I’m not sure what would compel a person to run for elected office in Topeka Kansas these days. Surely it’s not the pay. $10,000 and a lap-top computer for a seat on the city council. And $20,000 and a lap-top for the privilege of becoming the Mayor of our quaint, little city. That’s not much compensation when you consider what a person’s going to have to put up with both personally and professionally if they end up being elected to whatever position they’ve decided to run for.
Hopefully, they’re the kind of people that are simply fed up with the fighting, bickering, and non-stop drama that our city government seems to thrive on and they believe they’re the one’s who can actually make a difference, work together, and finally get things done.
I don’t know if such a person exists in the 25 or so people who have signed up to run in our upcoming elections but I hope for the sake of all of us, there is. Whatever their reasons are, I wish them the best of luck because hate is alive and well in Topeka, Kansas these days.
Don’t believe me? Just look at the thrashing Kim Borchers has had to endure simply because she had the nerve to ask the Shawnee County Public Library to keep four sexually explicit books out of the reach of little kids. I’m not sure why, but because Kim has asked the library to put such important literary works as “Sex for Busy People,” “The Lesbian Kama Sutra,” “The Joy of Sex,” and, “The Joy of Gay Sex” behind the counter the left-wing bloggers have had a field day with her. She’s been called every name in the book. She’s been accused of censorship and of trying to ban and burn these books. She’s been repeatedly compared to Adolph Hitler, Fred Phelps, and the left’s favorite target, that crazy, deranged, out of control, Phill Kline.
Predictably, she’s being called a “bigot” and a “religious zealot,” who’s simply trying to cram her religious beliefs down everyone else’s throats. The left’s battle cry has become “don’t you dare tell me how to raise my kids,” “what my kids read is none of her business,” and, “you can keep your God Squad, Kim, we don‘t need it.” She’s been accused of bringing more shame and ridicule to Topeka by showing the world just how intolerant and backwards we really are. Wow!
Look, I’m not here to pick a fight today but, come on. Don’t you think maybe some of these people are over-reacting just a little bit. Here’s the way I see it. The whole thing has more to do with common sense than it does religious beliefs. The one’s yelling that it’s none of Kim’s business what their kids read are exactly right. It isn’t. All four of these books will still be readily available and if you’re okay with your kids reading them all you have to do is check them out yourselves and hand them over. What’s the problem? And I believe the people trying to turn this whole thing into a gay bashing thing are way off base. But then, that’s just my opinion.
For the last several years all we’ve heard from the Obama supporters and the left in general is that for the good of everyone we must be tolerant of each other’s beliefs and above everything else, we must learn to work together. Hmm.
I know there’s a lot of people out there that are going to hate what I’m about to say but I’m going to do it anyway. This tolerance and working together stuff you claim to be so big on works both ways. You might want to try it sometime.
Just so you know, I’ve completely redesigned my blog to make it easier for you to join in on the conversation. Check it out and let me know what you think at: www.rm235.blogspot.com or if you prefer, you can always e-mail me at: www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Looks Pretty Bad Mr. Hecht...
I gotta tell you, the thing with Robert Hecht and the $480,000 he raked in over the last few years for what amounts to overtime pay literally blew me away.
I backed Eric Rucker in the recent elections. But that was only because I believed Eric Rucker would have had different priorities than Hecht. I believed he would have been a lot tougher on violent criminals which is something I believed we lacked with Robert Hecht. Like I said though, that’s just my opinion. I still had a tremendous amount of respect for Robert Hecht, the man.
He was always the guy you could count on to do the right thing, you know, like keeping politicians in line. We cheered him on when he went after Butch Felker. Remember that? Wasn’t it over something like $700.00 he accused Felker of stealing? He was a hero when he took on and brought down Rita Cline for the scam she tried to get away with. How about when he sued the city over the whole soft-ware, helicopter thing. A lot of people backed him when he finally decided to file charges against one of the off duty officers involved in the Lamas shooting. He was always the guy looking out for us. You know, the tax payer. And because he operated without “favor or fear,” if you were a crooked politician, you’d better look out. Sooner or later, you’d have to deal with Robert Hecht and he rarely ever lost.
I’m not even going to pretend to know whether what he did was legal or not. By all rights, it probably was. But I think to most of us, it’s about what’s right. Mr. Hecht, we trusted that you were doing the right thing without question.
