snow and ice and trucks…

cool x truck

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

I remember the morning this photo was taken. It was Christmas day 1997-fridged Fargo North Dakota.
We were heading west to Seattle-I was hauling several sections of a roller coaster from Rhode Island to be rebuilt at a big amusement park in the north west. The longest haul I ever had-the load was on the trailer nearly four weeks…unheard of,but it was all a collection of circumstances.
We woke that morning in a motel in Mora Minnesota-snow blown up so high against the motel door the manager of the motel had to dig us out.
Then the air lines on the brake system froze….the moisture in the air all became ice and the truck refused to roll. I had begun a hike to a truck stop we had passed-but a family made a u-turn and gave me a ride to keep me from freeezing too.
I remember the guy that operated the tow truck they sent was the most unfriendliest man I ever met…until the check cleared. They had to shut my entire rig in a closed garage and use heaters to thaw the lines.
I will never forget how cold it was. The heater in the truck actually quit-died dead and cold…and the cold air that leaks into the cabs of the big trucks is relentless. So I drove into Fargo wrapped in a sleeping bag to stay warm.
I’ll never forget how crisp and clear the day was and how empty it seemed-although that part of the country is isolated,still….no one around. An odd sight came up in the center of the lanes of the interstate-I had to slow down to go around it…a sofa was sitting in the middle of the road having must of blown from the back of a pick up…and too damned cold for the driver to stop and reload. There it sat-brand new complete with a big red bow,out in the middle of no where.
They sent us to Billings to get the heater fixed-a two day journey completely wrapped up in the sleeping bag…not the way to drive truck.
The interstate was closed after Billings. It stayed shut down into new years eve 1998. Both of us caught a bad cold and spent the entire week laid up in a motel in Billings-and finally the highway was reopened until we got to Missoula,then they closed the gates again and we celebrated new years in a snow drifted parking lot of a truck stop there.
You can see the wreath on the truck to the left-in the photo. Its a pretty peculiar way to make a living when you volunteer your life to stay out on the road through the holidays-so very strange and lonely as you drive along and think about all the people-families at homes that you pass along the way,celebrateing.
I really miss the adventure trucks offered. It was every day a love hate relationship…the loads or the truck or the destination might not at times be the best.
Once the military loaded me with one small tool box…one guy could have put it in a pickup truck – by him self…and drive the thing across country. They could have sent it UPS it was so small,but the government had hired our big truck to tote this one small item from the naval air station in the coastal regions of Maryland-all the way to the Navy base in San Diego. Piece of cake run…no weight,and the entire run was like being empty all that long distance.
I got paid over a grand for pulling it-so the outfit we hauled for must have gotten a few grand more than my check was for….the stupid tool box could have been dumped out on the side of the road and bought brand new sixty times over or more for what they paid to tote it.
And theres poor homeless kids.

