My inspiration for doing this journal and writing this book is basically an outlet to have a say. Never have been one to get up in front of a group of people and speak. I always had this excellent memory and writing was a way for me to get it out and so, I decided to do just that. So many times down through the years I was told by friends and even some professional people, I should write a book. My attempt to live in a normal family, from the time I was very young, it was never destined to happen. That’s just the way it was, a higher power was and is the ruler over that. The thing that most people take for granted, family, has always been a missing link in my life. As a result, I have to talk mostly about experiences; things; hobbies; friends etc. and that is why you will find the absence of family in the context of my story. I would have loved to have had family to be a part of my life. When I retired from the Teamster via the BOEING Co. in October 1995, I already had work to go to immediately and worked clear into 2002. My Mother passed away in August 1999 and she had lived a full life to 95 years of age. Even though I had 3 daughters living and doing their thing in different parts of the country, at that particular time, my relationship with 2 of them was minimal and non-existent with the 3rd. After having moved up to Camano Island in 2003 and planning to stay there permanently, well…….it turned out that wasn’t what I really wanted after I got there and only lived there for 10 months, sold that house, packed up all my stuff and hauled it to Texas. I had decided I would make an attempt to live near my oldest daughter. It would at least give me a chance to maybe have a bond with my flesh and blood once in awhile. It worked in the very short term till she changed jobs and moved to Dallas. Too little, too late, it was not in the cards. At this point my oldest daughter and I have a pleasant relationship even though we see each other maybe twice a year. Flying up to my home area in Washington state once or twice a year is one of the things I really look forward to. I have some real solid friends in Washington that will always be my best friends. I’m really a Lucky Guy! Mike Hicks
The Cool Apple Express
By Michael J. HicksAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Michael J. Hicks
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4678-7713-8Contents
1. Introduction.........................................................12. This Is Where It Began...............................................93. Working My Way Into Trucking.........................................194. Up In Port Angeles...................................................435. 1972 All Over The Place Like A Fart In A Skillet.....................466. 1973 Lots Of Driving And A Few Odd Encounters........................537. 1974 Another Mixed Bag...............................................608. 1975 Wonder Bread....................................................699. C F Tanklines........................................................7410. Pulled The Pin At C F Tanklines.....................................8111. Making A Decision And 4 Years At Lone Star..........................8912. Post Lone Star......................................................9913. Two And A Half Years Of Starting Over...............................11614. Working At Boeing Trucking..........................................12415. Epilogue............................................................137
Chapter One
INTRODUCTION
"Don't compare your life to others, You have no idea what their journey is all about."
"A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn't.
A man marries a woman expecting that she won't change, but she does."
The Cool Apple Express Is not a real trucking company that I ever knew of but, It has been in my mind pushing 40 years at this point. Starting on 4th of July week-end 1971, I made my first sleeper trip of all time, running from Seattle to Chicago. Over the next 6 years, I would haul a lot of apples from areas in Eastern Washington to the Twin-Cities, and the greater Chicago area. It wasn't the only product I would haul but, it was a product I would haul a lot of, that was very popular. During that period of time, I came real close, about 3 times, to buying my own rig and running that route. I had the name; the design, and the colors for all of the equipment I would own, imbedded in my brain all these years. So, when I made the decision to write my book, I already knew what the name of it would be, and what the graphics would look like. In the short term, it may have been a good idea, but over the long term, and being able to look back in time, it was to my unconscious luck that I opted out. I know with just one rig, and not getting the itch to get bigger, or, bad luck, I most likely would have done real well. I was very disciplined with my work ethic and proper operation and care of the equipment I drove, but the constant grind over the years, and the responsibility to keep the wheels going 7 days a week, probably would have taken it's toll over time, and I would have either sold out or bailed.