I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t be all that surprised. I mean look, people in power do it all the time. What do you think’s brought our economy to such a grinding halt? Greed. Everybody’s in on it. CEO’s all across the country have brought their companies to their knees by squeezing them for everything they could get for themselves in the shortest time possible.
Greed was responsible for us having to pay $4.00 for a gallon of gas a few months ago. It’s a little scary to know just how much damage a few speculators with tons of cash to invest can do. Same thing with the housing industry. Come on, who didn’t see that coming? Did people really believe the prices of houses were just keep going up forever. Banks didn’t care whether the people they were loaning money to could repay it or not. They just sold off the mortgages at bulk prices so they were going to get their money no matter what. Sooner or later it had to come crashing in.
It’s kind of the same way here, isn’t it. Mr. Hecht had to know that sooner or later this was going to come out. That’s why I say what he was doing will probably pass the legal test. You can say what you want about Robert Hecht but you can‘t say he doesn‘t know the law. He knew exactly what he could legally get away with.
It’s all about choices we make. Mr. Hecht, you could have chosen to stay above the fray and walked away from office with your head held high, knowing that you still had the respect of the people you represented.
Mr. Hecht, I know it sounds like I’m jumping to conclusions here. I guess for that, I apologize. And I know we haven’t heard your side of the story yet. But I gotta yell you, from this side it looks pretty bad. To a lot people it looks like you're no better than some of the people you were supposedly bringing to justice. And because of that sir, you’ve let a lot of people down.
Want to talk about it? Go to my blog at: www.rm235.blogspot.com or e-mail me at: www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
I backed Eric Rucker in the recent elections. But that was only because I believed Eric Rucker would have had different priorities than Hecht. I believed he would have been a lot tougher on violent criminals which is something I believed we lacked with Robert Hecht. Like I said though, that’s just my opinion. I still had a tremendous amount of respect for Robert Hecht, the man.
He was always the guy you could count on to do the right thing, you know, like keeping politicians in line. We cheered him on when he went after Butch Felker. Remember that? Wasn’t it over something like $700.00 he accused Felker of stealing? He was a hero when he took on and brought down Rita Cline for the scam she tried to get away with. How about when he sued the city over the whole soft-ware, helicopter thing. A lot of people backed him when he finally decided to file charges against one of the off duty officers involved in the Lamas shooting. He was always the guy looking out for us. You know, the tax payer. And because he operated without “favor or fear,” if you were a crooked politician, you’d better look out. Sooner or later, you’d have to deal with Robert Hecht and he rarely ever lost.
I’m not even going to pretend to know whether what he did was legal or not. By all rights, it probably was. But I think to most of us, it’s about what’s right. Mr. Hecht, we trusted that you were doing the right thing without question.
I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t be all that surprised. I mean look, people in power do it all the time. What do you think’s brought our economy to such a grinding halt? Greed. Everybody’s in on it. CEO’s all across the country have brought their companies to their knees by squeezing them for everything they could get for themselves in the shortest time possible.
Greed was responsible for us having to pay $4.00 for a gallon of gas a few months ago. It’s a little scary to know just how much damage a few speculators with tons of cash to invest can do. Same thing with the housing industry. Come on, who didn’t see that coming? Did people really believe the prices of houses were just keep going up forever. Banks didn’t care whether the people they were loaning money to could repay it or not. They just sold off the mortgages at bulk prices so they were going to get their money no matter what. Sooner or later it had to come crashing in.
It’s kind of the same way here, isn’t it. Mr. Hecht had to know that sooner or later this was going to come out. That’s why I say what he was doing will probably pass the legal test. You can say what you want about Robert Hecht but you can‘t say he doesn‘t know the law. He knew exactly what he could legally get away with.
It’s all about choices we make. Mr. Hecht, you could have chosen to stay above the fray and walked away from office with your head held high, knowing that you still had the respect of the people you represented.
Mr. Hecht, I know it sounds like I’m jumping to conclusions here. I guess for that, I apologize. And I know we haven’t heard your side of the story yet. But I gotta yell you, from this side it looks pretty bad. To a lot people it looks like you're no better than some of the people you were supposedly bringing to justice. And because of that sir, you’ve let a lot of people down.
Want to talk about it? Go to my blog at: www.rm235.blogspot.com or e-mail me at: www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Truck Stops...
