Pre-Barter Theatre From Bowling Green to New York by Bus
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A cross-country trip on a Greyhound bus is always an adventure, no matter when it is taken. In 1982, such a trip might be called a somewhat luxurious adventure, because of improved highways and modern, air-conditioned buses with their convenient rest rooms, reclining seats, and solicitous attendants. In addition, today's "express" schedules which are designed for those traveling long distances make bus travel more popular. But in spite of these advantages and comforts, an interstate bus trip in the 1980's is still an adventure. Its uncertainties and surprises, as well as occasional problems brought about by meeting new people and moving constantly from one place to another make it exciting.
Fifty years ago, however, taking a long bus trip was quite a different kind of adventure. In the early 1930's, very few conveniences now taken for granted in bus travel could be found anywhere. In those days, buses were not as well built, and their schedules were set up primarily to accommodate persons traveling only short distances. The stops and starts were countless -- not only the regular stops in towns and cities, but also the many unscheduled ones made along the highway as a courtesy for passengers wishing to get on or off the bus at remote places.
Little did I know what was ahead of me, when in late May of 1933 I purchased a ticket at Bowling Green and boarded a Greyhound bus bound for New York City. But at the optimistic age of twenty-one, I was not worried about the unknowns of tomorrow. Blindly determined to go to that great city, often referred to as the Mecca of the theatre, I was now on my way.
Having somehow convinced myself that the professional stage was waiting for me with open arms, and that my name would soon be seen on Broadway marquees, I paid no attention to any of my friends or relatives who tried to dissuade me from pursuing an acting career in the midst of the Great Depression. Even the dire predictions about the inconveniences, troubles, and weariness of the long bus ride to New York did nothing to dampen my spirits.
As I began the first leg of that trip -- the 120 mile stretch of two-lane road between Bowling Green and Louisville -- I was reminded of the opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair." I must have recalled these famous words of Dickens, because it seemed to me that the days of the French Revolution and those of the Great Depression in this country had much in common. In both these crucial periods of history, one could find both hope and despair, belief and incredulity, wisdom and foolishness -- all of them scattered about, with young and old alike free to choose.
I saw May of 1933 as only the best of times for me. I had just graduated from college, I was young, single, in good health, and admittedly fortunate to have a number of theatrical successes to my credit. Moreover, I had earned and saved some money from playing in dance bands and selling lawn sprinklers from door to door -- not only enough to buy a bus ticket to New York but also to pay for my living expenses there for a week or two. Yes, it was indeed the best of times for me. Well aware that thousands of hungry and homeless people in the big cities were spending much of their time each day waiting in long bread lines, I was very thankful to be where I was and to have what I had.
The three days of almost constant bus riding -- interrupted only by frequent stops and several bus changes -- gave me plenty of time not only to "see America first" but also to dream about things to come. The route I took passed through Louisville, Cincinnati, Wheeling, Washington, Wilmington, Philadelphia, and Newark, before going through Holland Tunnel under the Hudson River and ending in lower Manhattan. It was a long ride but not a boring or lonely one. I had learned early in life from my mother that a person can be alone without being lonely -- ''as long as you have eyes to see, ears to hear, a mind to perceive, and a heart to appreciate what's around you," she used to say.
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