The flat grave marker depicts a mountain scene with an 18-wheeler on it. The trucker loved the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. In fact, a haul to Oregon and Washington was his idea of a perfect run – plenty of wide-open spaces along the way and the mountains marking its end.
The trucker felt a special kinship with the less crowded areas of the West. There was a song by the late country singer Marty Robbins called “El Paso City.” It was about a man flying over the city thinking he had been there in another time. The reincarnation theme was a sequel to “El Paso.” It was one of his favorites.
You could tell when the road west was calling the trucker. He got depressed and was restless when too much time passed since the last trip. He loved his home and family, but the road had a hold on him. Ironically, he never wasted time on his runs. He made the most of every waking hour and, barring any trouble, completed the runs quicker than any of the other drivers he worked with.
The trucker was from the old school. He believed that a man’s word was his most valuable possession. If you told someone you were going to be somewhere at a certain time, you did just that. A week before his daughter graduated from high school, he set out for northern California. He promised her he would be there to see her receive her diploma. He had missed her birth because he was on the road trying to put food on the table.
He called home the day of graduation. He had to unload in North Carolina before heading home. He asked to speak to his daughter. She told him graduation was at 7 p.m. It was after 2 in the afternoon, and he was 300 miles away from home. “I’ll be there,” he said. By the time family was ready to go, her dad hadn’t showed.
The commencement exercises were held on the football field at her high school. About five minutes before “Pomp and Circumstance” blared through the loudspeakers, the trucker pulled his rig into the parking lot at the football field.
He was dressed in dirty jeans and an old western shirt that had long passed the faded stage. His scuffed cowboy boots had seen many better days. There had been no time to change clothes. He combed his hair as he crossed the parking lot. He found his wife and climbed through the sea of neatly dressed parents waiting to see their kids take the most important step in their young lives.
There were whispers and stares as people slid farther away than necessary to allow him to sit down. He acted as though he didn’t notice. He was used to people treating him differently because he earned his living in a truck.