Let’s see, where were we? Oh yeah, last week I’d just made it to the bottom of that stupid hill outside of Ashville, North Carolina. Note to self, learn to follow simple instructions. It’s not my fault though. Even as a child my teachers usually made some comment like, “Kevin doesn’t pay attention in class” on the back of my report cards. Here’s the deal, my parents were warned, so it’s their fault, not mine. And yes, I’m okay with that.
Well, not really. I did learn a thing or two that day. To tell you the truth, I learned something new almost every day I lived on the road. By getting to know mostly working class people from one end of the country to the other, I learned we‘re all pretty much the same. For the most part people are just doing the best they can to take care of their families. I learned first hand just how beautiful this country or ours really is. But I also learned that you have to be careful out there because not every body on the road has your best interests at heart. Think Truck-Stops.
They’re called “Travel-Plazas” today but they’re still pretty much the same. We’ve all been to them. Good places to pull off the interstate, gas up, go to the bathroom, and get something to eat at the over-priced restaurant. It’s not unusual to see parents send their kids off to the game room while they’re taking care of business. To be honest, that’s really not a good idea.
Ninety nine times out of a hundred you’re going to be okay. Everything you and your family see as you’re fueling up, eating, and playing video games is all good, clean fun, right? But like most things in life, there is a dark side to some of these places. I’m going to tell you a story today about a truck-stop in Nashville Tennessee. It was one of my favorites. But you had to be careful, it could be pretty dangerous too.
It usually went something like this. Breaker 1-9, Hey, you got Bojangles here and I’m looking for all the trashy (party) people. It wouldn’t be long before someone would radio back. You got Wagon Master here Bojangles, come on back to the back row, there’s plenty of room and the night’s still young. Hey thanks Wagon Master, let me fuel up and I’ll be back there in a few minutes.
I’ve told you before about parts of my checkered past. I’ve talked about how I liked to drink and raise hell as a young man. Well, this was all part of it. No, I never really dove into the dark side but I did enjoy skirting it every once in a while. There was a bar right across the street from the truck-stop that was always full of truckers. We’d get drunk, get loud, play a little pool, and raise a little hell. Eventually most of us would stagger back to our trucks, break out the lawn chairs, and drink a few more beers before the evening show started. I’m talking about the “lot lizards” (prostitutes.) Yeah, Nashville’s truck-stop was full of them. To tell you the truth, they were kind of fun having around. But no, I never paid for any of the services they were offering up but a lot of truckers I knew did. You had to be careful though. Besides possibly spreading every sexually transmitted disease known to man a lot of them were thieves. Even if you turned them down for the date they were selling, a lot of times they’d still try to get inside your truck, you know, just to look around. And when you have lot lizards, you also have their pimps. You’d see them cruising around the parking lot keeping an eye on their property. You knew for sure they were armed to the teeth and you knew for sure they were the one’s selling the drugs.
It was also pretty common to hear a trucker on his radio trying to get a ride for some young girl he’d picked up somewhere along the way. It’s always the same story too. They’re just trying to get home. Maybe some of them were. Truth is though, most were teenage girls who’ve run away from home and were simply drifting from one place to another with anyone who would have them.
It’s the same with rest areas too. And no, I’m not saying all truck stops and rest areas are bad places. What I’m saying is that any of them they can be. Sooner or later everyone who lives their lives on the road stop at these places and they’re not all good people. Just be careful out there.
Got a story to tell or maybe you just want to tell me off? You’re always welcome to visit my blog at: www.rm235.blogspot.com I’ve posted several more trucking videos you might enjoy. Anyway, I think they’re good. Or like always, you can e-mail me at: wwwkevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Well, not really. I did learn a thing or two that day. To tell you the truth, I learned something new almost every day I lived on the road. By getting to know mostly working class people from one end of the country to the other, I learned we‘re all pretty much the same. For the most part people are just doing the best they can to take care of their families. I learned first hand just how beautiful this country or ours really is. But I also learned that you have to be careful out there because not every body on the road has your best interests at heart. Think Truck-Stops.
They’re called “Travel-Plazas” today but they’re still pretty much the same. We’ve all been to them. Good places to pull off the interstate, gas up, go to the bathroom, and get something to eat at the over-priced restaurant. It’s not unusual to see parents send their kids off to the game room while they’re taking care of business. To be honest, that’s really not a good idea.
