THE TRUCK STOP STORY > > > > In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six > > hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their > > father was gone. > > > > The boys ranged from three months to seven years; > > their sister was two. Their Dad had never been > > much more than a presence they feared. > > > > Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel > > driveway they would scramble to hide under their > > beds. He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy > > groceries. Now that he had decided to leave, > > there would be no more beatings, but no food > > either. > > > > If there was a welfare system in effect in southern > > Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it. > > I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new > > and then put on my best homemade dress. I > > loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove > > off to find a job. > > > > The seven of us went to every factory, store and > > restaurant in our small town. No luck. > > The kids stayed, crammed into the car and tried > > to be quiet while I tried to convince whoever > > would listen that I was willing to learn or do > > anything. I had to have a job. Still no luck. > > > > The last place we went to, just a few miles out > > of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that > > had been converted to a truck stop. It was called > > the Big Wheel. An old lady named Granny owned > > the place and she peeked out of the window from > > time to time at all those kids. She needed someone > > on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in > > the morning. She paid 65 cents an hour and I could > > start that night. > > > > I raced home and called the teenager down the > > street that baby-sat for people. I bargained with > > her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night. > > She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids > > would already be asleep. This seemed like a good > > arrangement to her, so we made a deal. > > > > That night when the little ones and I knelt to > > say our prayers we all thanked God for finding > > Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel. > > When I got home in the mornings I woke the > > baby-sitter up and sent her home with one > > dollar of my tip money-fully half of what I averaged > > every night. > > > > As the weeks went by, heating bills added another > > strain to my meager wage. The tires on the old > > Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and > > began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the > > way to work and again every morning before I could go > > home. > > > > One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car > > to go home and found four tires in the back seat. > > New tires! There was no note, no nothing, just > > those beautiful brand new tires. Had angels taken up > > residence in Indiana? I wondered. > > > > I made a deal with the owner of the local service > > station. In exchange for his mounting the new > > tires, I would clean up his office. I remember it took me > > a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to > > do the tires. > > > > I was now working six nights instead of five and > > it still wasn't enough. Christmas was coming and > > I knew there would be no money for toys for the > > kids. > > > > I found a can of red paint and started repairing > > and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the > > basement so there would be something for Santa > > to deliver on Christmas morning. Clothes were a > > worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches > > on the boys pants and soon they would be too far > > gone to repair. > > > > On Christmas Eve the usual customers were > > drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. These were the > > truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper > > named Joe. A few musicians were hanging around > > after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels > > in the pinball machine. The regulars all just sat > > around and talked through the wee hours of the morning > > and then left to get home before the sun came up. > > > > When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock > > on Christmas morning I hurried to the car. I was > > hoping the kids wouldn't wake up before I managed > > to get home and get the presents from the basement > > and place them under the tree. (We had cut down a > > small cedar tree by the side of the road down by > > the dump.) > > > > It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there > > appeared to be some dark shadows in the car or > > was that just a trick of the night? Something > > certainly looked different, but it was hard to tell what. > > When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side > > windows. Then my jaw dropped in amazement. > > > > My old battered Chevy was filled full to the top > > with boxes of all shapes and sizes. I quickly opened the > > driver's side door, scrambled inside and kneeled in > > the front facing the back seat. Reaching back, I > > pulled off the lid of the top box. Inside was a > > whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10! I looked > > inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the > > jeans. Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes: There > > were candy and nuts and bananas and bags of > > groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, > > and canned vegetables and potatoes. There was > > pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and > > flour. There was a whole bag of laundry supplies and > > cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and > > one beautiful little doll. > > > > As I drove back through empty streets as the sun > > slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of > > my life, I was sobbing with gratitude. And I will > > never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that > > precious morning. > > > > Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago > > December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel > > truck stop. > > >> ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To unsubscribe/subscribe or view archives of postings, go to the Gambia-L Web interface at: http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/gambia-l.html You may also send subscription requests to [log in to unmask] if you have problems accessing the web interface and remember to write your full name and e-mail address. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------