National Geographic : 1950 Jul
The National Geographic Magazine Day or Night, Rain or Fog, Snow or Ice, the Buses Roll, and Usually on Time These coaches line up at a terminal in Grand Island, Nebraska, a staging base between Chicago and the west coast. This light snow offers no schedule problems. Tire chains will come out if drivers face icy hills, an unlikely hazard in the Nebraska flatlands. Bluffs, and picked up speed on U. S. 6 over Iowa. Fog and rain obscured the narrow, slippery highway, but the bus barged ahead amid lumbering trucks to keep on schedule. The driver wasn't reckless; he knew the road and the character of the vehicle. Bus Travel Only One Generation Old In a rear seat I sat next to young Slim. Just out of a Los Angeles prison, he was head ing straight for New York without stopovers. Slim spoke of some of his mates with three years to serve for automobile theft; he said they spent most of the time laying plans to steal 1952 models. He told of a lad pretend ing insanity and always bouncing a ball that wasn't there. And he wondered why detec tives hadn't asked for my identification card. Des Moines dropped behind, then Iowa City. Into Davenport, over the Mississippi, and across Illinois we shot to Chicago. This metropolis, "Titan of the Middle West," is headquarters of the Greyhound system. Looking over the city from his 26th-story window, Mr. Orville S. Caesar, Greyhound's president, reminded me that the bus business is still in its first generation; many of the top officials started as drivers of the earliest jitneys. As he spoke, one of the oldest of old-timers quietly entered the office-Carl Eric Wick man, chairman of the board of the Greyhound Corporation. Despite his years in this coun try, he retains the deliberate accent of Scan dinavian English. He had just returned from a quick trip to Texas.