Ninety nine times out of a hundred you’re going to be okay. Everything you and your family see as you’re fueling up, eating, and playing video games is all good, clean fun, right? But like most things in life, there is a dark side to some of these places. I’m going to tell you a story today about a truck-stop in Nashville Tennessee. It was one of my favorites. But you had to be careful, it could be pretty dangerous too.
It usually went something like this. Breaker 1-9, Hey, you got Bojangles here and I’m looking for all the trashy (party) people. It wouldn’t be long before someone would radio back. You got Wagon Master here Bojangles, come on back to the back row, there’s plenty of room and the night’s still young. Hey thanks Wagon Master, let me fuel up and I’ll be back there in a few minutes.
I’ve told you before about parts of my checkered past. I’ve talked about how I liked to drink and raise hell as a young man. Well, this was all part of it. No, I never really dove into the dark side but I did enjoy skirting it every once in a while. There was a bar right across the street from the truck-stop that was always full of truckers. We’d get drunk, get loud, play a little pool, and raise a little hell. Eventually most of us would stagger back to our trucks, break out the lawn chairs, and drink a few more beers before the evening show started. I’m talking about the “lot lizards” (prostitutes.) Yeah, Nashville’s truck-stop was full of them. To tell you the truth, they were kind of fun having around. But no, I never paid for any of the services they were offering up but a lot of truckers I knew did. You had to be careful though. Besides possibly spreading every sexually transmitted disease known to man a lot of them were thieves. Even if you turned them down for the date they were selling, a lot of times they’d still try to get inside your truck, you know, just to look around. And when you have lot lizards, you also have their pimps. You’d see them cruising around the parking lot keeping an eye on their property. You knew for sure they were armed to the teeth and you knew for sure they were the one’s selling the drugs.
It was also pretty common to hear a trucker on his radio trying to get a ride for some young girl he’d picked up somewhere along the way. It’s always the same story too. They’re just trying to get home. Maybe some of them were. Truth is though, most were teenage girls who’ve run away from home and were simply drifting from one place to another with anyone who would have them.
It’s the same with rest areas too. And no, I’m not saying all truck stops and rest areas are bad places. What I’m saying is that any of them they can be. Sooner or later everyone who lives their lives on the road stop at these places and they’re not all good people. Just be careful out there.
Got a story to tell or maybe you just want to tell me off? You’re always welcome to visit my blog at: www.rm235.blogspot.com I’ve posted several more trucking videos you might enjoy. Anyway, I think they’re good. Or like always, you can e-mail me at: wwwkevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Hop In, Let's Go...
Hey, last week I talked about the time I drove a truck over the road. It was back in 1988 and 1989. I drove for JB Hunt out of their Oklahoma City terminal.
I was a young man back then and more than anything I wanted to see this country from one end to the other. I wanted to travel and the only way I could do that and still make a living was to drive a truck. And so it started.
I’ve driven from Bangor, Maine to Los Angeles and was able to see almost everything in between. I’ve seen both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, been through the rocky mountains, and the nightmare traffic of Downtown Chicago. I’ve seen the Statue of Liberty and the Twin Towers in New York. I stopped off long enough to see Niagara Falls on my way to a Ford plant in Detroit. Twice I drove through the Chesapeake Bay tunnel-bridge. Believe me when I say it’s a little freaky driving a semi underneath the Atlantic Ocean in the waters of Chesapeake Bay. I’ve seen the arch in St. Louis, and the Painted Desert in Arizona. I came within fifty miles of the Grand Canyon but because I was on my way to Columbus, Ohio and on a tight schedule I didn’t have time to stop. I even got caught in a blizzard west of Gallup, New Mexico one night. That sucked.
I came through it all pretty much unscathed but there was one time I really thought maybe my number had been called. I was hauling a load of beer from some brewery somewhere or another to a distributor somewhere on the east coast. I’d been driving all day long by the time I got to Ashville, North Carolina and thought about calling it a day but decided to push on a little longer. A little outside of Ashville on I-40 there’s a mountain called ‘Black Mountain.” Not really much of a mountain, 4,000 ft. or so. But there was an exit where all truckers were required to pull off the hi-way to look over this huge billboard that had the map of the road ahead as well as where the “run away truck ramps” were located along the way. There were two of them. Truckers were warned not to exceed something like 30 mph. and not to shift above third gear. Yeah right.