about ‘old Joe’…

old joe

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

Back in 1988 I worked for this outfit where I was buildind scaffolding all around the southeast.
I was a single dad-my sons were in high school up here in northern Florida…something came up where I had to run a small operation in south Florida in Ft.Pierce.
Its all too difficult to clearly explain -but I was commuting back and forth from Ft.Pierce to our place in the woods ,each weekend. LONG STORY.
My sons wanted to get a dog-and I was’nt going for the idea…but gave in-they said they’d pay for it and take care of it and I never neeeded to worry about a thing. Best part-they had a friend that had these dachsund pups for sale really cheap.and they had the money-so…I said okay.
We all went to the place where the pups where. I waited outside-I’m not too socialable a fellow,so I sat in the car and had a cigeret-and then my sons brought out Joe.
He was this cutie of a dachsund puppy if anything was cute it was Joe.
I think I said awwww…about three times-and I bought him. He was the only dog I ever had that never wanted to lick you…he never ever stuck that tongue on my hand. But-never a partner in life could a person want…Joe was the best dog I ever knew.
I’m a wierd guy about jobs ad the thing about scaffolds went by the wayside…even though I became one of the best. I goofed about a bit after leaving the ‘field’,and soon enough the idea came to drive trucks again. By this time the bride rattlesnake was in family-but…that has nothing to do with old Joe.
Joe was a capital dog…he was so smooth,no-not his hair,his personality. This dog was the best.
Smart-Joe was smart. We traveled together he and I across country. He loved trucks-and trucking,you only had to say…’lets go for a ride’,and that old dog was at the footsteps of the big rig. You could mean to go in a car carr local-but old Joe was ready for that big truck.
We once went to Altus Air Force base in Oklahoma. Hot-dang was it hot. We-me and Joe…walked across the high way to the air base shipping office to get papers and ready for loading. It was air conditioned in there-and they had a couch. It was a real pain to get Joe out of there. He jumped up on the couch like he owned the place and fell out into a nap mode right there. That was Joe.
At the Jimco Truckstop in Ripon California there was an old style bunk house up above where you paid for the fuel-it was a great place to get a chance to sleep in a nice and cheap and clean crisp bed. I could sneak old Joe up there,but I think they knew and let him go anyway because he was such a cool old dog.
He loved baths. We’d stop to fuel-and there was water,and we had soap…so old Joe was given a bath so often he’d get ticked off if there was a fuel stop and he did’nt get lathered up and smellie good.
You could bunk up in a high rise hotel-like one we stayed in in Houston once..that old dachsund would know the room…and by howdey you could take him around the town and put him on the floor and he’d find that room lickity split-no doubt.-iy did’nt matter if he had to ride the elevator,that old dog could sniff out where he was going to crash 100 percent of the time.
God-I loved that old dog. Thought I’d never love something like him again that much,until I met Max.
Joe was 17 last year-he was deaf-blind…stunk,still loved-but he was hurting and sad and he wanted me to help him out. I hated it and cried like a baby,my poor old Joe.
That old boy been to places you ain’t ever seen. He’s been where the space shuttle was built-and even got a NASA approval for me to pull a load to Canaveral…over riding a rule of no pets on a NASA load,he won the assholes over.
I have never trusted anyone like I did that old boy-I really miss him.
My son Micah and his wife tricked me last Crixmix(where they goof with the pine tree….)and brought this little chiuaua with them. Cute little guy. I felt kind of sorry for him,he seemed so forlorne….I felt the same way,cuddled him and felt his little shakey body-those chiuaua’s-they all shake that way….and would’nt you know it-one year later he’s still here. Cutest little guy since Joe.

barracks D drawing

barracks D drawing

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

I’m trying to purge myself and see if I can’t rid myself of some of the memory-it is’nt working,I don’t think the memory will ever go away. Some one said to me ” get over it ” and I can tell you…that is not what someone is supposed to say when you have had everything in your very soul stolen from you.
I wrote earlier today-I am living dead.
I wish suicide was mine to have. It is’nt-I tried it a few times until I realized that the right does not belong to me. I once tied a rope around my car bumper and through it over a branch and tied it to the base of a tree,where the reminent still is today…a reminder. Some crazy miricle that someone drove up and saw what I was doing. Miricle? You need to see my place to understand-and back then the main road was’nt paved…which made it more so a miricle,no one ever wanted to come here.
So I have to live with it-hate it,but it is so.
The stigma of things would bring me down,I am down tonight…I miss being a little child where all I had to think about was pushing sand with popcycle sticks to make roads for my match box cars.
I dunno how to get over it. I wish it was that easy…as easy as it it to say.
I lost my relationship with my father-he died to me a long time ago back in 1970. Yet he is going to really die soon and the agoney of that keeps pulling me downward.
My father-my family…never has known my story. I’ve offered it to my only living brother to read-he has’nt,that I am certain. It seems really crazy to me that people I do not even know have read these things and seen that my life has been hurt-and the ones we need the most…our family,not here for me.
I am sorry…I get depressed,really depressed. Feels like an anchor is chained to my feet-and I cannot move.
I need to complete my thoughts to finish my story-and there is so much of-and it is all so unbelieveable,but damned if it ain’t true….it is all true.

