When I was a young man, I entered the United States Air Force. After basic training and technical school, I was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii. I met a young woman, who I will call Paulina, there and dated her for about a year. She was staying with her sister and brother-in-law but eventually, she had to return home to Louisiana. This is a true story about going to visit her at home.
The Air Force allows you to fly on their aircraft when they have space. You sign up for a waiting list and must be ready when they inform you that there is a flight available to your destination. In this case, I wanted to get from Hawaii to Louisiana, but it was very unlikely that there would ever be a flight between those two locations. So, I decided to do things in stages. For my first hop, I set my destination as Travis AFB (Air Force Base) near San Francisco, California. I believed, once on the Mainland, I could figure out how to get across the country.
I got a call telling me there was a flight leaving and grabbed my things and headed to the flight line. If I remember correctly, the flight was on a 707 intended to carry military passengers. I made it to Travis without event. It was then that the adventure began.
Before I continue, though, I must give modern readers a little insight into the situation at the time. The internet did not exist. People of that time could not have conceived of the amount of information accessible in an instant today. The phones still used rotary dials. In order to discover someone’s telephone number, you either had to have a telephone book for their location or you had to call directory assistance. In fact, it was not uncommon for companies that covered large geographic areas to have a library of telephone books so they could find a number they needed. Further, it was very expensive call from Hawaii to Louisiana so I wrote letters but never called. The result was that I had Paulina’s address in my address book but had not written down the phone number.
What makes this digression relevant? When I arrived in California, I decided to call my girlfriend’s home to give them information about how my trip was going and when I expected to arrive. Sadly, when I looked at the information I had with me, I had a complete address but no phone number. No problem, I’ll just call Directory Assistance.
I found a pay phone and called 555–1212. An operator answered.
“I would like a number in Louisiana.”
“What town in Louisiana?”
“The town of Lockport.”
“Let me try to connect you.”
There was a pause and then, “Louisiana Directory Assistance. How can I help you?”
“I am trying to find a number for Pierre Trahan. The address is 231 Catherine Street. In Lockport, LA.”
There was a brief pause and then “I am sorry sir, but I have no listing for a Trahan in Lockport.”
“What? I know that they live in Lockport. I have the address right here. Please check again.”
“I am sorry sir, but I have no listing with that last name in Lockport.”
“Can you think of any reason why a listing would be missing? I know this is the correct name and address”
“Well, they might have an unlisted number.”
“I don’t think they do. Is there anything else?”
“No, sir. I can’t think of any other reason.”
I hung up but I was quite upset. What was I to do now? I decided that maybe, if I could get closer, the information system might have different information available. Information was run by local phone providers and was only provided regionally. That was why the California operator had to connect me to Louisiana directory assistance. I went to the hop desk at Travis AFB and asked if they had anything going east. The answer was no.
Travis was a major west coast hub for the Air Force. Flights from anywhere in the Pacific (including Vietnam) would stop there as the first point of entry. There was enough traffic that I decided to wait to see what would develop. The flight from Hawaii had been overnight and so we had arrived early in the day. I sat in plastic airport chairs for several hours, catching catnaps as I could and checked back in with the hop desk every hour or so. In the late morning, when I approached the desk, they had good news. An Air National Guard crew was returning to their home base in Chattanooga, Tennessee. They were flying a cargo aircraft and had no cargo, so they had lots of room. If I wanted to, I could get a hop on that flight.
I went back to the phone and tried directory assistance again. The answer had not changed. So, I decided to try and get closer.
Anyone familiar with modern jet transportation would guess that this flight would take about 4 and a half hours. Not exactly. The aircraft I was to fly in was a C-124. It was known as the “flying Bumble Bee” because aeronautical engineers looking at it claimed that, like the bumble bee, it should not be able to fly. It consisted of a cavernous fuselage and relatively narrow wings and was powered by four propellers driven by radial engines. It was not pressurized so, if it flew over 10,000 feet the passengers and crew would require oxygen. Seating was provided by a row of canvas strap seats strung down either side of the fuselage. When the plane was airborne, the empty cargo hold amplified and reverberated with noise of the engines. It might have been interesting to see the country from a relatively low and slow airplane but the porthole like windows were behind the seats and, even when you were able to look out, the field of view was very limited.
