“What else?”
“Three years frackin’ on the Bakken in North Dakota. That really sucked, but I made good money. Lived in an RV the company bought. Four thousand men and twenty women. All whores except for one or two church ladies. Couldn’t figure out which was worse. I’m from Christian country in eastern Kentucky. I’m not a Christian, but I’m not a drinker either. Up there you’re one or the other. I was neither. That’s where I learned computers. I had my laptop and started figuring it all out. I’m very plugged in. It’s helped a lot. Plus I read books and listen to books, mostly history. Did you know Abe Lincoln was born in Kentucky?”
“I did. His dad was kind of like you. Kept moving on. The way I remember it, he moved to Indiana and then Illinois.”
“Thomas Lincoln never moved to Illinois. He did move to Indiana. Kept buying farms with bad titles. The Lincolns came from the same county I grew up in. White trash, like me.”
“I just read a book called White Trash. Ever come across it?”
“Yeah. I just listened to it. Heard about it from Terry Gross on Fresh Air. Great title. Downloaded it on Audible. I’ve got an Audible habit that needs a twelve-step program.”
“Me too. What did you think of the book?”
“It made me think I’m one of a long line of losers and I’m continuing the line. My son just graduated high school. First one in the family to do that straight up. I’ve got a GED from a little jail time I did for a domestic way back when. Wasn’t my fault, but I figured I’d put the time to good use. The GED qualified me for a work grant to get my CDL, and I used that. I’ve been on the road ever since. It was my ex who made sure the boy went through school. I wasn’t around.”
“Does he have any plans?”
“In Paintsville? What the fuck is he going to do in Paintsville, Kentucky? A career choice there is meth or Oxy. Hillbilly heroin.”
“How is it going to end?”
“Fuck if I know. He’s a grown man. He’ll figure it out. Probably he’ll get some girl pregnant and the cycle will continue.”
“C’mon, Terry, you’re a smart man. You’ve got to have a better answer than that.”
My phone rang. It was Pete from dispatch. It was 7:30 a.m. on the East Coast.
“Finn? Pete. You got the driver there?”
“Yup.”
“Tell him he’s not going to LA. He’s going to Connecticut, taking trailer 246.”
“OK, Pete.” I turned to Terry. “You’re going to Connecticut.”
“Whatever. I hate the East Coast. Come to think of it, I hate California. I don’t care where they send me. Gotta pay my bills. Long as I’m rolling, I’m paying my bills.”
“They want the trailer in Oxford by Friday. Do you still have hours?”
“I always have hours. I heard the Feds are going to require electronic logs next year. Did you hear that?”
“That’s the story I heard. All interstate drivers will be required to use electronic logs.”
“That will kill off what’s left of us owner-operators. They’ll call it a safety issue, but I’ll bet it’s the big carriers lobbying the politicians. There was a point somewhere when the big carriers were against government, and then came the point when they figured out they could use government to get what they wanted. I suppose people call that maturity. I call it corruption. As an owner-operator, I’m a dead man walking.”
“Me too.”
“Thanks for the coffee, dead man. I’ll see you in hell, I suppose.”
“Hard to say where we’re going to end up, Terry. Rubber side down to the coast.”
“Sure. What’s the fuckin’ difference? It’s all nowhere. Why are you here, anyway? I could have dropped this off and picked up without you.”
“I like to meet the drivers and make sure the transfers are smooth. Between you and me, I like to show a little respect. I bring coffee. I know what it’s like out there. It’s all I can do.”
“Thanks. ’Preciate it.”
Terry dropped his trailer and hooked up 246. He pulled away in a glob of diesel smoke and a toot from the air horn. Gone. It’s unlikely I’ll ever see him again. He was a smart, thoughtful, and defeated man caught in the amber of class, education, and diminished expectations for himself and his progeny.
As a New Englander, from a stable family and a product of a decent school system, I was given a suitcase full of intangible advantages Terry didn’t get. Becoming a long-haul driver was, for me, a choice. For Terry, it was the only way out, and he’s miles ahead of his contemporaries owning his own truck and making his way. The fact that he seemed to feel no responsibility for helping his son chart his way was mystifying. Where I came from, people fell over themselves trying to grease the wheels for their kids through connections, education, and a certain view of life’s potential. Terry didn’t bother with any of that. I got the impression he felt defeated from the outset.
I hope that’s not true, but it feels true. They say anybody can grow up and be president of the United States, and Lyndon Johnson, Bill Clinton, and Barack Obama are bootstrapping examples that poor folks are supposed to emulate. That’s bullshit. Those guys are monumental exceptions used to bolster the myth that anybody can be a success. For every one of them, there are tens of millions of Americans who can see no way out of the pattern. This cuts across race, and it cuts across class. The myth of the trucker as a latter-day cowboy is the same narrative that the urban rapper or the southern rebel adopts to accept his place at the bottom of the American Dream. Terry had no such illusions. He knew there was no way out for him or his son. There’s something very wrong about that.
One place you won’t find poor whites anymore is on a moving truck. Nowadays most moving is done by Hispanics. It varies by region whether your local mover is from Brazil, Mexico, or El Salvador, but the white guys are long gone and Spanish or Portuguese are lingua franca. This isn’t to say that the ownership of the companies themselves have changed because it hasn’t. Callahan Bros. is still around, but when that truck pulls up to your house you won’t hear any Irish brogues and most likely the only person you’ll be able to talk to will be the driver, and even the driver will be chosen for his green card and clean driving record, not his English skills, so you may not even be able to talk to him.