Living dead…

wierd crucifiction drawing

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

I really don’t know how to say some things correctly-I know how my mind is…the mind of my heart,and I know what it is I want to say. I just sometimes find it hard to express it.
My thetrapist-Charlotte,one day introduced me to a book by (Viktor Frankl) a man who was medically trained as a psychiciatrist and ended up in a nazi death camp. He was a jew.
Frankl writes about the difficulty it was to be able to talk after being held captive in such a horrid manner-and after freed he was unable to completely say what it was that was on his mind.Having been a captive I learned to understand why my voice was quiet when my mind wanted to speak.
I struggle with that too-Charlotte recognized the origin of the problem….but,there are things yet to over come.
One of you has been kind to mention the need for God to heal me in my life…trust me-God has been right upfront with me all of my life. I have somehow always had the sense of a Spirit in my life.
Hmmm-this is a man who has said terrible things have happened in his life. And-they have,and as a man in life along with all the rest of civilization I cannot fully shake these things,but-I never swore out to God as to why.
On November 16th the state of Florida executed Danny Rollins.
He murdered five beautiful young children of families from seperate lives that all of a sudden came together because this vicious man took the lives of thier children.
One of the five was a young woman we all knew-all of them were college students-this one young lady grew up right across the road from our home. Her mother still lives there-he father died from the grief of learning this lovely girl was so brutally put to death in what the murderer did to her. He raped these girls-there were four,and a young man-murdered them all. This one young woman-my late neighbors daughter, was also mululated in a way I cannot describe,it did kill her father…a long suffering death,his grief too much to bear.
I met with death one morning after being foolish with my body for about a good year of packing my nostrils with crystle meth and living behind the steering wheel of a huge truck loaded with cattle-going back and forth across the USA as if it was like going across town. I had been awake for one full week-one fool week! And boom-the heart could’nt stay with it any more and the other drivers helped me into my rig and into my bunk I fell-having a vision I can never completely convince others is true…but my heart knows no doubt about it. I was falling towards death-saw the white light of God,and the dark depths of darkness.
The reason I am here to say this is private-the experience was so incredible…you only need know that it happened for this to tie together…
The rapes in barrack D killed me-literally….only this carcass kept on walking..
I’ve had the misfortune of seeing plenty of things in the United States that AAA does not want you to see on a liesurly drive across the land. I’ve seen the prostitutes climb the high chain link fence at ‘Hunts Point’ in NYC-carrying blankets to throw across the razor wire at the top to keep from getting cut….30 or 40 woman…all at once,a sight of unbelievable reality. I’ve been on the old ‘devils highway’.route 666 going north past Gallup,NM-between there and Shiprock NM is absolute nothing-barren desert. And I have seen entire families standing on the side of that road in the middle of nowhere and where they came from and where they were going I can not say. The phenominon of it is what surprises me. There in Yuma-the largest population of homeless children in the world is suposedly existing there. I have seen plenty of kids there while we waited to clear the port of entry…down in the viaducts-catching tossed frenh fries and pieces of burger the drivers would toss down to them-like monkeys they’d run to catch these morsels-and the humans,the drivers-would rour in laughter. I hated them-the ones who laughed.
So in my heart one must understand the feelings I have about lamenting about my life when I see these tragic things happen-and know worse happens.
Why was it my kid brother got smeared to death beneath the wheels of a car-and the other kids on the block grew up and got into lives of thier own? The thing about kids who die or are killed should raise the eyebrows of our thought process to say….something must be greater than this?
In the Bible was a man named Enoch-he was valid enough of a man to give only one verse to…then in the same Bible was Job-a whole book.
Is one man more than another? Did God see this guy as better than that? No.
It has to be that this is not really life. Theres a guy that writes me who has no home at all….and I lament about my own open walls,cold air-or the heat of summer plying in. And my knowledge of the thousands of homeless kids in Arizona at the Mexican border-or in Malawi or in Bulgaria…what is the difference.
I promise you-I hate what happened to me. Why I bought a Cadillac is because of the hate of seeing me live a life so different from how everyone else is…the Cadillac is some how a symbol for me. I’ve obtained a place…a spot in life where I’m finally giving me some things. The Cadillac has no chance of eradicating my past
It just gives me something to take my mind away from it for a short time.
I know God-I know God is for sure…and there is a day,I wish it was today-where God is going to reach out and pull me up from the pit of want and desire and grief and need and horror of the way life is around us,and God is going to make me alive again.
I won’t need the Cadillac then.

trucking-my highway home!