We took off a little after round noon. I tried to sleep but, with the noise and discomfort of the seats, had little luck. About 10 hours later, we were at the crew’s home Air National Guard base in Chattanooga. I wasted little time and went directly to the commercial terminal that used the same runways we had just used for landing. Some of the airline ticket counters were still open and I stopped at the first one I found.
“is there anything going to New Orleans tonight?”
“Our flights are all finished for the day but let me check the other airlines for you. No, sorry, all flights for New Orleans have left for today. The only flights yet to leave are one to Chicago and one to Philadelphia.”
“Sorry, but those won’t be of much help. What is the first flight to New Orleans tomorrow morning?”
“It looks like there is a flight at 8 AM. “
“Okay. Thank you.”
It was already 11 PM and I had made no arrangements to stay in Chattanooga. Besides, I had now been awake for over 48 hours, except for my bits of sleep here and there. I was in my Air Force uniform because that was the requirement for both military and civilian travel at that time. I also had very little money, so I decided to stay at the airport.
I would not claim that airports were ever designed for sleeping but, at least in that era, they did not have all the armrests and barriers common today so you could stretch out full length. I went into the Men’s room and wet my face and brushed my teeth. But before I lay down for the night, I made another attempt to find Paulina’s family’s telephone number. This was a different state, after all, and maybe they had access to different information.
The operator was different, but the answer was the same, “I am sorry sir, but I have no listing for a Trahan in Lockport, Louisiana.”
I lay down on the seats and tried to sleep. Sometime later, a group of airline workers on their way home asked me what I was doing. I told my story and an attractive woman invited me to go with them for a drink after work. It is one of those opportunities that I still remember but, at the time, I was so focused on my destination and seeing Paulina again that I said no.
After a restless night on a hard-plastic bench, 7 o’clock arrived. It was Sunday and I had been awake the better part of 56 hours and I was exhausted. I bought a ticket and headed to the gate. Everything was pretty uneventful. I boarded the plane and made the short flight to New Orleans. Now that I was finally in Louisiana, I was sure I could get the phone number. But I was wrong.
“I am sorry sir, but I have no listing for a Trahan in Lockport.”
What now? I inquired and found I could get a taxi to take me to Lockport or I could take a bus from the city bus station. I took a local bus from the airport to the bus station. Sure enough, they had a bus going to Lockport in an hour. It was scheduled to arrive in Lockport at 12:15 PM. It was local and made numerous stops along the way, but it went to places whose name’s I knew from talking to Paulina. The bus would stop in Raceland prior to Lockport and the next stop after Lockport was Houma. I just needed to be awake when we got to Lockport. I bought a ticket to Lockport and climbed aboard.
It was hot. As the bus headed out on the highway, I was sweltering. I watched as we travelled next to a long string of power transmission towers. Each one the same as the last.
I woke up with a start. The bus was slowing down in a town. I truly hoped to was Lockport. I had not been aware of any of the previous stops we had made, so I knew I had slept quite soundly for some time. I looked at my watch. It was almost 1 o’clock. That was not a good sign. When the bus pulled into the station, I grabbed my bag and jumped off. I went immediately to the ticket agent in the station.
“What town is this?”
“Houma.”
“Oh, no. I’ve gone too far. How can I get back to Lockport?”
“The bus going back to New Orleans will be here at 6 o’clock. You can take it back.”
“Six o’clock! Is that the only way I can get back?”
“Yes, sir. There in only 1 bus each way on Sundays.”
Next, I went to a payphone. I was relatively close to Lockport. Maybe Paulina could come and get me.
“What city, please.”
“Lockport.” Surely this close, they would have the listing.
“What name, please?”
“Trahan”
“I am sorry sir but there is no listing for that name in Lockport.”
