Making Plans for Others, Dorothy Sherman Schmidt ©August 2009
In August of 1949, my father, Val Sherman, hatched one of his schemes for a travel adventure. This one was not a cross-country pilgrimage for himself; instead, he set in motion a series of steps that would send my mother, Gladys, and me, Dorothy, age 17, half-way across the country.
I’m not sure why he did not include himself in this elaborate plan. He could not have thought that Mother would be thrilled; she was not an eager traveler at best, but usually would do anything or go anywhere Val asked of her. Perhaps he had intended to go, but his pastoral duties kept him at home there in Edinburg, in the Rio Grande Valley of deep South Texas. Whatever the reason, he stayed; we went.
It came about in this way: Shortly after the onset of World War II, while we were living in Del Rio, my father had purchased a new maroon Dodge sedan. But after four years of driving hither and yon in the extended church parishes made necessary by the wartime shortage of ministers, the Dodge was beginning to totter. Daddy was ready for a new vehicle.
He shopped for one in a Buick dealership only a block away from the First Methodist Church in Edinburg. As was his custom, Daddy bought from his parishioners whenever possible. And H. B. Smith was a member of the church. The backlog of new car buyers which had accumulated during the war meant that dealers were short on inventory, and deals were difficult. But to “help out the preacher,” H.B. offered to make arrangements for the new Sherman car to be picked up at the Buick factory in Flint, Michigan. This allowed him to discount the price of the car by the $300 dollars normally charged for freight and shipping. Daddy jumped at the deal, which probably represented a sizable discount on an MSRP of about $2750.
The cost of going to get the car would probably not exceed $200-300, so that meant a cash savings and an opportunity for someone to see a good portion of the American heartland. That was such a good deal that he jumped at it. And I was excited, because with my two older brothers in the service, and my younger brother only 13, I was the only other available driver. And I was not my father’s daughter for nothing—I was just as hard-wired to crave travel as he was.
Poor Mother didn’t have a chance. She could drive, but not necessarily cross-country, so my skills and adventuring spirit were needed. Daddy’s plans didn’t stop there. He arranged that she and I would catch a ride with Dr. Hamme and his wife (also parishioners) who were taking a road trip to see relatives in Tennessee. Once that first leg of the trip was complete, we would catch a bus for the remainder of the journey to Michigan, pick up the car, and then mother and daughter could drive the 1800 miles back to Edinburg in the comfort of the new car.
Never one to leave any detail to chance or to let other schedules interfere, my father contacted Mr. Hodges, the vice-president of the local college (surprise— a parishioner, too!) and made arrangements for me to register late as a first term freshman at Edinburg Regional College (later Pan American).
And away we went. The tale of the journey is for another day, but my father’s benevolent manipulation on this and many other occasions are deservedly family legends.
