-Albert Einstein
The beginning of the ninth week of my trucking career sent me to Swansea, South Carolina. Jesse James is said to have attended a church service at Sharon Crossroads Methodist Church near Swansea. Witnesses have attested that Jesse wore his sidearm in church and sat with his back to the wall during the service, fearing some type of ambush.
Like Jesse, I also felt backed into a corner when I got a first look at the load I'd be picking up. It was a massive array of steel girders, piled to the sky. The girders, being of different lengths and widths, made it appear that this "top-heavy" load might suffer some stability issues. To alleviate my concerns somewhat, I secured it using every single strap that I had on board. We spent the night at an abandoned store in Ulmer, South Carolina and then set out at 1am the next morning. This load was headed to the military base at Fort Rucker, Alabama.
Fort Rucker is the primary flight-training base for Army Aviation and is home to the U.S. Army Aviation Warfighting Center and the U.S. Army Aviation Museum. Fort Rucker is often referred to as "Mother Rucker", both as an insulting pseudo-homonym, and in deference to the birth of an Army Aviator's career and his or her constant return to the post for continued training. It is common knowledge in an Army Aviation career that "Everyone returns to Mother Rucker". My first visit here would certainly prove to be a "Mother Rucker" for me!
Upon arrival, the gate guard instructed me to "Keep straight and you can't miss it". There were two things wrong with these instructions: First, I didn't know what the heck "it" was. I assumed that the steel would be going to a hangar, but there were hangars all over the place! Second, he should have said, "Veer right", because when I "kept straight", I dead-ended into a road with no place to turn around.
I was sitting directly across from the Flight School building and since I had no idea where to go, I got out and started walking toward the school to ask someone for directions. Before I got to the door, a white pickup truck stopped alongside me and a hyperactive little old man, who looked to be at least 70, jumped out and raced toward me with his arms flailing wildly and expletives spewing from his mouth like a geyser.
"I've got to talk to that fucking guard!” he exclaimed.
"You're the second truck this morning to come down here, and there's no place for you to turn this son-of-a-bitch around".
'Tell me something I don't know', I thought.
He was the project manager for the new hangar that was under construction, and I couldn't help but to be a bit amused by his Einsteinian hairstyle, his twig-like frame, and his seemingly caffeine-induced demeanor, but I was not amused at taking another dive into the all-too-familiar "pickle-barrel" again.
"How are you at backing?" he shouted.
"Well", I said, "I'm not the best, but I always get the job done".
His ears, apparently, shut down after he'd heard "I'm not the best..." because from that point on, he began instructing me on how to drive my truck. He was shouting instructions in zealous blasts, and my initial amusement with this hyperactive Einstein look-alike had reverted to a desire to plant an E=MC square-toed boot up his rear end! To this point, however, I had humored him and held my tongue.
Finally, when I could endure no more of his verbal assaults, I politely asked him to get off of my truck, and I'd get it where it needed to go.
"You'll never get it through that gate with your trailer way over there", he submitted.
"You weren't listening to me!"
"I appreciate your trying to help", I answered, "but I think I can get it in there if you'll step out of the way".
"Well, I hope so!" he puffed, as he raised his hands in disgust.
It was a very tight turn, but when my trailer cleared the gate by a full three inches, I could not subdue a satisfied grin as I watched Little Einstein's hyperactivity wind down to a sour frown. He now bore the distinct look of a man who had just bitten into an oil rag.
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