As a native Ohioan, I had never planned on moving cross-country from New England to the Pacific Northwest. The potential of a European life for a few years in The Netherlands was also never envisioned during those days at McKinley High School. In fact, nothing which actually occurred in my professional or personal life was foreseeable in those early years. None of my formal job interviews turned into a reality in my life. Everything seemed merely “to have happened.” Put another way: my life has been the result of “Deus vult – God wills it.”
In the spring of 1963, following Ken’s birth, I looked for future positions for employment. Although my desire was to remain in academics, I had to consider possible career alternatives. A job in either pharmaceutical or chemical industries could not be dismissed out-of-hand. It was worthwhile for me to travel to the meetings of the American Chemical Society, held that year in Cincinnati, to see what might be available.
Most of the positions available for interviews were for other postdoctoral fellowships. There were practically none for faculty appointments in Chemistry or Biochemistry departments. There were only a few openings for those who wanted to continue in “basic” research. After all, industry was industrial, and Proctor and Gamble made cleaning supplies.
One interview that went very well for me did seem to have a focus on fundamental biochemistry. It was with an organization called the Dugway Proving Company. I actually accepted a tentative position at a very good salary. It was not until I had returned to Dartmouth that I had the opportunity to check more closely into this agency. The Internet of the future was certainly not available. It took some effort to confirm that this company was associated with the Dugway Proving Grounds of Utah, which had a deep interest in the development of weapons for biological and chemical warfare. I called them back and told them I was no longer interested in the position they had offered me. A career at Dugway would have resulted, indeed, in a fundamental change in my life.
Instead, I pursued the position with Tsoo E. King at Oregon State University in Corvallis, Oregon. In July 1963, Karen and our two kids packed into our microbus, with all of our readily transportable belongings, for a long drive from New England to the Pacific Coast. The rest of our stuff was to be sent as a small load later on, hopefully, without another encounter with skunks. We stopped off in Ohio to visit relatives. It was not until early fall that we actually saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Having driven cross-country in the heat of midsummer, we were content to remain in the cooler Willamette Valley for a while before driving over the Cascades to the Oregon coast.
We had rearranged our microbus to accommodate our cross-country trek by repositioning its middle seat to allow for the space to be filled with a play pen for Deb and Ken. Those were the days when restraining car seats for children were never considered. As a youngster, I had ridden in the back-bed of Uncle Joe’s truck. It had been fun to bounce around. Our two would have a playful time in the center of our microbus.
The trunk-section of our vehicle was loaded with a tent for camping our way along the trail leading to Oregon. That worked until we discovered camping under the stars had not really changed much from those early pioneer days. Once we passed Minnesota, we found each formal campground consisted of a site with two trees, one of which I always backed into as we attempted to settle down at the end of each day’s journey. We quickly switched to staying in inexpensive motel rooms between the Dakotas and the Coast.
Somehow, we managed to see the four Presidents in the Black Hills and an eruption of Old Faithful in Yellowstone Park. On the other hand, it was my own personal eruption we awaited each afternoon. I did omit it for one day, until Karen urged me to get it over with so we could look forward to the remainder of the day’s passage.
The limited engine power of a loaded microbus gave us ample opportunity to see the magnificent views as we crawled over the Rocky Mountains. We marveled at how those original travelers of the Oregon Trail had spent day upon day, with the mountains seeming to remain always at the same distance, until, suddenly, the pioneer was surrounded by them. The roads still had to wind around obstacles, but marvelous images came into sight as each turn was completed.
At last, we entered our new home-state. It’s no wonder that the lava fields of Oregon were used by the astronauts for practicing moon landings. There may be no greater desolate areas than those we saw as we finally entered the state. A magnificent consolation for the frozen lava fields came shortly afterwards. The fragrances of pine forests drifted into the open windows of our slowly moving vehicle. Modern cars can no doubt make the exodus in air-conditioned comfort, but there were great advantages driving a microbus filled with a family who was young enough to appreciate a new beginning, far from the routine of old New England, as we breathed in a new atmosphere.