California Here I Come - Part 3

We only stayed in Milwaukee for a couple of weeks. The accommodations were less than five star, and finding a way to make ends meet was beginning to be a problem. Turns out you can’t sell your blood that often. I did find temporary day work through an agency, called ManPower. The deal was you reported to a local ManPower office at 6:00 AM, checked in, and they would send you off to a factory or store for the day. When you returned you were paid in cash.

On one occasion, I was sent to a rail yard on the other side of town, and was paired up with a Texan, who was about 5 inches taller than me, and bested me by close to 50 pounds. Our task was to unload a boxcar that was filed to capacity with 100 lb. bags of concrete mix. We were to get in the freight car, and pile the bags one at a time onto a pallet that the forklift operator raised to the open door. Each pallet held 20 bags.

I looked at the load, and thought, “Holy shit, this is going to kill me!” The Texan said to me, “Let’s knock this off this morning so that we can get some light work this afternoon.” And that’s just what we did. I don’t recall how many tons, yes tons, we stacked onto those pallets, but we managed to unload it all by 11:30. At that point the foreman, said, “God damn! I figured it that would take two men all day. You guys are amazing!” To which the Texan replied, “So, what have you got for us this afternoon?” The foreman said, “That’s all I have…” and he sent us back to ManPower. I think I took home about six dollars after taxes. Damn, boneheaded Texan. Dumb, stupid Yankee!

In the meantime, Mary had been having conversations with her stepbrother, Frank who lived in Venice Beach, CA. Frank told her that if we could get ourselves out there we could stay with him and his wife Barbara until we could find work and get a place. What an offer! California! Wow, never been there before! So, we adjusted our plans accordingly. (Ironically, the day we arrived he told us we couldn’t stay there. They had had too many guests of late, and Barbara was sick of it. We could stay a couple of days, but that was it! Asshole!)

Of course, we didn’t know that the welcome mat had already been rolled up when we started our journey. We took to the road with $16 between us. A friend dropped us at the freeway out of town and we were off. After two short rides we were in Illinois on the side of Route 80 West. It was late April but the air was bitterly cold. We jumped up and down to stay warm, and stuck out our thumbs at every car that passed us, which was very few.

(This next part may seem melodramatic, so I apologize ahead of time. In fact, I chose not to include some events that would challenge credibility. That said, the trucker did fit the stereotype. It is as I remember it. You don’t forget an episode like this. Neither of us ever have.)

After about 2-3 hours of alternately cursing and singing, a tractor trailer rig hit the airbrakes, and shuddered to a halt, as the passenger door popped open. We tossed my duffel bag in and climbed in after it. The driver greeted us and directed Mary to the sleeper section just above the seats behind us. After taking a close look at her he asked Mary how old she was, and when she answered “18,” he seemed satisfied and put the truck in gear. Of course, she was still several months from her 18th birthday.

From my vantage point in the passenger’s seat I got a good look at our host. He was short, squat, considerably overweight. He was balding, and missing a couple of front teeth. I put him in his early 50s. He spoke with a drawl and claimed to be from Fort Worth. He said he was doing a West Coast Turnaround. When I asked what that was he told me that he picked up a load in Detroit, and was planning to drive non-stop to San Francisco, drop that load, load up again, and head back. I asked how he was able to keep driving all that time. He reaching into his pocket and pulled out a vial of pills. “My silent partner,” he said as he smiled and shook the vial. I knew he meant his amphetamines.

Our driver was a talker. (Speed will do that to you.) Told us about his girlfriend in North Platte, how he loved driving truck, and bragged that he was well-armed. Mounted on the side of his “air cushion” driver’s seat was a leather holster that cradled a .357 magnum pistol. To make his point he drew it out and waved it around. Then, reaching behind his seat he rolled back the mattress in his sleeper to reveal several more revolvers, and semi-automatics. “No one’s going to fuck with me,” he boasted!

Hours later, around dusk, a severe spring storm began to pelt the windshield as the sky darkened. Within minutes the wind picked up and it began to rain sideways. He pulled off the interstate into a truck stop diner and offered to buy us “the best steak sandwiches this side of Texas.” Hungry as we were, we took him up on the offer. He handed me a twenty and as I got out of the truck the light posts were flipping back and forth like saplings in the fierce wind.

It took about 10 minutes for our sandwiches to be ready. I found out later that during my absence he was making a case for Mary to be his companion and “road girl.” He promised to treat her well, and that she would get to see the country and live a “life of adventure.” He said he was ready to drive off and leave me if she just said the word. Mary, terrified, declined his offer. He said that if he wanted he could leave me right now whether she liked it or not. Neither of them said a word as I climbed back up into the cab, dripping wet. When we finished eating he put it in gear and we were off.

As the night wore on we traveled across Iowa and into Nebraska. In the early hours of the morning, before dawn, the rain stopped and the weather quieted down. The trucker shared that he was tired and needed a little “shut-eye.” Said he knew nice motel where we could all get some rest. Exhausted as I was, naively, I told him that sounded like a great idea. Then he revealed his true motive. He said, “I’ll get us a room, you can sleep, and Mary and me, we’ll ‘miss around.’” “What,” I said, shocked? “You know,” he continued, “It’s time for Mary and me to have some fun.” Mary looked stunned. I told him that was not going to happen.

That’s when he pointed to his .357 and said, “I could pull this rig over, shoot both of you, leave you on the side of the road, and no one would ever know who did it.” I knew he was right, and said, “Yeah, you could.” “Okay then,” he shot back, “We’re getting a room, and I’m going to fuck Mary.” “No, you’re not,” I said. I don’t know where my resolve came from, but I meant it. Immediately, he hit the brakes and the truck slowed to a halt. Mary and I looked at each other, paralyzed. He reached over, opened the passenger side door, grabbed my duffle and tossed it out. I motioned for Mary to get down from the sleeper and we both jumped from the cab. Without hesitating, he slammed the door and drove off.

Mary was shivering from the cold and residual fear. I felt the adrenaline draining from my body as we both stood and stared at each other for several minutes in disbelief. It was still early, cloudy and cold, but at least it wasn’t raining. And, at least we were still alive.

Our next ride was a decidedly different experience...