There is a certain rush and feeling of independence when you are doing this particular kind of work, maybe a little different in real life, than what is portrayed in movies or stories. Even if you don't own the rig you are driving, once you pull out the gate and the wheels are on the highway, you're pretty much the boss, there is no one looking over your shoulder. You are expected to think on your feet, and make quick decisions with no one to hold your hand. Lots of weather related conditions dictate what you have to do, and there is always going to be equipment problems to deal with. Over the years I have had a few friends that were killed on the road, all experienced drivers. I've had some close calls myself but, considering all the things that could have happened, I feel fortunate and I thank the Good Lord for that. Going into the ditch up on Bozeman Hill one time in extremely slick conditions will be a memory I'll have the rest of my life. Coming off Stevens Pass west bound with a pneumatic tanker and loosing my air, same story, I shudder just thinking about it. One time at nite, crossing the desert between L A and Phoenix, I dozed at the wheel momentarily, when I opened my eyes and regained my senses, I got a Volvo pedaling as fast as he can right in front of me going down Banning Hill. One more second and it could have been disaster. That one instance always reminds me of that old 1940 movie, a trucking classic called "They Drive by night".
You drive long enough, you will experience many things like this, unless of course, you live a charmed life.
Everything I have edited in this book is absolutely true, and I have worded in my own unprofessional style. I would not be comfortable with a Ghost writer, it would not seem like the real thing. I am not un-educated, but I am anything but a real author and my story needs to be told in my own words.
I could have never have been as successful as I was to become the accomplished driver I am, if it were not for a few special people. Also, I want to thank some people for giving me certain opportunities along the way, opportunities that were valuable in reaching a plane of existence making life a lot easier.
First of all, I probably should mention my lifelong pal Roger "Rocky" Hannan, one of the first people I tied up with when I came back from Texas in June 1965. I would ride with him at work, and felt the desire to learn the trade. He was driving a brand new 1965 Autocar with a 5X4, 2O gears, and I had almost zero knowledge in the very beginning. So, just like Rock always said from that day on, "your'e startin directly from the top". I didn't learn overnite. Rock had been driving since he was 18, and he came from a family of truck drivers. He took a tanker over Snoqualmie Pass alone at the age of 18. He, his whole family, and all his close friends, were driver fanatics, and that is a good thing for the long haul. I was called a lot of names, and made to feel real bad a lot of times, till it was beaten into my head, and that was the real payoff, and like I said, it didn't happen overnite.
Another special person that was instrumental in finessing my driving ability was Rocky's, and my friend, Craig Stewart. I met Craig at the very same time I started riding with Rock, he and Craig were driving for the same guy. It would be 6 years up the road in 1971, when I made my first sleeper trip, and it was with Craig. Craig was an excellent driver, a perfectionist, and the trip I made to Chicago and back with him was a tremendous education for me too. Thank you Craig, thank you very much. I used those skills you taught me the rest of my driving career.
I learned driving skills from other people along the way, some are no longer alive. I had a driving partner for awhile named Ben Fabens. Ben was a very accomplished driver that had just about seen it all. I learned driving skills while driving with Ben, that, I probably would not pick up from the average person. He was real good at driving in adverse winter conditions, and that would pay off for me so many times I can't remember. One of the questions I asked him that would really payoff for me was, what to do if a front tire blows at freeway speed, fully loaded. Sure enough, the day would come when I needed that answer. I was running east bound on I-84, south side of the Columbia River past Biggs Junction. I was doing at least 60mph, a brand new Firestone front blew, I had the drill imbedded in my brain. I kept it straight, got it off the road. A "Willis Shaw" truck spotted me sitting on the side of the road with the tractor leaning to the left. They stopped, crossed over and drove me back to Biggs Junction. Good guys! I had the garage bring their entire tire truck down. Took the two best trailer tires I had, take the other Firestone front off too, strapped both tires on the flatbed, put the two trailer tires on the front of my tractor. I was coming back from California, went on in to Spokane to unload and load, and on back to Seattle. I couldn't wait to tell the boss about them new Firestone fronts!