“But I know they live there, and it is only 20 miles away.”
“That may be correct, but I have no listing. I’m sorry.”
Now I was really stumped. How could I be so close and still not be able to get a phone number.
I decided the only choice I had was to wait for the return bus and head back. But it was hot in the bus station. Instead of sitting, I chose to walk around town. Also, I hadn’t eaten much for about a day and thought maybe I could find something to eat.
I had forgotten that it was Sunday. Everything was closed.
While I wandered, I saw one place where there was activity. One the side of a big public building was the sheriff’s office. All the doors in the rest of the building were locked but the doors here were unlocked and people in uniform occasionally went in and out. It was an official office and I wondered if they might have telephone books for neighboring parishes. Maybe I could find a book that had the number. I went in and went up to the man at the desk. After telling my story, I asked if they had a phone book for Lockport. They had many books, but they all related to Terrebonne Parish or to big cities like New Orleans or Baton Rouge.
“Sorry, Son, but I don’t think we can help.”
I’m sure I looked crestfallen. “Can you think of anywhere where they might have a phonebook, that’s open today?”
I think he took pity on me. “Not today. Everything’s closed. Tomorrow you could go to the telephone company office, but they’re closed today.” Then he said, “Follow me.”
He led me up a flight of stairs to what was apparently the dispatcher’s office. Off to one side was the radio room. He spoke to someone, but I did not hear the conversation. The officer he spoke to then picked up the phone and called someone else. After he hung up, he told me to come with him. He took me into the radio room. There were 2 officers working at a bank of radios.
“Have we got anyone who could do a 10–87 from here to the parish line.”
While the radio operators got busy, the officer turned to me and said,” We support our boys. See the man in the wheelchair, he was wounded in Vietnam. We’ll get you where you want to go.”
One of the operators said, “Jack is nearby. He says he can do it.”
The boss said to me, “Take your stuff. Go downstairs and back out the door you came in. There’ll be a car waiting for you by the door.”
I did as he told me and as I walked out the door. I saw a current model station wagon with sheriff’s markings on the side and a light on top. I went over and the driver said, “Get in.”
The man driving was in a sheriff’s uniform. He was thin with white hair and appeared to late middle age. As soon as I was seated, he started the engine and drove off. I had no idea what was going on.
Once we got out on the highway, the driver floored it. While this did not look like a muscle car, it clearly had a police interceptor engine. We flew down the highway at 80 miles per hour. The fastest I had ever travelled in a car up to that point.
After driving about 10 minutes, the driver slowed down and pulled into the gravel parking lot of a roadhouse. It was dusty and hot and not very attractive, in the way to bars tend to be in the daylight. He pulled up next to another car which also had a police light on the roof.
“Go on over there and catch a ride with Wayne. He’ll take you where you want to go.”
I hope I said, “Thank you.” But I was dumbfounded and probably just did what he said.
When I got in the other car, the driver, also in a sheriff’s uniform that was slightly different from my first driver, started out onto the highway.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I’m trying to get to the bus station in Lockport. Someone will pick me up from there.”
“Who are you supposed to visit?”
“Pierre Trahan”
“Don’t know him. What’s the address?’
I gave him the address and he said, “That’s fine. I’ll just take you right there.”
Silly me. I let him.
About 15 minutes later, we pulled up in front of Paulina’s house. I was in a marked Sherriff’s car. I had been missing for almost 3 days. I hadn’t shaved in several days. I was grungy and my clothes had that clear “slept in” appearance. What kind of conclusions do you think Paulina’s family drew?
Once inside and slightly settled, I told them my story. As I finished, Paulina’s father went over to the telephone and dialed information.
“Do you have a listing for Trahan in Lockport?”
“Of course, sir. The number is….”
I don’t think, even to this day, my story was ever believed.
Footnote: The dominant provider of telephone service in the United States at that time was Bell. However, some small locations had what were called cooperative phone companies. Paulina’s family was connected to one of these coops. All of the information operators I had called during my journey, even in Louisiana, were part of Bell.
