The familiar white on red signs, grouped by four, fives and sixes, were as much a part of a family trip as irritating your kid brother in the back seat of the family Studebaker.
At the height of their popularity there were 7,000 signs along America's highways. First you'd read one sign, then another, anticpating the punch line on number five and the familiar Burma-Shave on the sixth.
Those Burma-Shave signs allowed my brother to reach puberty. He used to drive me nuts on trips; poking and punching when my parents weren't looking. Then tattled when I punched back. Of course, I never did anything to him. All I wanted to do was read the Burma-Shave signs.
I used to love reading them along the highway. It was a great way to advertise shaving cream and lotion...and keep me from deep-sixing my brother. Now that I think about it, that's probably why I like advertising so much...and copywriting...and now my brother.
Here's another series of Burma-Shave signs on I-90. I think it was I-90. My long term memory is full of horse pucky fumes.