Some years back, a long while past, I was hitchhiking from college in Michigan to see a high school girl friend who at that time was living in the southwest mountains of Virginia. I had just passed through Charleston, West Virginia and was walking along the road leading to the West Virginia Turnpike.
The building of Interstate Highways was in its early stages. It was well after World War II and Korea. President Dwight David Eisenhower had conceived of the system and had convinced Congress to proceed. It was meant to move people, equipment, and troops rapidly in event of war or other national emergencies.
Eisenhower was about to leave after two terms in office. He was not eligible to serve a third term. The election for a new President was on the radio and television and in public places throughout the country. Interstate Highways were not available yet but the country was gearing up for massive road construction. The West Virginia Turnpike was a two-lane toll road through the mountains going mostly north and south, cutting West Virginia in two. I was wearing a sweater and carrying a jacket and a suitcase. I picked up a ride as I approached the Turnpike. The car was a 1954 Ford, which though not new was in "mint, cherry condition" as we called cars like that at the time.
The driver was alone, well dressed, and quite intelligent. The upcoming election only a few months away was on his mind. And I was willing to talk. He was a theologian and a philosopher. The conversation was enlightening and extremely exciting to me, about to enter my second college with the military service behind me.
Our time together was nearly two hours, just he and I. We covered the upcoming election mostly about the Presidential candidates. One had a good deal of experience. The other was a younger man in his thirties, barely qualified to be President, but very charismatic. As our conversation neared the end, we agreed that neither candidate was ideal. I suggested that the best candidate had not yet shown himself and perhaps did not exist.
It was his time to get off the Turnpike and head east toward Pennsylvania and eastern Virginia. He pulled over and as we parted, we shook hands and he gave me a business card. He pulled out into traffic and turned left. My eyes followed him out of sight. I glanced at his card and put it into my pocket, intent on the next ride. The next ride was long in coming. I looked again at that man`s business card, thinking about our conversation. A couple times while talking, we were on the subject of Pogo Possum in the funny papers. Pogo was my favorite cartoon character. Many of the papers in the south did not carry Pogo, but most in the north did. That`s when I noticed the name on the card, Walt Kelly...
Walt Kelly was the artist/writer of Pogo, the cartoon character. First I grinned, then I laughed out loud. Wow! What a stimulating conversation we had had. I wondered which of us learned the most.
Nearly, three weeks later, I found out. In the Sunday funnies, Pogo Possum suddenly showed up carrying a large picnic basket, which Pogo said held the ideal Presidential candidate, covered by a blanket. After some weeks of publication, Pogo took the blanket off the basket and revealed within, a large brown egg. I don`t think the egg ever hatched. The egg and the basket both disappeared the same week of the Presidential Election. Walt Kelly and I did share something in kind. And he had an interesting way of explaining that. JFK, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, won that election. Maybe we have another egg in a basket in this election. Maybe we can discuss it in early November or the next time we go looking for `Trouble in Cedar Key.` You Can Email Trouble at: tnckgebe@yahoo.com | 
