Big Wheels Rollin’
Dad road-tested with Ferro Trucking like a pro, and was formally added to the roster.
“Eastbound and Down” by Jerry Reed
Jerry Reed – Eastbound and Down (with incidental movie dialogue)
He started out a couple days a week on Ferro’s dedicated routes delivering loads in reefer straight-jobs (10-wheeler trucks with an attached refrigerated box).
Mom was overjoyed—Dad would now be making more than double the salary from the city job. He finally left the security of civil service employment, and went for Ferro because with a house and growing family, it just made economic sense.
Naturally, as was his dream, Dad soon tested for trailers.
One husky driver and a known hothead, John Slater, fancied himself quite the toughie but was quickly adjusted attitude-wise. He asserted that no one had ever successfully road tested for a trailer on the first try, and doubted Dad’s chances.
He was promptly proven wrong. Right away, Dad had Slater’s respect.
With a newly-minted articulated CDL, Dad was then commanding a single-axle “gas-job” (non-diesel) White 1500 Xpeditor cabover with a 40-foot trailer.
Daily runs consisted running a load to Kraft in Allentown, Pa., much of New Jersey, upstate New York (including West Point), and some stops in Manhattan, which he grew to know intricately.
It wasn’t long before Dad was handling the conventional diesels; White series 4000 and 9000, pulling trailers.
And for the next 20 years Dad was a model employee—best man on equipment, with no accidents or moving violations. He remained devoted to his boss until retirement.
In the interim, he was given brand-new rigs when they were ordered; Road Boss #111 and then Road Boss 2 #114.
He kept those trucks as his own, polishing them in and out, and installing a stereo and CB in each. He laid claim to “the only shiny stack in the fleet.”
At retirement in 1992, Dad was honored by a catered party at the Ferros’ home, whereas all the other drivers were given a cold-cut spread at the depot for their big sendoff.
Dad had gone way above and beyond for Mr. Ferro, judicious with overtime and snagging new pallets when he could switch them at various stops.
Dad was awarded a plaque at his retirement party commemorating his service, and given the moniker “The Pallet King.” I was honored to stand beside him as he received it, surrounded by his boss and fellow drivers at that party. I was so proud of him.
What’s your twenty? Hillside, N.J.
You could imagine the excitement of seeing the 18-wheeler pull up in front of the house—and the rush of climbing into the cab with him for a ride. That began many years of “going on the tractor-trailer with Daddy” during school breaks.
I loved being on the tractor-trailer. We were King of the Road, and could feel that raw power of the diesel engine, as it roared to haul a full load of 20+ tons.
I would watch closely as he backed the tractor to hook the fifth wheel to the trailer, raise the dolly-wheels and secure the king pin, and attach the glad hands. Dropping the box of course involved the reverse process.
He was a methodical expert in everything he did, from handling to maintenance under the hood. Sometimes he let me raise and lower the dolly-wheels and do a little unloading of freight so I could be his “helper.” Usually, my cargo-handling amounted to cases of Kraft Jet-Puffed FunMallows.
At the time, TV shows such as Movin’ On and popular movies like White Line Fever, Convoy and Smokey and the Bandit were the rage. I was definitely on the bandwagon. Big 10-4!
Dad later allowed me to try driving a couple of times, for a short distance, just to get the feel. I also sometimes shifted for Dad—I’d see the clutch go down, and I’d shift.
“How Long” by Ace
Breaker 1-9, this place is crawlin’ with bears…
How much fun it was to spend the day with Dad on the rig!
He got me all my favorite things to eat—an egg on roll at Carl’s, chocolate milk, a doughnut, pizza, and treats from the vending machines at Kraft where all the drivers sat around waiting for their papers.
Today’s “Take Your Child To Work Day” reminds me of those adventurous days with Dad. Heck, HE was the de facto inventor.
I see the kids with their parents at my workplace and recall how my dad’s office had 18 wheels, a 48-foot trailer, stereo, air horn, CB radio and all the thrills and chills that could make a kid’s day awesome. Bob-tailing was amazing because all that torque was unrestrained.
It was also fun to hear Dad use the CB. His “handle” was King Cobra. Buddy Pete was Renegade. Sometimes, we were a “convoy” (not THIS one) out to Allentown; Dad, Louie and Pete.
