TRUCK STOPS

     I have always been fascinated by truck stops.  Not the neighborhood type stops with a handful of pumps but major stops with dozens of fuel pumps, acres of land, greasy spoon coffee shops, a general store and other road related services.  Some even have movie theaters and showers.  Almost all are on the major interstate highways that crisscross our land and are on the open road, or were before sprawling cities consumed them.

     As you motor across our country all the major truck stops have signs counting down the miles to the next stop.  They give you miles to and the mile marker for their off ramp.  As you get closer they amp up their signage to entice you to stop.  Most often whether you stop or not is a choice but often it is a necessity due to a near empty fuel tank or severe hunger.  The next off ramp may be forever.  Many times I have fallen into a trance on the road and blown right by my off ramp only to drive miles on fumes, prayer and an empty stomach. 

     My favorite stop is Petro.  They have been around awhile and some are rather long of tooth compared to the newer, modern stops but I like them because of their coffee shop, the Iron Skillet.  Everything is good there but you haven’t lived until you've had their breakfast.  They have grits, biscuits and gravy and all those truck driver staples but their hash browns, bacon and eggs served on a piping hot iron skillet, with toast and coffee is to die for.  Having left your motel hours ago and bypassing the fast food options, this is worth the wait. 

     After breakfast and in no hurry to get back on the road, you can wander through their everything-under-the-sun store.  There are tee shirts and hats with every red-neck saying imaginable, all the clothing necessary to make you look like a genuine 18 wheeler, truckers atlases, tools, additives, if it is related to the road, they have it. 

     The parking lot has a life of its own.  It is a pretty safe bet to say that almost every product we use in our day to day life was delivered by truck.  It may have come through one of our ports and then transferred by rail car but at some point a truck was involved.  Rows and rows of trucks miraculously parked inches apart, their front bumpers forming a neat line, bearing license plates from everywhere, fill the lot. There are livestock and grain haulers, flat beds, reefers, tankers and others in every color imaginable.  Some reflect the budget of the owner while others are billboards on wheels with extra chrome and running lights galore.  If you went through the lot and jotted down the companies represented it would pretty much cover the Fortune 500. 

     A stroll through the lot gives you a feel for its pulse.  Some stop for fuel and a meal then return to the road.  Others sit as they catch up on their log book.  Most idle their engines as they run their heating or air conditioning while catching up on badly needed sleep.  It is not unusual to see a man and woman with their young child, living out of their cab and sleeper, a sure sign of a tough economy.  The romantic notion of life on the road, takes a hit as you see drivers bleary eyed from too many hours at the wheel, alone on a Sunday night.  In another tip-of-the-hat to the economy there are many men and women drivers who clearly did not envision being at this truck stop at this time when they charted their careers. 

     As I return to the road I can’t help but think about the millions of people that have traversed our country, particularly from east to west that may have paused at this same truck stop.  Years ago it may have been Route 66; today it is a modern Interstate.  It may have been to relocate a family and begin anew or it could be a trucker piling up the miles to support his family.  Long live the truck stop.                       

LESSON LEARNED

The head man of our local little league called.  He knew my son was in the league and wanted to know if I would like to coach one of the teams.  Before I could say “Thanks for thinking of me but no thanks”, he said they needed one more coach to fill all the positions.  The old guilt trip worked.  I was told I would be mailed the rules, a schedule and a list of my players and then I was on my own. 

     I studied up on the rules specific to our little league organization, such as a limit on the number of pitches a pitcher can throw and a requirement that all players get to play at least 3 innings and others designed to protect the health of the 12 year olds and ensure everyone’s participation.  Next I called all my players, talked with them about the upcoming season and then their parents to assure them their kids were in good hands.  Not that I was any whiz at baseball but I wanted the experience to be an enjoyable one for their kids.

     We gathered one spring Saturday morning at the local park where, I got my first look at our troops.  They were a mixture of kids, some were there because their parents told them to be there, some because they thought they could play but were not sure and a few who had obviously been playing catch with their Dad since they were 2.   Over the course of that day and several other preseason practices we assessed each player.  They were evaluated for their level of ability and their best position.  We put our best players at short stop, pitcher and catcher and spread the others around from there.

     Tom was one of the boys we knew was a “project”.  He had zero athletic ability, zilch, none.  He was at least a head taller than all the others and was about 5 years from growing into his body.  To say he was a tall, gangly drink of water would be too kind.  Because of the aforementioned rule requiring every player be allowed to play at least 3 innings, we had to find a spot for him.  Anyone who knows baseball knows there are less hits to right field than anywhere else.  So Tom played in right field and we prayed no one would hit the ball to him.  We were not only concerned about him fielding the ball but, if he did, where it would end up after he threw it. 

     Personally, unlike many of the other this-is-more-important-than-life coaches, I was thankful for the 3 inning rule.  Kids this age are way too young to be told how great they are as well as they are not good enough.  Any kid with the grit to come out and compete, be it sports, ballet or the debate team, deserves a shot.  Especially one like Tom, who was subject to no end of ridicule from other kids and yet faithfully showed up to play.  Like all the kids we worked with him on fundamentals, encouraged him and talked with him about the importance of his school work.  He did not progress much athletically through our season but he was always there, on time and ready to play.    

     Several years later I read an article about Tom in our local paper.  A sports writer had done a feature story on him.  It seems as though Tom had indeed caught up with his early growth spurt.  He played football in high school, earning all league by his senior year as an offensive lineman.  He also excelled in the class room, earning a scholarship to the Air Force Academy.  There, in his senior year, he made 3^rd team All American as a football player. 

     The lesson I learned from my experience with Tom was never to discourage kids who are willing to face a challenge and make the effort it takes to be successful despite those who scoff at their efforts.  Who knows, with your encouragement and support there is no telling what they might achieve.       

TONY

Did any of you catch Tony Bennett singing God Bless America during the seventh inning stretch of the recent World Series game in San Francisco between the San Francisco Giants and the Texas Rangers?  Now that’s what I’m talking about.  That’s how God Bless America is supposed to be sung. 

As they have for each of the play-off games a guest is introduced to sing God Bless America during the seventh inning stretch.  An assortment of very talented celebrities, military personnel and others are chosen, usually with ties to the local team, each adding their own unique style to their rendition of the song.  Each stands all alone on the field with millions watching, microphone in hand, with no accompanying music to masks their nerves, and sings their hearts out.  The words bring forth emotions of pride, love, respect, humility and a unique feeling of oneness.  I get misty eyed no matter who is singing. 

But on this night Tony set the bar way up there.  Watching on television we learned, by way of a brief clip, that he had softened the crowd up before the game with “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”.  If you can’t hum along to that song you are not old enough.  Tony is from the Bronx but he owns San Francisco.  Then came the seventh inning.  I don’t know who wrote God Bless America but I am sure if the writer had been asked, “Who would you want to sing your song and how?” what happened next would have been his answer.  The man Frank Sinatra called “the greatest singer of them all”, did what he does best.

He sang each word with the utmost respect in his calm, simple, unforced way of presenting a song.  By placing his hand over his heart you felt his passion for this great country of ours.  It was as if he was indeed speaking with God and asking him to bless America.  With all due respect to the many other talented, well intentioned people who are asked to sing songs such as America the Beautiful, the Star Spangled Banner and God Bless America at various events, get a copy of the tape of that game in San Francisco and see how they are supposed to be sung.  Next time you are given the honor of performing one of these songs, set aside your desire to showcase your voice and your range and let the song speak for itself, as Tony did.