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.
> > >>
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