Before cell phones on trips, we whined — ‘How much longer?’

     Ahead of the Thanksgiving weekend, with Christmas up next, Colin Merna suggested a column idea at a basketball gathering.

   “You could write how holiday travel has changed since we were young,’’ suggested the former OFA and Rochester Institute of Technology basketball player.

     Memories of car travel in the mid-1960s didn’t trickle into my brain; they arrived like a traffic jam.

     After opening gifts on Christmas morning, the Hollerans would pile into a Chevy sedan in Morristown for a three-hour drive to the grandparents in Middleville or Herkimer, New York. Coach Holleran would drive with Matt sitting alongside, his feet not extending over the cloth seat. Spouse Eileen clutched toddler Anne Marie.

   Unbelted in the back seat, teenagers Maureen and Mary Nora sat while Fran and I played along the floor or crawled into the deep rear window, until we blocked our father’s vision.

   There wasn’t a seatbelt in sight. If it were summer, Coach Holleran might have tuned into a Yankees game. But this was December 25 and Mother Nature had gifted us with high snowbanks and wintry scenes of fields and pines.

   Nobody under 30 marveled at the Currier & Ives scenes. Still, there were plenty of sound effects.

   “How much longer?’’ someone would moan before we even reached the outskirts of Hammond.

   “How many hours?’’ whined another before we had even saluted the uniformed sentry at Fort Drum’s checkpoint, hoping he would return the salute.

  Six itchy children — the younger ones annoying the older ones — were a prescription for arguments. The chatter turned into a game of tag called “gotcha last’’ that could lead to slap fights. When we got too rambunctious, when we failed to “pipe down,’’ justice of the peace Eileen would intercede with the snowbrush, picking off repeat offenders who gave her lip. She was a better shot than Annie Oakley.

   My eldest sister, Maureen, recalled “there were no stops on the way for any reason.’’ Food was out of the question, too.

  “Dad bought some crème-filled cookies at the A&P that Mom doled out if there was silence,’’ she remembered.

   Even when a McDonald’s was built in Carthage, our sedan rolled past. When the sign proclaimed “Over 1 Million Sold,’’ it seemed to needle our tribe. It was too expensive for a family of eight on the meager wages of a teacher and a part-time nurse.

   Fast forward to the 1990s when Bill and Dawn Merna made frequent pilgrimages to his parents in Utica. No golf was involved, but his playing foursome was installed in the rear seat — Colin, Mairin, Caitlin and Brendan.

     “To keep it from being stressful, you HAD to keep the kids busy,’’ recalled Merna, retired OFA basketball coach.

   Dawn devised a variety of alphabet games for calling out  letters on road signs. Another game involved spotting horses —1 point for each; first to 10 wins, with white horses counting as 5 points.

   “After a while though, there would eventually come a time when the only thing to break the boredom was teasing the siblings to start a ridiculous argument,’’ Colin said.

    The auto industry boosted travel too.

   “We got a Caravan,’’ marveled Coach Merna, “that had a TV in the back that could play DVD’s — heaven. Probably would still have it if I didn’t hit a deer with it — totaled.’’

   “I was taking Caitlin to Utica to stay with her aunt and cousins. I was the bad guy. Cait screamed, ‘Dad you killed the deer!’ ”

   He drove the wreck back to Ogdensburg and picked up a loaner at the Blevins dealership. Crisis averted.

  Mary and I drove a Dodge Caravan too, but it wasn’t outfitted with the drop-down VCR screen. We strapped bungee cords around a TV, with a 7-inch screen and VCR, and positioned a table to occupy Katie, Liam and Claire for the five-hour drive to Akron, Ohio. When a tape jammed at the start of a road trip, the angst reached a crescendo until the greatest stroke of luck occurred. We passed a Radio Shack. A sharp technician — perhaps a saint — had us back on the road in 10 minutes. It was a Christmas miracle.

         Technology soothed the Merna’s Irish Mafia.

   “The first exposure to electronics on the road trip was the Tomytronic Pac-man Handheld Video Game,’’ Colin recalled. “I believe it needed four C batteries. It was very basic and only had one level, but it was revolutionary entertainment at the time.’’

  Colin has emerged as a father of three. With his wife, Jamie, the road trips from Rochester to Ogdensburg span 3½ hours.

     “On modern road trips, all of the fighting with siblings has mostly been replaced by silence. The kids are focused on their games and phones.’’

   Colin appreciates the content of Duolingo or historical videos on YouTube.

  “They are largely in their own heads rather than interacting with each other or us. We can drive for hours without hearing anything from the back seats. When I feel like something is missing, I do have to wonder if I would trade this current state for the potential of an all-out brawl. Maybe this is the compromise we have made.’’

   Grandpa Bill acknowledged the individualism of today’s social media.

    “Now you can’t get the grandkids to even say hi.”

   We must wait until their phone batteries die.

Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/