I only went home on Christmas leave one time during my enlistment. It was 50 years ago in 1963. I was stationed at MCRD San Diego, attending Basic Electronics School. Since the course just happened to end just before Christmas and Radar Fundamentals class didn't start until right after 1 Jan 1964, we were given leave over the Christmas holiday.
As usual, I was short on money so flying was out of the question. Having had the round trip bus experience on boot leave and since one of the guys in the class was going to the Chicago area over the Holidays to pick up his wife, his baby and his car, I opted for the train home, and worked a deal with him for a ride back.
I had traveled by train a couple of times, a year and a half earlier, when my buddy and I went from Decatur, IL to St. Louis for our pre-induction physicals, so I kinda knew what to expect or so I thought. The leg from San Diego to L.A. was okay but from L.A. to Chicago the accommodations were less than A-1. Much less. They must have put on more cars just for military personnel taking Christmas leave and reactivated them from wherever old passenger cars go to die. I swear I was in third class in a car straight out of the 1920s. There were hard bench seats and no comfortable place to sleep other than a padded bench in the head. What the hey, I was a 19 year old Marine. This train trip wasn't squat compared to boot camp.
It came time to go back and my folks drove me down to the agreed upon meeting place where I jumped in the car with my buddy and his family. The trunk and back seat was packed with all his plunder (I think) with just enough room in the back seat for one person. (Me when I wasn't driving.) He and I shared driving duties while his wife took care of the baby.
The car was a 1955 Chevy with a busted fuel gauge. No problem. He knew approximately what mileage he got with the car so we just calculated how far we could go on a tank and kept an eye on the odometer. That is until the speedometer cable broke somewhere southwest of St. Louis. Not even a quarter of the way there and the only way we had of keeping track of the gas in the tank was by guess and by golly. We pulled into Oklahoma City about 0200 and that's where the fuel pump decided to take a dump. Somehow we managed to find a place that could fix it in the middle of the night. We managed to scrape up enough to pay for the repairs and it wasn't long before we were back on the road. Except for splitting the seat of my trousers somewhere in the mountains of Arizona, the rest of the trip was pretty much a blur of driving, riding and trying to nap. We pulled into San Diego early in the morning of the day before we had to report back in.
I don't remember the name of the guy I rode back with (or anyone else in that class) but I recall his face and I've included a picture of him cropped from our class picture. If anyone recognizes
him, please contact me — LAAM_Marine(at)Yahoo.com