Louie was a bit of a hot rod, of which Dad strongly disapproved. Hot dogging in an eighteen-wheeler was by no means Dad’s style.
Pier work at Port Elizabeth was no-touch, involving only dropping and picking up containers.
I would gaze up at the pier-side gantry cranes plucking the intermodal containers from the flatbed chassis, then transferring them for ocean transport in neat rows on freighters.
Many carriers are seen on the road today: Maersk, SeaLand, Navieras de Puerto Rico, Hapag-Lloyd and Hanjin are a few.
Ferro picked up a few over-the-road (long distance) hauls, and sent Dad and Pete out to Chicago and Pittsburgh. Dad, a born driver and free spirit, took to these with ease, though he missed us when he was away.
Dad’s least favorite stop was Krasdale Grocers in the Bronx. It was a trick to back into the place and he had to tear down the load himself with a forklift. Dad, strong and fit, always took advantage of the exercise.
He also developed a clever card-file catalog of directions to each stop. He knew NYC like the back of his own hand, and other drivers often relied on Dad’s road-map mind.
Going on the Tractor-Trailer with Dad was such fun that I often couldn’t sleep the night before, and the earlier the start the better.
I’d listen for Dad to get up around 4 or 5 AM, knowing he’d tip-toe into my room and whistle Reveille. I’d practically bounce out of bed completely dressed for the adventure. It was the dawn of another day of White Line Fever.
The final time I went on the Tractor-Trailer was several years following Dad’s retirement, in August 1997. He drove for his cousin J.R. DeRose, who owned Major Products. That day, he made a couple of runs to their warehouses in a Freightliner conventional sleeper.
And like the pro he was, he backed that 53-footer to the dock in one shot.
“Feel Like Makin’ Love” by Roberta Flack
Roberta Flack – Feel Like Makin’ Love
Goodbye ’66 Sedan DeVille; hello ’70 Fleetwood
Around this time was when my favorite car was sold.
There was no consoling this 7-year-old when the man drove away in the Sedan DeVille, leaving our garage empty, and when Dad pulled up in the sleek 1970 metallic green Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham.
Of course, I didn’t understand that the car had been using oil and Dad had made a sound decision. All I knew was that my favorite car was gone for good. In later years, at classic car shows with Dad, I always sought the mid-60s Caddys.
Mom and Dad also re-furbished my bedroom at that time. They took me shopping at Sears to pick out a bedroom suite, and naturally I chose the white with gold trim “Sears French Provincial” set with a twin canopy bed, dresser, night table and desk. Another ad may be viewed here.
One Friday in second grade, I knew that Mom and Dad were home working on the room and I COULD NOT WAIT to get home to see it! The ride home that day seemed to take forever. I immediately sprang from the bus just as it reached the curb, dashed upstairs, and I was overjoyed by what I saw!
My new room was beautiful, with green shag carpet, (trust me, the color scheme worked), lavender paint and white paneling on opposite walls, butterfly bedspread, pillow sham and curtains. I always kept my room neat as a pin. I never grew out of that tendency.
For Easter that year, we got twin “walk-along” bunnies tall as we were with elastic on the feet, named Bertha and Bennie. It’s no wonder Elton John’s Bennie and the Jets, from that time, reminds me of that bunny.
“Nothing From Nothing” by Billy Preston
Billy Preston – Nothing From Nothing
“Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge”
At the end of the 1974 school year, Mom pulled us out of school a week early so we could all go up to Mount Airy Lodge in the Poconos, and Nana came with us.
By then, I had adjusted to the fact that the 1970 Fleetwood was there to stay, and we took the trip in that car.
It was a happy week of swimming, eating watermelon, playing in the game room, and walking around the grounds. We went in the paddle-boats, Nana enjoyed the Bingo by the pool, and I wore my fashionable plastic “poodle” sunglasses everywhere I went. Steve, at 4, barely tall enough to see over the edge of the pool tables, liked to roll the balls around.
That was the time Dad got a movie of Steven and me getting into a “bopping” match, sending each of us crying, but I won because I was bigger.
The day we went home it was raining, and I remember pulling up in the Caddy to Granddaddy’s tavern on Warren Street, and how Nana screeched to see him standing there on the corner with “that cigar” in his mouth.