Hell, I wasn’t scared of some stupid hill. I mean, just last week I’d been in the Rockies and had no problem. Big difference though. That trip I was hauling Styrofoam plates that weighed just over 7,000 lbs. The load combined with the weight of the truck (25,000 lbs.) made for a gross weight of something like 32,000 lbs., no problem. With this load of beer I was rolling down the hi-way right at 65,000 lbs. I probably should have considered that before starting down that stupid hill that day.
It started out okay I guess. I took off and grabbed second gear. No problem. I shifted into third gear and stayed there for a while but decided to catch fourth and speed up a little. Still, things were going well. Not much of a grade and hell, it was four lanes all the way. I was pretty sure they were over-reacting with the whole scare tactic thing. I grabbed fifth and sixth gear and by now was running along at a very smooth 55 mph. No problem. By the time I passed the first run away truck ramp I was probably doing about 60 mph. and hit the brakes to slow it down to about 45 mph. Still no problem. But now the hill got a little steeper and before I knew it I was back up to 60. I hit the brakes again about the same time I passed the last run away ramp. I started to notice a burning smell and looked out the rear-view mirror and noticed blue smoke pouring off the trailer brakes. Uh oh, it wasn’t long before all the wheels on the truck had that same blue smoke boiling off them.
I had gotten my brakes hot and by now they were completely useless. Ever hear that song “Wolf Creek Pass?” Yeah, it was kind of like that. Hitting the brakes was kind of like stepping on a plum. By the time I got to the bottom of the hill I was probably going 75 or 80 mph. and luckily, traffic was pretty light so I was able to stay in the passing lane the rest of the way down. When I got to the bottom I just coasted to the side of the road and sit there for about half an hour. Yeah, I was really scared that time.
Check out my web-site this week, I’ve posted several videos about trucking and if you’d like, post a comment or two at rm235.blogspot.com or e-mail me at: kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
I was a young man back then and more than anything I wanted to see this country from one end to the other. I wanted to travel and the only way I could do that and still make a living was to drive a truck. And so it started.
I’ve driven from Bangor, Maine to Los Angeles and was able to see almost everything in between. I’ve seen both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, been through the rocky mountains, and the nightmare traffic of Downtown Chicago. I’ve seen the Statue of Liberty and the Twin Towers in New York. I stopped off long enough to see Niagara Falls on my way to a Ford plant in Detroit. Twice I drove through the Chesapeake Bay tunnel-bridge. Believe me when I say it’s a little freaky driving a semi underneath the Atlantic Ocean in the waters of Chesapeake Bay. I’ve seen the arch in St. Louis, and the Painted Desert in Arizona. I came within fifty miles of the Grand Canyon but because I was on my way to Columbus, Ohio and on a tight schedule I didn’t have time to stop. I even got caught in a blizzard west of Gallup, New Mexico one night. That sucked.
I came through it all pretty much unscathed but there was one time I really thought maybe my number had been called. I was hauling a load of beer from some brewery somewhere or another to a distributor somewhere on the east coast. I’d been driving all day long by the time I got to Ashville, North Carolina and thought about calling it a day but decided to push on a little longer. A little outside of Ashville on I-40 there’s a mountain called ‘Black Mountain.” Not really much of a mountain, 4,000 ft. or so. But there was an exit where all truckers were required to pull off the hi-way to look over this huge billboard that had the map of the road ahead as well as where the “run away truck ramps” were located along the way. There were two of them. Truckers were warned not to exceed something like 30 mph. and not to shift above third gear. Yeah right.
Hell, I wasn’t scared of some stupid hill. I mean, just last week I’d been in the Rockies and had no problem. Big difference though. That trip I was hauling Styrofoam plates that weighed just over 7,000 lbs. The load combined with the weight of the truck (25,000 lbs.) made for a gross weight of something like 32,000 lbs., no problem. With this load of beer I was rolling down the hi-way right at 65,000 lbs. I probably should have considered that before starting down that stupid hill that day.
It started out okay I guess. I took off and grabbed second gear. No problem. I shifted into third gear and stayed there for a while but decided to catch fourth and speed up a little. Still, things were going well. Not much of a grade and hell, it was four lanes all the way. I was pretty sure they were over-reacting with the whole scare tactic thing. I grabbed fifth and sixth gear and by now was running along at a very smooth 55 mph. No problem. By the time I passed the first run away truck ramp I was probably doing about 60 mph. and hit the brakes to slow it down to about 45 mph. Still no problem. But now the hill got a little steeper and before I knew it I was back up to 60. I hit the brakes again about the same time I passed the last run away ramp. I started to notice a burning smell and looked out the rear-view mirror and noticed blue smoke pouring off the trailer brakes. Uh oh, it wasn’t long before all the wheels on the truck had that same blue smoke boiling off them.
