Sweet Baby James

After the trials, Malcolm graduated from Williston Academy and enrolled in nearby Williams College. The route from Amherst to Hudson was the final leg of all those roadtrips from Maine to Columbia County to visit Grandma and Grandpa. I knew the route like the back of my hand and could drive it in a blackout. The trouble was I didn’t have a car and no other way to get home for Thanksgiving that sophmore year. I was never a very good hitchhiker. My brother BJ was much more adventurous and far more succesful than I. He taught me the sign trick and showed me the way and said, “you never need to be stranded when you hitchhike.”

So, I whipped out a cardboard box and tore the flaps off and wrote the names of the most important landmarks of my pilgrimage – Springfield, Stockbridge, Mass Pike, Taconic PKWY, Hudson. I had no way of knowing that it would be the last time I’d see Grandma alive. I just knew I had to get home to Hudson, to sit at the Steinway, to sit in the oval shaped dining room, to give thanks with my family.

It seemed like hours had past as I sat on the guardrail on the off ramp of the Mass Pike watching the cars wizz by. Finally, a car slowed and the driver motioned for me to get in. “Where are you going son?” He asked. “Hudson.” I replied. “Well, today’s your lucky day kid. I’m headed there myself. We’ll be home before you know it.”

I sank into the passenger seat, relieved, and closed my eyes. On the radio, was playing James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James.