Some of the people along the way that need mention, and people I want to thank for hiring me, maybe at important times, I will list them here. Joe Penberthy (now deceased), that hired me against his own better judgement, he thought, but did anyway. Jim Salvatore (now deceased), he hired me at System Transfer and became a friend of mine, I really liked Jim. Dale Leik at SeaBay Transportation. Dale and I were never very close, but Dale was always nice to me, I bird dogged him over a period of time before he hired me. Dale was O K. Thank you Dale. Ken Bouden Boeing supervisor. In the 6 ½ years I was at Boeing trucking before I retired, there wasn't anybody thought more highly of in conversation than Ken. He hired me but ... not without the prompting of two Union business agents, my good friend Tim Sullivan, and also Ed Seils, they put in a good word for me, and it paid off. I really appreciated that, especially at that particular time. Bob Dinsmore, dispatcher at LASME all the time I was there, turned me on to the job at Olympic Foundry. That was a long, long time ago, but I never forgot the best Dispatcher I ever worked for. You were the best Bobby!
I can't name everybody I've known in my lifetime, and I don't want to leave anyone out that deserves mention. Thank you, thank you all you good and dear people.
Chapter Two
This Is Where It Began We have to start somewhere and the first of June 1956 is a good place to start. I graduated from Hi School on that date at the age of 18. My Mother drove down from Seattle with a good friend of mine, Ralph Prosceno, to see me walk across the stage and get my diploma. There was a lot of green, and so much had transpired from the day I started my freshman year till I made it to the finish line at St Martins High School in Olympia, Washington. In that period of time, I would loose my Dad; my Grandpa, and actually loose my Mother for awhile. I would come to realize when I got a little older, the 2 years I spent at St Martins would be the one best thing that would happen to me in my lifetime.
Before I go any farther, it's important that I add some humor in the beginning of this true story, my journal. It starts out with quite a few hard knocks, and for the average stranger that might start reading this, it's possible they could get turned off early. I feel there are a lot of humorous events as you get along into the journal, but I am going to pre-empt early with a funny story.
We have to fast forward to 1977 and the big piano move. My life long best friend Rocky & I were involved in a later day edition of Stan & Ollies piano move from back in the 30's. I'm sure even the youngest generation knows of "Laurel & Hardy." The one where the whole film is about the foils of getting the piano up the huge flight of stairs only to find out at the end of the movie they could have driven up the hill around to the back door. The name of the movie is, "The Music Box". There was this 1916 Stark upright player piano in my family going as far back as ... 1916 I guess. It was about as heavy as 3 engine blocks and 50 times bulkier. It had been at one of my Mothers neighbors rec rooms for some years and she wanted it moved to a small studio in West Seattle across the street from "Joe Banana's." My buddy Rock had a real clean 51 Chevy pick-up, and we were going to rent a U-Haul tip trailer and haul it behind his pick-up. I had 3 guys from work that were suppose to show up and help us muscle it on and off. Well ... the three guys didn't show, and I found out later they had gone golfing or, something more fun than moving a piano. When they didn't show, Rock said, "hell with them guys, let's just do it ourselves." We got down to the house where the piano was located. You take one look at that piano and wonder how in the hell it got in there to begin with. The owner of the house was a pretty good sized guy, so that helped the two of us. Once we had ripped our sacks getting it onto the trailer and anchored, then we're in business. Neither Rock, or me, had ever seen this studio, but we knew the location.
