Place: Morton, Illinois USA
September 30, 1995
THE DAY I RETIRED.
This was a day we all strive for working our way back home to park our truck and go home to our family. I just made my last run of my trucking career and was trying to feel good about it.
It was September 30, 1995. I stood in the dispatch office receiving my last pay check. It was official now, I had actually retired and I strolled out of the dispatch office looking at all the trucks and trailers lined up in the yard (parking lot). I thought to myself, “this should be a great moment, but it doesn’t feel like it.”
My name is Dick Lower and trucking has been my life—I started in the trucking business back in 1948 working in warehouses unloading trucks. It was a part time job then, after school and on weekends. I spotted (parked in loading docks) a few now and then just so to get them in the dock so we could unload them. It was my teenage years and I was still in high school.
I thought about how many years ago it was when the first truck backed into the dock that I had to unload. Almost 50 years ago! Where did the time all go to? Here I was with my last paycheck in my hand gazing at all the trucks parked in the lot. I saw my truck sitting there waiting for me so I went over to ‘ole “152” (truck number) to say goodbye to her. We had seen all kinds of weather and conditions trucking through mountains, cities and swamplands--she had been good to me and I was going to miss her. She was a Kenworth with a sleeper attached and she was gentle as a kitten however her power came from a Caterpillar engine. If my arms had been long enough I would have wrapped them around her giving her a big hug.
Note: (All of the company trucks were powered by Caterpillar engines I guess mainly because Peoria, which is only ten miles away is the home of Caterpillar. I recall the first Caterpillar engine that was put in my truck, it was 1973—it was an Auto Car Cab with the front axle recessed back from the bumper. It was a White Western Star with a 20-speed air shift. I was loaded headed west on I-74—it was night and passing the other trucks was no problem. I heard in my CB radio somebody holler, “Who’s in that airplane that just passed me?”
It didn’t dawn on me that they were yelling at me until I went back to them on the radio and asked them who they were talking about? The driver described the truck and I stated that was me but why was he calling me an airplane?
He said I went by him so fast and with out a sound—just a rush of air like there wasn’t any engine in the truck. He asked me what I had in my truck that ran so quiet. I explained I had a small Caterpillar engine. Somebody piped up on the radio and said, “Their ain’t no small Caterpillar!” Back then truck engines were very nosey and each truck, GMC, Mack, International and Cummings engines had a distinct sound and they were loud. One knew they were passed by a Caterpillar when they did not hear engine noise only the rush of air passing them.)
My thoughts wandered standing there next to my magnificent truck and friend as I remembered trucks and truckers back in 1948. They were really something! Everybody liked those drivers then. They were flashy, glamorous and tough. I watched them roll into the warehouse lot, as they wheeled about to back into the docks. There was always an air of excitement when they pulled in. Someone would holler, “TRUCKS HERE!” and the hustle to get ready to unload so the driver could get on his way was immediate. Everyone knew it was important to get that truck back on the road.
The driver would fling the door open and swing out to the ground presenting his bills to me as he approached. These guys were ex GI’s out of the military trying to fit into civilian life. There were a lot of Air Force pilots driving then—they drove trucks because they were able to enjoy their freedom, make very good money and lead the kind of life they were accustomed to.
That is where the flight jackets came from that many truck drivers wore. The fighter pilots wore them with their white silk scarf around their neck, just like they did in the Air Force. Their soles (shoes) would sparkle because they were shined so well. Military crease in their pants and shirts, some of them even flashed white gloves. They had the barracks hat with the metal taken out of the inside of the hat so it would drupe around the sides and back. (Military hard brim hat) It later became a favorite hat in the trucking world .
We called them, “Hot Shots”. They were a disconnected lot of officers and men trying to work in civilian life. Life was difficult for them because most of them had become professional fighters in the war and now there was no war.
I was awed by them—now they drove trucks. There were all kinds of professional people driving trucks then, professors, teachers, engineers and many others. The reason was that they were paid 25 percent of the load or an equal amount in hourly pay, which ever was greater and that turned out to be about four times as much as a factory worker made at the time. Who could beat that?
The tractors were almost bigger than the trailers—there were a lot of what we called government trailers on the road—they were no longer than 25 to 28 foot long. Except if you to a 30 foot trailer back then you had a large truck however these were not the short government trailers. These were commercial built trailers the industry was building. A lot of the brakes were still vacuum brakes for the most part and most all tractors were driven by gasoline engines.
Ok—enough reminiscing—I gotta go! It was time to say goodbye to this big hunk of beloved machinery. I turned away getting back into my car—I had to jerk my brain back into place and get my thoughts focused so I could drive home. I was supposed to feel good about this retirement thing! This is what every person works their entire life for. I just couldn’t help but feel an emptiness inside. I wondered, “how many other drivers felt the same way on their last day?”
End.
Happy trails to you where ever your journey may take you.
The open road!