tractor in yard

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

When I was a kid up in West Virginia I had a friend named Jimmy. I was always staying the night over at his house-we were inseperable buddies for a while there.
Jimmys dad was a truck driver-although I think he stayed around the area and did’nt travel far off. Back in the old days trucks had an air starter that went off with a loud ‘whoop’ sound that nearly scared the daylights out of you if you were’nt aware what the noise was. I remember Jimmys dad would go out to start that old truck real early in the morning before anyone else was awake-and of course the sound of the starter would wake up even the dead…so you could’nt help hearing the thing and laying there in bed listening to its diesel engine clacking and making that intricate noise as its valves warm up to the oil pumping through them.
As his truck warmed up-Jimmys dad would play a steel guitar and sing hymns-my only real introduction to Jesus as a boy. I remember those mornings clearly…Jimmys dad with his cup of coffee sitting next to him on a stool-singing those songs about church and that old truck up on the street clacking away as it warmed up.
Jimmy and his cousin came to Richmond in a stolen VW beetle and some cash…also stolen,from his sister I believe. They came to ‘rescue’ me from the things I had written to Jimmy about that were going on in the school there. We got away for a couple of weeks until the money ran out. Funny-three kids barely 14 driveing around the country and no one was suspicious. We got caught anyway and Jimmy’s dad had to come down to get us,we were in North Carolina.
I felt so sorry about Jimmy’s dad…I always wished he knew that-but the ride home was quiet and after they dropped me off in Richmond at home I never saw them again. I remember looking at his dad from my seat in the back of the VW. He was a kind sweet man-we did’nt mean to do him wrong.
Trucking became my life.
It was the only reasonable thing that I could do to stay full time employed-mostly because I never had to see my employeers and other employees-always independent,always free from personal contact.
Trucks became my prison-although not an unpleasent prison atmosphere…never the less,once in a truck and you are done for. It is worse than a drug-and once upon a time thet used to turn thier heads about drugs-speeders and crystle meth to keep the eyes wide open and the wheels turning 24/7. I once stayed awake 7 days when I was hauling cattle-could make two trips round and back from the cow palace in Lakeland Florida to the feed lot in Brawley California. I am so glad that things twisted in a direction when I was hauling cattle that that life was short lived and my feet carried me swiftly away from that kind of work-you have to be nearly crazy to mess with cattle,and as a load they are the most dangerous there is-and drugs? That is no way to go.
Thats the neat thing about knowing how to truck…jobs were easy to get-especially the odder freight like over size loads. Over size loads are the goal any driver should try for…more rest-no driving in bad weather no driving in bad rain no cities during certain hours and many other good topside benifits to intice one to haul the OD loads-money..if money is your thing-but more so the thrill.
I’ve hauled loads so large they would’nt let us pull them on the interstates-so we had to use special routes that took us miles out of the way into places you would’nt expect a big truck to be…all to try to snake around to find the perfect way to where the load must go. We used to go through Louisiana and the bridge on interstate 10 through Baton Rouge would’nt be wide enough to allow us to manuvure the load across so we had to go all through these little towns scattered all across the state to get to the edge of Bato Rouge where we had a police escort to meet us-and they piloted us through downtown Baton Rouge at our top speed of 70 miles an hour…just to get rid of us.
I found escape in the trucks-the transient nature of the job was comfortable to me-much so that I once spent 8 months straight on the road and in the rig-never seeing my own place for all that time.
You did’nt have form friendships-although you made many aquaintences along the way. I almost always hated to get hooked up with twin loads-there’d have to be another truck to haul the second half…and that dug into my privacy.
Jimmy’s dad…he’s one of those in line with my grandfather ‘Sir’ who I wish I could say “you too help influence me”. Little idea did I have when old Sir took me to see that rig and rigging the night they put the locomotive in the Smithsonian. Little could we have known that those hymns and that steel guitar would have imbedded in me the way they did. So its gracious of God to have led me into trucking through these men…the protection of the immense size of the job-the truck…and the things I moved from one coast to another.
Its not an uncomfortable way to live-theres ways to live in a truck that are just like being at home-and that was the best part of it-never having far to go home when the day was done.

