Lycoming College Summer Magazine 2013

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Last Road Trip
By Joanne Long Fenstermacher ’80
M y father, Henry Lewis Long ’48,
’56 loved road trips. He learned
to love them from his father, Dr. John
W. Long, president of Lycoming from
1921-55. After choosing a destination, he
would spread maps over
the dining room table,
tracing the roads with
his index finger until
he found the best route.
His favorite destinations
always had something to
do with his many varied
interests – civil war
battle sites; history, art
and science museums;
wildlife preserves;
shoreline sites; and hiking
trails. Another interest
was photography, and he would take
wonderful pictures of our travels.
On the designated day of the trip, he’d
wake us up before sunrise, eager to get
on the road.
For most of our earlier adventures,
Dad drove a shiny new yellow Malibu.
We would all pile in, still half asleep,
knowing that something new and
exciting was about to be revealed to us.
There was the trip to the bird
preserve in Delaware with his brother,
John. Cindy, Betsy and I were excitedly
watching the trees for birds when Dad
and Uncle John told us about the wonders
of the tick and its remarkable feeding
habits. We quickly lost interest in the
birds, and began watching our exposed
limbs for ticks instead, much to their
amusement.
Then there was the trip to
Washington, D.C., to visit Dad’s brother,
George, who gave us a whirlwind tour
of northern Virginia’s historical sites,
the city’s monuments, and the highlights
of the Smithsonian – all in one day! I
remember brief flashes of gemstones,
Lincoln’s massive statue and the lawn
of Mount Vernon. But, most of all, I
remember Cindy, Becky and me chasing
after our long-legged uncle as he raced
ahead of us, listing all the facts that he
thought we should know.
When we were teenagers, after
mom had our youngest sister, Jennifer,
dad traded in his beloved Malibu for a
Volkswagen mini-bus. Now he began
The
road trips by calling, “Hurry up–the bus
leaves in 15 minutes.” The five of us
would pile in the sliding door, and hear
the solid click as he secured us inside.
All he had to say was that he’d like some
company, and we’d drop
whatever we were doing
and go along for the ride.
Years later, after I
married and moved to New
England, first Boston,
then Connecticut, Dad
would come to visit with
family members in tow,
and the road trips started
anew. This time, I was the
photographer, and I took
my camera everywhere we
went.
There was the trip to see the homes
of the Transcendentalists in Concord,
the North Bridge and the beautiful old
tombstones nearby. And we couldn’t
miss the Freedom Trail in Boston, with
Quincy Market, the Old North Church
and Old Ironsides. Quincy Market, with
its many food stalls, was the hands down
favorite.
After Dad retired, he’d visit me in
Connecticut. We had plenty of time for
hiking in the Berkshires, watching the
Portuguese fishing fleet come home to
Stonington, and visiting Mystic Seaport,
where he posed for pictures on their
whaling ship.
I once roped him into a tour of the
Yale campus hoping to interest him in
the rare book collection at the Beineke
Library, but before we got there, Dad
spotted an artisan ice cream shop, and
he pulled me out of the tour line and
into the shop. Only after polishing off a
double cone would he agree to visit the
art museums.
The last road trip I took with my
father was in August 1998. Soon after, I
would become too ill to travel, although I
didn’t know then.
My dad came for a week’s visit,
and we planned several trips – the
Connecticut shoreline in Fairfield and
Westport, the Litchfield Jazz Festival in
Goshen, and the Five Colleges area of
western Massachusetts, where I’d spent
the summer of 1997. I’d told my father
about all of my solo road trips that I’d
taken that summer – to Northampton,
Amherst, Hadley and Deerfield. He
wanted me to show him where I’d been.
Our trip started in Northampton, the
home of Smith College. During our lunch,
we began to talk about one of our favorite
poets – Emily Dickinson – how she used
such profound words in the disguise of the
common meter, which is also used in the
theme to Gilligan’s Island and the song
“The Yellow Rose of Texas.” We laughed
about how you can sing: “Because I could
not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for
me – ” to either tune.
We decided to visit the Belle of
Amherst’s home. We sat in her garden and
talked about her obsession with death;
how she became interested in the subject
after spending her early years in a home
facing an old New England graveyard.
This reminded Dad of his love of the
old tombstones unique to New England.
He asked if there were any nearby.
Deerfield had some interesting old stones,
so we headed north. We spent the next
couple of hours reading inscriptions,
marveling at the carvings of skulls and
angels. Soon, we headed home, neither of
us knowing that this would be our last trip
together.
I want to share with you a Dickinson
poem in memory of that last trip. I first
read it in William Styron’s novel Sophie’s
Choice. Styron’s family, like my father’s,
resided in the Chesapeake area for many
generations. It is about a loved one’s
grave.
Ample make this bed—
Make this bed with awe—
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.
Be its mattress straight—
Be its pillow round—
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground—
And now my dad is off on his final
road trip. I picture him driving away
in his shiny yellow Malibu, young and
strong. I don’t know where he’s headed,
but someday I hope to hear all about it. I’ll
want pictures.
Fenstermacher lives in Simsbury,
Conn., with her husband, Peter Drew
Fenstermacher (’79).
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Joanne Long Fenstermacher ’80
with her father, Henry Lewis
Long ’48 ‘56