Before the tavern, in the ’50s, Granddaddy owned a luncheonette. Dad helped out with short order stuff. This one miserable snippy crank of a guy, Cheech would always sit at the counter and intentionally irritate Dad with the clinking spoon in his cup, slurping, and muttering insults. He knew it drove Dad nuts.
Well, one night Dad drilled a hole in a spoon and served it in Cheech’s cup the next day. The usual clinking started as Cheech side eyed Dad – as he lifted the spoon to slurp, he found out empty and threw it in Dad’s direction, letting the &$@# rip. Granddaddy asked why Dad did that, saying the customer is always right. “No, Dad. Not HIM.” Cheech found a new jam and Dad was glad to be rid of him.
Anyway, years after that vacation, I was saddened to learn that Mount Airy, (and sister resort “Pocono Gardens Lodge”) had fallen into disrepair and were eventually razed for new construction.
A favorite song from the summer of ’74 was Rock Your Baby by George McCrae. I used to love the Richard Scarry books, and doodling with my felt-tip markers. Whenever I hear The Allman Brothers’ Ramblin’ Man, Brownsville Station’s Smokin’ In The Boys’ Room and Jim Croce’s Time in a Bottle it brings me right back.
Back then was also prime time for news coverage of the Patty Hearst scandal, the Vietnam War and Watergate. These barely ranked in my kid-consciousness.
“Listen To What The Man Says” by Paul McCartney and Wings
Paul McCartney and Wings – Listen To What the Man Says
Mom’s Ambition
Mom decided at this time that she no longer wanted a part-time job.
She had briefly worked in sales and as a cashier at Pergament and Modell’s (not the same Modell’s sporting goods store of today).
She also had corporate experience as an executive assistant at Charles Beseler Co. in East Orange when she was single. She worked closely with the general manager, Bob Shoemaker. He was so impressed with Mom’s initiative and smarts that he moved her desk into his office, where they worked as a team.
Mom presented Beseler’s product “Salesmate” to clients, went to trade shows in Manhattan, and even got well versed enough to make repair calls. (Today’s “Salesmate” would be the ubiquitous laptop or tablet.)
I was delighted to find an actual Salesmate displayed in the Wall Street Journal exhibit in my building at Dow Jones, and I wondered who used it and when.
Mom also worked as a legal secretary, and though she did very well, she was often bored by the lack of challenge. Now, a decade later, with both kids in school, Mom searched for a real and fulfilling career.
She prayed and searched, and decided that Nursing was the way to go. Mom took Algebra, Psychology, Sociology and Chemistry at Rutgers and then Thomas Edison State College, acing them all.
She enrolled in the RN program at St. Peter’s School of Nursing in New Brunswick. Another step toward her dream career! We knew that when Mom was studying, to be very, very quiet.
She took to the college atmosphere, befriending other nursing students near her age, some of who also had kids my age.
She also got on well with those students who’d just graduated high school. She went to parties and was very popular among her classmates. This was her “college experience” and she soaked up every moment.
That summer, we watched Wheel Of Fortune with Chuck Woolery as host. Mom took me to see Disney’s Bambi in the theater just before school started, and I was hooked.
Mom then gave me her own Bambi storybook from when she was a kid.
I set out to perfect my drawing of the characters.
I soon discovered the original novel on which the Disney story was based, by Felix Salten (Bambi: A Life In the Woods), and it immediately became my favorite book.
I also played the soundtrack record constantly, and sought anything “Bambi” in bookstores and the Library.
One day when I was on the Tractor-Trailer, Dad bought me a little stuffed “Dream Pets” deer at Laneco in Easton, PA. I cherished it.
Back then, there were slim pickin’s in the stuffed deer category. Now, just about any kind can be ordered online.
Mom brought us to Johnson Park in New Brunswick to see the deer, and I would stare at them and be fascinated when one would come up to the fence.
It sticks in my craw how some of today’s fans of The Lion King credit that movie with being the first epic story of its kind. Wrong! Ever hear of Bambi?
Sorry Simba, but the deer did it first, and decades ago.
Third Grade
I was in Mrs. Molnar’s class, in 145-C and also had Mr. Kelly in 145-D.
At the start of that school year, Mom had kicked off her nursing school training at St. Peter’s and had to arrange for a baby-sitter to stay at the house while she and we were attending our respective schools.