living in Florida…

me

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

The place has changed since I came here in 1970. Back then you could still see the real Florida-but it was the tail end for sure. Disney World had barely broken ground when I came to this state-Orlando just a small town….nothing like it is today. I’m thankful I got to see the way it was-I wish I could have seen it in the days of Jacob Summerland,the old coot and cow cracker that pretty much founded the city of Orlando,a man who rounded up the free range cattle that were breeds left behind by the Spanish-and he got rich selling them for nothing less than gold coins,which he never banked.
It is sad seeing things being pushed aside-places that have soothed the eye for many a long year shoved into a burn pile and replaced by stucco apartments.
The old town of Micanopy,now all antique shops-and still a great place,but the old town when the antique shop buildings were still being used as grocery store and mechanics garage and the pharmacy with its own soda fountain. Across one side of the roadway the log cabin cafe was cooking breakfast for the log trucks going to Franklin Crates-the drivers stopped and the road lined with the long semi trucks while they ate up bisquits anf sausage gravy,the cafe crazily placed beneath the huge citrus shed that was built over top of it.
Theres hardly a person that knows it that right in the center of town above where the pharmacy was and where Doc Strange had his practice was a hotel-rooming house. Now I believe its just a private residence,but I know of stories about things that happened in those rooms that none of the owners of the antique shops can relay.
I ended up in these woods where I live-and have lived for 0ver 30 years now…by divine guidence and yet when it was being done I did’nt really realize it. I brought my young family out here in a pup tent and busted my ass to build what is here and is home.
In the picture -behind me is just a glimpse of what my five acres looks like. I’m in the front of my house,theres no way to say its a front yard-there never has been a ‘yard’…but never the less,I am where I am happiest.
Florida has strange winters. This picture was taken in the winter-but yet the trees remain green. The days are somewhat warm in winter-but sometimes not so great and yet there is enough of the tropic sun to keep flora green. Yes,some trees change and lose thier leaves-dogwoods do a wonderful hue of orange to give a northern transplant the feeling of fall…but the worse part of it is the climate and how it changes in radical directions during the winter months. The other day it was like a crisp winter day up north-you can tell when its cold up in the mid west by the winds and how the cold air comes from that way. Today it was 80 degrees out,now its going down and its a bit chilly-but not too intolerable. In a few days it can go into such a change that folks from Michigan that saved thier hard earned money to flee the frost find out it followed them down to the Sunshine State. Oh yeah-the sun is perfect on a winter day…you can even pull off a jacket and sweater as long as you stay in the sun,but the minute you take a break in the shade you once again realize it is a hard frost day.
You know a woman is responsable for the city of Miami to become the city it is today-she sent Henry Flager a blooming orang blossom when all the trees in northern Florida froze and the water in thier trunks caused the trees to split-killing all the citrus in the north,so Flagler ran his railroad on down to a place that was nothing but mud and boards for walkways and mosquitoes thatt could lead a team…and Miami was begun.
Today I can see our city reaching furthur out-the need for four lanes evident,and the city finally fell to Super Walmart. The place I came to in my worn out shoes and hungry family in tow was a song to buy back then in the 1970’s-and now has become quite valueable….and funny,its still the same darned trees and the same sunrise and the same sunset and the same dirt,and yet it is worth more than I ever imagined it would be. I sit back in amazed wonder of it all.
About a few miles short of twenty miles from here lived a woman writer-Marjorie K Rawlings. She came down here in the 1930’s and wrote quite a library of books about the folks around here and the way of life they had-and such a different life from what people away up north or far out west ever knew about. I saw some of that life as a young man when I first came here-not realizeing then what was rapidly going away in front of my eyes.
Miz Rawlings-as I understand it was how she was refered to…Miz Rawlings used to row a flat boat around River Styx and Locasloosa and take the national census for the government in the area-then the only way to access the people was by rowing and walking-not by car.
If you ever get a chance to read ‘Cross Creek’…do,she does such a grand job of describeing our area and its people well.
I swear to you-I could sit down next to that tree I’m leaning on and never leave this place for the rest of my life-at night a trillion little green tree frogs singing and screaming at one another,the music of it to sooth one asleep-and the stars above seen unfilter through city lights-all free and clear of the polution of light.there are ages of them out there.
I can cry about the winters-but I don’t cry long….

more America’s Most Wanted…Rose!

America’s Most Wanted?

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

Friday December 1,2006 will mark the 8th year that the FBI entered my life and I became one who earned thier full attention.
Rose had come down to my house and told me she had something she wanted-insisted she had to tell me. My instinct told me that it was something illegal and I asked her about that…and she said ‘its very illegal’ which I responded that I did not want to hear what she had to say. If Rose had stopped then she would have been fine and free as a bird today.
She did’nt stop-and began to tell me that she was involved in a murder case saying her twin sister murdered this man in Baltimore Maryland and because she was a twin they accused her-convicting her wrongly. This I’ve learned was never close to the truth-Rose,Theresa Grasso…also known as Bertha Keene and Mary Beth was not only a lier…she was indeeed a murderer.
I was already wary of Rose. I had become that way earlier in the fall of that year because we were walking in the state forest behind my home and when we passed the lake there she asked if it was possable to hide a dead body in the water…a seriously shocking question. I had no idea how to answer-but it made me afraid of her…it would have made me afraid of anyone who had a question like that to ask someone.
I started staying away from her-I began going another direction when I walked. I walked every day then to heal and regain strength from my stroke and Rose had been a welcome partner to walk with until she had asked that question. I had become aware that her background was’nt lineing up as it should-=her details of her life seemed to vary. We talked a lot during the times we walked-even sitting on the edge of the lake and haveing a few smokes of a small pot pipe,so it did’nt take long to form a personality and hers was varied.
She also had a boyfriend. I worried about him and did’nt feel too comfortable about us meeting and walking and seemed to have a need to clear that with him,so my son and I went up to where they lived so I could introduce myself and smooth out a road that was’nt even rocky-at that point. His name was David-and David was a cold as ice to me and regarded our visit as an intrusion.
The ‘dead body in the lake’ and Davids reaction made it simple for me to desire to change my walking route.
She figured it out and found me one morning and resumed meeting me.
You have to understand the layout of the area-it is fully forested-and at the tip of a 42,000 acre state forest. Very rural-very secluded.
I do not recall how long it was until that day came and she told me about being on America’s Most Wanted television program…she could have kept that to herself-I even told her if what she was about to say was illegal I was not interested.
The FBI said they were’nt even looking for her. They more less did’nt even have a clue or desire to seek this woman out. The ttelevision program-they say,was not even going to air that piece and they have no idea how she came to think that.
The lady was free and clear.
The day after she told me-and my response was disbelief…she and David came to my house. He said I must have a lot of questions-and I only had one. Was it true?
So they laid another section of the story on me and then said they were leaveing the area and going to a new hide out. Then David handed me this envelope full of money-which I refused. They left it anyway-leaving on a stereo speaker as they walked out the door….supposedly forever.
It was 2000 dollars-the money scared me so bad I hid it behind some frozen veggie’s in my freezer.