We left the SandPoint area and headed for California Ave, in West Seattle. The bed of the truck was empty, and the piano was tall and heavy in that little trailer. We were getting a lot of action going around curves, up and down hills. It was comical to us as we were pulling this load across town. We start up Admiral way, and as we bend the corner where the telescopes overlook Elliot Bay, and the city, I look back at the trailer and it's bearing the weight on the driver side wheel, the passenger side wheel is off the ground. Kind of sends a rush through your body for an instant wondering whether it will actually go over, or ... come back down. It came back down. We go left on California, at the light, and wave at West Seattle High School as we roll by. I had gone to West Seattle High as a sophomore and, Rocky's older sister & brother had both went to West Seattle High back in the 40's. When we arrived at the studio, it looked good at first, we had plenty of room to get it off onto the street and up onto the side walk. It was blind luck that, when we got to the door we had a whole 1 ½ inch clearance on the sides to get thru the door. That's when the real fun started. Just inside the entry door was a mini vestibule followed by another door with a high threshold before you could get into the studio. I'm 6 foot 190 pounds in good shape. Rocky is 6 foot 265 pounds, exceptionally strong, been a professional wrestler, so we both are not going to give up on this project. I'm on the back end outside the door trying to move it forward. Rock is on the front end, lifting and back pedaling, if we can actually move the damn thing. It's about 20 to 30 minutes, we got Rock's end to the high threshold at the 2 nd door. I'm soaked with sweat, Rocky has probably worked off about 8 pounds already and now, Rock has to be able to lift his end high enough to get over the high threshold. I can't go around to help him now because, now that the piano has all the room but 1 ½ inches of clearance on the sides, it's a total jam. We continue to bust our balls over and over again and eventually he is able to get his end over and we move the piano till my end reaches the high threshold. Rock can't get out, he's pinned inside and it's up to me to get that last move over the threshold. It wasn't easy, but after a ton of grunting and more ball busting, it's finally inside. I was waiting for my Mother to drive up and say ... "sorry guys, we can't leave it there, you'll have to move it out." That nightmare didn't happen! We headed for a nice Steak house where we loaded up and had a story that would go down in our history books!
I grew up on Holden street in the Highland Park district of southwest Seattle. Got there in 1940 when I was 2 years old, and left the day school let out in June 1954. Being an under sized runt in that ruff & tumble neighborhood during that period in my life, was not an easy thing to go through, but I survived it. My main goal as a kid was to get to the great West Seattle Hi School where I watched all the older kids go. September 1953 at the age of 15, being 5 foot three and 120 pounds I started my sophomore year at WSHS. The school year started out pretty low key, but there would be so many changes that would take place in my life, probably no other one year in my lifetime can compare. My immediate family was very small by comparison to the other people around me. Just my Grandpa, my Mother and me. My Mother had her own little business and she stayed away a lot. Grandpa had the neighborhood grocery store and had been there since before 1930. We lived in a shack behind the store that we called home.
I didn't realize it at the time, but later in life I knew that I was a liability at that point in my life, especially to my Mother. We got along sometimes, but not very much, and she stayed lost in her work, not the greatest Mother as a parent. It was right after I had started school that year that my body decided to grow. I would get home some nights after school, do my chores, lay down, and sleep right around till it was time to get up in the morning. I grew 5 inches in height in just 6 months and grew right out of my clothes. By March I was 5 foot eight, weighed 140 pounds, which was crazy for me, but I still had a long way to go physically.
Grandpa was the backbone of our little family, he had been the glue that kept everything going all those years. Nothing fancy and on top of that, Grandpa was a quiet man. My Mother would walk out the door to where ever she was going, just taking it for granted that Grandpa would be there to watch over me, but Grandpa had a full time job taking care of the store and it's probably a miracle something stupid never happened. I knew the price of everything in the store, I had worked behind the counter for years, I could jump in behind the counter just on instincts, wait on customers, run the till, no problem. A good portion of the customers knew me by my nick name and didn't hesitate to have me wait on them. We did have a little problem with the Beer though. My Grandpa sold gallons of Beer. His Beer trade was through the roof. I was warned a thousand times to keep my paws off the Beer, but ... it was a power trip for me to have one of the customers come in during a busy period and say, "Hey Mick, grab me a full case of Old Style". I would jog into the walk in, grab the case, throw it on the counter and say, "$3.25". A done deal. Never got caught, but if a Seattle cop had seen that happen, it would have really hurt Grandpa's business. I thank the Lord nothing bad ever came of it.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Cool Apple Expressby Michael J. Hicks Copyright © 2011 by Michael J. Hicks. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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