One lady, Mrs. Walker ended up making off with a couple of cigar boxes of Dad’s silver coins and she was let go. I don’t believe any action was taken for whatever reason.
Another, Mrs. White, had a baby named Kimmie and she would bring the baby with her. She was a very sweet lady who let me play with Kimmie’s Fisher-Price “Peek-a-Boo” plush toy.
She also drove a VW Bug. I remember riding in it with her, hearing the smooth chattering of the revving engine as was typical of old VWs as she switched gears.
Mrs. White was a good fit until she had to move to Connecticut.
“Sara Smile” by Hall & Oates
I recall we had what seemed an extended Christmas break because Christmas fell midweek that year. Dad got me a box of Devil Dogs—all for myself!
Steven and I also made houses out of boxes for our toys, “Catty and Doggie.” It seemed as if Doggie always had the posh pad and poor Catty got the outhouse.
I guess I was a little more advanced in my cardboard architecture. Years later, I got an elaborate, professionally-made dollhouse, and Catty came to live with Doggie.
Meantime, Mom’s nursing school career was progressing nicely. She acquired floor experience with actual patients soaked it all up like a sponge. Mom was a natural.
She brought me to some of the nursing school functions open to families; she considered me mature enough to attend. I was always on my best behavior. The Christmas parties were a lot of fun.
Steven and I remained involved with activities. I was still a Brownie, and Mom got Steven involved with Cub Scouts.
He later took guitar and then trumpet lessons briefly but took to neither; he did play with the East Brunswick Soccer Club for a couple of years. Eventually, Steven lost interest in Cub Scouting as well. He was in a karate class for a while, which he seemed to enjoy.
Third grade was also the year I discovered “open-on-the-top” desks, and only one girl, Bridget, had one. I was green with jealousy. I begged, bartered and cajoled to switch desks but to no avail. (I eventually got one in 4th through 6th grades—and as an adult, commissioned a carpenter to build me one of similar design.)
One not-so-fun memory from that school year was sitting with Mrs. Molnar during recess as we wrestled with the spelling of “amateur.”
I kept repeating “a-m-a-t-u-r-e” to her justified frustration.
Glad to say that I cannot recall any other such spelling snafus since, and as an adult, I am a self-admitted stickler for spelling. That’s S-T-I-C-K-L-E-R. Ha ha.
Mom loved the song, Philadelphia Freedom. She said it was written about tennis champion Billie Jean King. Both she and Dad were big tennis fans and watched the likes of Bjorn Borg, Jimmy Connors, John McEnroe, Chris Evert and the aforementioned Ms. King. Dad remained a huge fan well into his final years, supporting the likes of Andre Agassi and Rafael Nadal.
“Philadelphia Freedom” by Elton John
Elton John – Philadelphia Freedom
In the spring of 1975, we got a student teacher, Miss Gratton.
We all loved her, so much so that when it was time for her to leave late in the spring I cried and tried to give her some coins from my allowance as a farewell gift. She gently resisted and said that her daddy gives her money and thanked me.
At one point during her tenure there she got married and became “Mrs. Carrington.” I named my stuffed pink Easter bunny “Carrington.”
Nana and Granddaddy hosted a big 50th Anniversary dinner for the entire extended family that year. I wore a long dress and Mom curled my hair. Granddaddy had been diagnosed with leukemia around that time and looked sick in the pictures.
The movies of the 50th Anniversary party are dark because Cousin Peter accidentally knocked over Dad’s Sun Gun, shattering the bulb.
The evening of my eighth birthday, November 15 was to be Mom’s student nurse “Capping” ceremony. Dad never made it to the ceremony because he was at the hospital in Newark with Nana and Granddaddy due to the diagnosis.
At one point, Granddaddy’s health got so bad that he was hospitalized and things didn’t look promising.
One night he was in the hospital bed, with Dad and Uncle Johnny by his side. A priest came in to administer last rites. Granddaddy wouldn’t hear of it. He bellowed, “GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE! I AIN’T NO DEAD MAN YET.” The priest scurried out of there like a squirrel on amphetamines.
Granddaddy made a remarkable temporary recovery for five years after that, but he didn’t take his medication as directed, so we’ll never know just how much longer he might have lived. Nana and Dad’s sisters refused to tell him that he was battling leukemia. Mom and Dad vehemently disagreed with this approach, but did not interfere.