So-a few days go by and my phone rings and its Rose. She asked me if I would take the two grand and go to Ocala-a city near here-and rent them an apartment in my name for them to use as a hide out. I refused,and she got pretty heated about that and hung up.
Shortly she called again and said the apartment was excused-how about going to the airport and renting them a car. No-I was’nt doing that and after she cussed me out I said to come back and get the cash…it was not anything I wanted a part of. And she did-and she threatened to shhot me too and walked away tossing the cash into the breeze…twenty’s blew alll through the woods.
My oldest son is in the Navy and I knew he used computers and I have no knowledge of computers so I asked him to look this up-I really thought something else was up. I never really believed this woman had killed a man. But my son did’nt look it up-he called the FBI…and they contacted me.
Some of this story has some humor in it-the FBI were’nt looking for her as I already said-but now the phone call my son made was a done deal and the FBI had to look into it.
When the FBI came to my house they were in shock-the road out here then was so bad no one-even us residents-wanted to drive down it. These two agents surprised me with the comment they had previously busted a guy across the road who was stealing money from a Brinks truck that he drove….my wooded neighborhood was hideout to all kinds of hooligans-it seems. So the agents remarked how bad the road was and no one wants to come out here-thier question was…why did they move out here?
This story is too complicated for me to tell in one sitting so its got to stop here for a while and allow my emotions to settle.
I thought for a moment I could make it go in a path of jest to keep my feelings straight-to point out some of the comical things that took place while the fed’s were setting up the way to capture this woman….I can’t really make it ha ha funny,it was’nt funny to me to be a part of this…and now that I’ve had to live with this in parallel to all the rest of the stuff in my lifes past…it is all too incredible-too much.
You know-my privacy went with that woman…the newspapers did not tell all the story,the Washington Post was the worse of them-the author of thier article made me feel like dirt and his words made me look like dirt-and this woman like a heroine. The boyfriend-David…and she had a husband too,I did not know about-harrassed me at times keeping a eye on my house and went as far as employing a private investigater to try to turn up something in my life to make me look bad…there was so much of that going on I had to write a formal letter to the Levy County Sherrifs office and ask for them to tell this guy to buzz off.
This summer in June a knock came on my door-a young man from City College in New York City has the desire to film a documentery about Theresa Grasso….and once again the box has come open-the last several weeks saw a film crew here at my house in the woods. My request that the story be told as it was-in truth…has been promised to me by this young director. I hope he keeps his word.

America’s Most Wanted…’Rose’

