall, and held about a tablespoon of cream. Milk was in half-pint glass bottles with cardboard stoppers.

From Tucumcari the going began to get rough; the hills, (mountains to us), began to get steeper and longer. The old KB-7 was down to a crawl. We passed a man walking who looked like a rough character but apparently he was not, because he could have easily overtaken the truck on foot. I learned in later years from my Dad that we were in the lowest gear we had and running at full throttle. He really didn't think we were going to make it a few times. The canyons were scary, I worried about going off the road into one of them. On the steep downgrades the truck would backfire, I thought the truck we were hauling had started up and was going to run over us. Day three brought us to Santa Rosa on a rainy Sunday afternoon. We spent the night in a motel that is still there in operation 50 years later. There was a floor-furnace control key hanging from a hook on the wall near the floor. The Baby sister Patricia kept trying to drop it into the grating; it fell my lot to prevent this. Due to the slower speeds our progress was only 180 miles. Since it was Sunday we found a small Church to attend. There were only about 10 people present so they were especially glad to have visitors. My Dad had to help with the service, there was only one other man present, the preacher.

We left Santa Rosa early Monday morning heading west on US-66 for Clines Corner, NM where we turned north on US-285. Day 4 was probably the roughest yet on the truck, but was the most scenic. Santa Fe was beautiful with the adobe buildings. We continued to the town of Espanola where we bought fresh apples. Our journey was enhanced by a sign that said DETOUR with little round burning pot flares. The detour led us from San Juan Pueblo onto State route 68 which was a gravel road, up the Rio Grande valley to Taos, then to US-64 back onto US-285 to Antonito, CO. This detour was not very kind to Mr. Hollinsworth, who had probably never traveled away from home before and had limited education. He and the two men in the truck with him became separated from the convoy and became lost for a few days. They ran out of money with which to buy gas and food and sold their chains and binders. Their convoy was a few days ahead of us; Mr. Payne was leading the way in a car. When he realized that he had lost a truck he backtracked to look for them. We met him somewhere along the detour route where he stopped us and inquired if we had seen them.

During the night of day 4 we arrived at the unloading site; it was late and there were no motels available. Progress on day 4 was 245 miles, very tough miles. Remember that missing rear window? It got very cold during the night, there was snow on the mountain tops. We slept in a huddle sitting up in the truck. This was my first exposure to diesel trucks, all night they were hauling logs down from the mountains.

Tuesday morning July 14 we unloaded and headed south. We met Mr. Payne leading Mr. Hollinsworth, everyone was grinning and waving; they appeared to be happy to be found. We drove through a hailstorm, got wet from the missing window. I watched the hailstones bouncing on the empty trailer. Progress was much faster on the return trip, we made it all the way back to Tucumcari.

Day 6 was a long one, we didn't stop for the night, Dad drove all night long. He missed a turn in Decatur, TX which took us down by Bridgeport. Mom was the map reader, she was probably sleeping. Morning found us in east Texas near Longview; this was now Thursday morning July 16^th, baby sister Patricia turned two years old. Mom & Dad tried to find a cake at a store to have a birthday party but were unsuccessful, the best they could do was a pie, so pie it was! When the birthday pie was finished she refused to get back in the truck, she had all the riding she wanted. We finally arrived home around noon on day 6; approximately 2100 miles later. The trip could be made today in less than three days by driving the same number of hours each day, but there were much more interesting sights to see in 1952. Progress has removed us from the America that everyone was taking to the roads to see back then. The trucks are fast, powerful and air conditioned, The cafes are now fast food and convenience stores, the people don't seem to care where you came from or where you are going, the highways are wide and boring. I wish we could go back and eat pie on the side of the road beside a KB-7 International.