Whenever I recall my days growing up in New Mexico, I usually get around to telling folks how different the West of the 1950s was from the West we know today. I tell them I can remember a time when the real West began for so many motorists where the highway approached the pueblos and reservations east of Albuquerque. That’s where people started looking for "cowboys and Indians." That’s where so many made their first stop after leaving Texas—loaded with questions and ready to buy souvenirs. I know because that’s where I spent my childhood, serving tourists looking for the West on Route 66. It was the early 1950s when my mother, sister and I arrived to join my dad in his new business venture, The Hitching Post, east of Moriarty, New Mexico. From the perspective of a seven-year-old, second-grade boy, things looked pretty grim! Yes, there were large metal tubs in place of bath tubs or showers, the hard water, the wind, and—most of all—the isolation. All of this had to be endured because we were now a roadside family tending to the needs of customers who were simply passing through. That meant I would be involved in many new things. I pumped gas, changed flat tires, painted billboards every spring and fed zoo animals after school. We kept two old cars parked in front of our store along with our two everyday vehicles. This gave approaching tourists the impression there was already someone inside our store shopping. I learned to drive at age eight moving those cars into and out of position each day. At the time, I never thought of my dad, John Claar, as a pioneer or an innovator. I never thought of our neighbors—people like Blackie Ingram, with his cowboy clothes and enormous curio store, or Manny Goodman with his huge covered wagon and papier-maché animals—as making history. I would eat at the Iceberg Cafe and El Sombrero. Later, I spent time at Little Beaver Town. But the idea that the people and places around me were part of a unique world came only with age. Today, I realize how innovative The Hitching Post and these other early roadside attractions actually were. They belong to a simpler time, a slower pace when the West was new to so many—and western vacations were defined by people living and working on Route 66. I met Thomas Repp in 1997. A phone call out of the blue. Someone had told him John Claar’s son was alive and living in Texas. He was pouring through the phone book hoping for a match. I knew Route 66 was becoming popular again. I had seen some of the books and articles being written about the old road. Most never mentioned my dad’s place. When they did, the authors called it "John Clair’s Snake Pit." No one had bothered to find me before to learn the name of the business or even how to spell my family’s name—let alone the details of our lives on the highway. I was ready to talk. The interviews began. Since that time, Thomas and his wife, Becky, have visited my wife, Patti, and me in our Texas home. Hours on the telephone have turned to fast friendship as I’ve shared my memories of my Hitching Post days. I’ve seen Thomas’ research uncover the stories of acquaintances of my youth—people like J.T. Turner with his Jemez dancers, others who knew my father at Top O’ the World. I’ve come to realize what a close-knit community the Route 66 of my childhood actually was. Of course, Route 66 is more than a road of happy memories. At the Hitching Post, everything changed when the stroke hit Daddy at age 45. A lifetime of two packs of cigarettes a day plus a rather sedentary life style all added up to disaster. Each person who lived on Route 66 has personal remembrances of the places and people. Many of them have been immortalized in Thomas Repp’s first book, Route 66: The Empires of Amusement and the book you now hold in your hands. The one that is most poignant for me is an image of my dad in his wheelchair, unable to speak, sitting out front in his pajamas watching the cars speed by. He still directed the activity at the Hitching Post. He gave it all he could until my mom passed away in 1967. They put their hearts and souls into our place—like so many other families earning a living on Route 66. I wrote a marketing paper my senior year at the University of New Mexico arguing the pros and cons of the new Interstate Highway System which was then taking over. I knew then that the John Claars of old Route 66 were soon to be history. The glamour, the mystique of travel on Route 66 were soon to be only memories for thousands who had made the highway a summer adventure in the past. Thomas Repp has studied and researched the nature of 66 and how it was. I read Thomas’ first book, Route 66: The Empires of Amusement, three times. It holds a permanent place in our living room—as I have never met anyone like Thomas who can so artfully tell the stories of so many of us that lived on Route 66. Thomas Repp has captured my personal remembrances of those times in Route 66: The Romance of the West—in a few short pages with an essence of reality and skillful writing. I know all who read this account will be astounded at the skillful way he is able to move you down the road with new encounters ahead. Historical, yes; humorous, always; nostalgic, for sure. 
Read, relive the past. Travel back through the early West of Route 66 via the magic of Thomas Repp. It will make your day brighter. Robert C. Claar |