11/20/06

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

It all seems so unreal to me how this all took place-how it had to have been orchistrated by a higher being.
How come it was that I was always away-gone this time from the house over 120 days,I know-I always counted. Thats how I’d stay awake at nights-I’d go back years to the first load I’d ever hauled and work my way forward. The agrivation of it would keep me awake for hours,but the days-to count the days…it was always like being in prison,so-you counted the days.
Rose was kind to me…we met one morning and it was a quick hello and have a nice day. But it went into a more established friendship over time.
She was a murderer. I am not…might of thought who’d be a good idea to murder,but not a person who could carry it through. I’m sort of surprised how easy it was for her to confess herself to me…how unconcerned that she was about being caught-and not concerned that she had shot and killed someone in cold blood. She and her boyfriend offered me-forced on me 2000 dollars-so,that is the price of a murdered persons life. I do not understand??
What this is all about-I do not know any more than I know how to explain the rest of things. How can it be that I spents months-months and months away from my own house and then all of a sudden have a stroke-a sudden,because all strokes are sudden. And…to bump into a person who successfully stayed clear of authority for almost 20 years???Question marks?-because it has me confused.
You can only imagine what it is like where I live from how I describe it-but you cannot really phantom the whole idea of it unless you see it for real…it is so far out of the traveled way. It has a certain haunting to it-why?
I liked Rose-there was things about her that were wierd,but she was so nice to me…of course-being married to a rattlesnake wrapped in poison ivy like I was,it was nice to make aquaintence with someone who offered no threat. I did’nt know that Rose was a murderer.
Gives one a funny perspective-murderers are’nt all bad folk-except murder is a bad thing. Who can explain that?
I can tell you to be put in the position I was was not the choice I had in mind-and would’nt want to have to make again.
Obviously-I have a large story to tell about this. It is all too unreal for me to try to explain any of my life toanyone…why? Why? Why has my life been so like this-why did Rose have to tell me her lifes problem when my life alone has been freaked out enough…seeing Mr.Hokes brains being splayed across the cellar-seeing my brothers on my fathers shirt. Seeing the shit I’ve seen-and damned if it was’nt barracks D too.
I’m going honest here-this forum,this way to speak-has been the most greatest release for me…it has helped me to accept the computer because of the responses and the people who have said-‘whew…this has been me too!’…and to finally expell this filth and trash from my spirit has been a strength. To know someone who is a stranger is reading-understanding-and saying”me too”…well-what can I say from here?
Look-listen,this thing about Rose does not make me a hero…it makes me sad,and hurt-and worse…because barracks D was a prison,and to send someone to that (to prison)kills me inside-kills me!
{Rose has been sent back to the prison she escaped from FOUR times-the fourth being for nearly twenty years…and now because she met me she is back in the same prison yet in a maximun cell}

I hate the fact that this happened. And…it has never ened,now they are filming a documentery about it-and my part in it is exposed.
What now??

ice road-freezing feet

ice road

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

Here I am sitting in northern Florida and it is’nt even December yet and I am already to hear that first blessed person complain about how hot it is.
I hate the winter-the older I get the worser it is to me…no ha ha ho ho of the glintery season from me. It always struck me as how unreal it was for a guy like me to endure winters on the road-and it always seemed this Florida boy would end up in the thick of it,as you can see in this photograph…a shot taken from inside the cab of my truck (you can see the part of the fender mirror on the lower right) and heading right down one of the hairy passes of the northwestern states.
Some from the south-those who have never traveld in that region,have no idea that in many places they have gates that close the interstate due to the snow and ice. Wyoming is one that comes to mind and Montana too. I’ve been to the Flyin’J truckstop at the base of the mountain going west into Seattle….and seen the place run completely out of food for all the truckers stranded and waiting to go over the pass at Snoqualmie. One winter I had a load…the same load-on my trailer for almost three weeks because of the snow and ice. Got sicker than a dog on new years 1997 and spent an entire week in a motel in Billings….the snow had the roadway shut down for the entire week.
The big trucks stay warm but it seems theres this need to allow an air hole to leak in to the cab of the truck right where the foot pedals are as if its some cruel joke that they play on truckers at the manufacturing plant where they put together these big trucks. And you can never seem to stop the leak.
The entire west is beautiful-even the snows…as dangerous as the roads get it still takes your breath away.
I’m trying to feel warm here at home-its a balmy 38 degrees for you folks up there in Minnesota or furthur up yonder….but it ain’t easy-six A.M. and I’m fully dtressed and wrapped in a quilt-my left hand in my pants pocket to keep warm and my right hand going like nuts to write this morning.. The back end of the house is wide open….only a tarp to keep the rain out-but darned if it ain’t stopping anything else from coming in-its freezing! But trust this-if all goes good and the weather hangs out and keeps dry…this place will be tightened up and the back room will be heatable. I bought the supplies I need to do a right good job and am anxiously working to finish up something I began this summer in June-only to find out my money was stalled,and stayed stalled for three months. So a late start….gotta run-getting the car warmed up and thats where my morning is going to continue.

Thanksgiving at the Jimco Truckstop

me and an old road truck

Originally uploaded by jayfherron.

Like the old Johnny Cash song where he sings about all of the towns he’s been through while trucking down the road-it is exactly the way it was while being on the road as long as I was-construction or trucks,things kept me on the move….but the trucks were the best.
People always ask me if I miss it. That is easily answered with a yes.
There is a lot to trucking folks generally do not see-and do not care to know. Trucking people are a parallel society that co-exist with the rest of the population…greatly cussed about and cussed at-the,perhaps-most unthankful jobs a guy could have because we drag this stuff from one end of the planet to the other and usually get greeted with a smileless face -not always,but often enough to tell you something about how most people think about you.
In Maine-I used to go up through the wilderness to haul potatoes from Presque Isle…by far the sweetest kindest place to truckers anywhere in the good old USA. The place where the city made us park and wait to load was right up on the river front with a wonderful view across to the other side into a forested vista. Locals would drive by and chat or offer rides to a store if you needed a way to go…they would wave at you as you walked down the street-and even wait longer for thier dinners to come at a restaraunt-just so a trucker could be served first.
The life to me was wonderful-to be away….thats what they say in Maine…’he’s from away’ ! To be from ‘away’ was what the lifestyle of trucking is about-I believe most who drive are independent spirits that seek the solitude…just as I did.
Like that song Johnny Cash sings-I could sing it about every inch of every interstate ihighway in the country. I have felt every hump and bump and can never forget I-40 crossing Arkansas and was always happy hauling wide loads across that state because they’d route me onto highway 70 that ran paralell to I-40,and was a much smoother ride.
You live holidays on the road. I know I’ve spent Christmas in a motel in Moline-snow up to the door and the highways closed. Once in Mora, Minnesota they had to dig the snow away from the door to get me out of the room…that was a Christmas too. It was so cold that the air in my brake lines froze and I had to hoof it down the highway to find a phone…pre cell phone days,and remember a family turning around to pick me up-not because of Christmas cheer…but because they did’nt want me to freeze.
My most surprising holiday on the road was at the Jimco-at Ripon, California. Jimco is the old style Ma and Pa kind of truck stop. I’ve talked about it before because it was such a neat place and its old style put my mind back into the older days of trucking where we were the cowboys of the roadways and kept pride in our service as a trucker…we never wore shorts and sneakers to operate. We looked the part.
I was at the Jimco on Thanksgiving day one year .I was watching the owner walking from truck to truck talking with the drivers and shakeing hands and patting backs-soon enough he was at my drivers door knocking and greeted me with a warm pat on the back,kind of rubbing my shoulder with his hand. He held out a slip of paper and told me to go into the restaurant and have turkey dinner on him. You could look into the eyes of this old guy and see the many years of looking down the length of a hood of an old Diamond Reo or a Mack-year after year and million miles if not more. Theres a way a guy walks and if he ain;t walking-its how he stands,all around-the grip of his hand and the feel of the roughness in his right palm-caloused from all the millions of times he shifted those gears.
Across the highway about a mile from the Jimco was a chain truckstop…by far a classier place than Jimco-only in interior style,but way far behind in the real personality of the old truck stops. You can be certain on thanksgiving dinner was not offered there unless you shelled out fifteen bucks for it,and its only one dinner a year.
Jimco is a place you could describe as a shambles of a place-but the trucker instinct that grows into you over the years tells you that the brick and morter ain’t what solely keeps the place together-it is the atmosphere and the aura in the steam that comes off of the parking lot and the scene of the truckers sitting on the benches out side of the old motel-now being used as brokers offices…all guys NOT wasteing time-all drivers waiting for another load.
I hauled an old dog with me-Joe,an oscar myer wiener dog…a dachsund. Best traveling dog in the world-and he was a smart old chap,and by howdey -he knew when we dropped a load at the defense depot in Tracy that we would be heading up to Jimco. Joe loved the walnut groves that covered acres between the greatest truck stop and the major chain from across the way. Joe and I would go up and down through the lined rows of walnut trees-it was such peace to go into that grove from being cooped into the cabin of a big rig and after thousands of miles of asphalt.
Think about it as your families get together during the holidays-eating and being close and happy and all that cheer. A trucker was the primary facility for everything you have-and countless guys and gals are humping loads across the United States and Canada-Mexico,and all across the world. But right here in our own land there are these folks who work so we can have…sitting alone in a truck somewhere. You should see how things do take place around the truckstops of America-places like Jimco that show you appreciation and like the people in the state of Maine where they are by far the most kindest people to truckers I’ve ever known. Yup…I miss every bit of it!