I had gotten my brakes hot and by now they were completely useless. Ever hear that song “Wolf Creek Pass?” Yeah, it was kind of like that. Hitting the brakes was kind of like stepping on a plum. By the time I got to the bottom of the hill I was probably going 75 or 80 mph. and luckily, traffic was pretty light so I was able to stay in the passing lane the rest of the way down. When I got to the bottom I just coasted to the side of the road and sit there for about half an hour. Yeah, I was really scared that time.
Check out my web-site this week, I’ve posted several videos about trucking and if you’d like, post a comment or two at rm235.blogspot.com or e-mail me at: kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Ever Been Trucking...
Breaker 1-9, how bout that westbound flatbed, you got your ears on bud? How bout it westbound? A minute or so later a voice came booming over my CB radio. You got Big Jim from Wyoming here, who we got on that end? I tell him they call me Bojangles and I hail from the great state of Kansas. Big Jim was quick to ask how Toto was doing. Wise guy.
Big Jim asks what’s on my mind. I asked him whether he’s seen any bears (State Troopers or local cops) for the last few miles and because I’m about an hour over my 10 hours I needed to know whether or not the chicken coops (weigh stations) about ten miles down the road were open tonight. Big Jim assured me the chickens had flown the coop for the night (the weigh station is closed) and said he hasn’t seen a bear for a couple hours or so. Mash the gas Bojangles, this is Big Jim, I‘m heading to the house. I thanked Big Jim for the information and told him to be careful and to keep his britches between the ditches. This is Bojangles, I gotta be in Jacksonville, Florida by morning and I’m outta here. And off into the night we headed our separate ways.
I was doing a little rearranging in my basement the other night and brought in another box of priceless treasures (junk) from days gone by out of the garage and came across the briefcase my dad had given me years and years ago when I first started trucking. I probably hadn’t seen this stuff in almost 20 years. In that box was my old log book, which by the way, I hated. There was a map of fuel stops from one end of the country to the other. Safety manuals out the wazoo, and booklets dealing with hazardous materials, load limits, and night time driving. I came across my dispatcher’s card, her name was Jean and for the most part we got along pretty well. I opened a manila envelope crammed full of the papers my wife and I had to fill out anytime she came along as a passenger. Then there was the notebook I used for all the needed information on every load I ever hauled. Information like Shipper name and address, phone numbers, load and seal numbers, piece count, weight, and pick up time. That was followed by the same information about the receiver of whatever I was hauling at the time.
I Can’t say I remember every detail of every load I ever hauled but a few of them do stick out. One load (hazardous chemicals) started in New Orleans and ended in a town called Nitro, West Virginia. First off, I thought the name Nitro was a little weird. It was a trip that included the “Huey P. Long” bridge in New Orleans. I’ll just say my wife ended up scared to death in the sleeper before we’d even gotten half way across it. It was after we arrived in Nitro when the real fun started though. The rest of the story involves a “Haz-Mat emergency clean up crew, a completely unrelated explosion at a chemical warehouse across the road from where we were. That explosion prompted local health officials to issue a warning for citizens to stay indoors and to close all windows, doors, and to shut off their air conditioners. Yeah, I remember that particular load pretty well.
There was the time outside Ashville, North Carolina when I lost my brakes going down a mountain called “Black Mountain,” that was fun. The last load into Chicago is still fresh in my mind too. Let’s just say it involves a fellow trucker who called himself Wagon Master, a truck stop bar, a couple of bikers, and making what could easily be considered one of the worst decisions I‘ve ever made. We’ll see, maybe I’ll get into that but then again, maybe not. I’ve got stories about truck stops, lot lizards, missing kids, (especially young girls) and some of the other things that go out there with some of those living life on the road.
Anyway, I’m going to tell some of these stories over the next few weeks. If you’re interested, stop on by, who knows, maybe we can have a little fun along the way. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Happy New Year.
Maybe you have a similar story or you’re just curious about life on the road. Visit my web-site at www.rm235.blogspot.com click on comments and lay it on me. Or you can always e-mail me at www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Big Jim asks what’s on my mind. I asked him whether he’s seen any bears (State Troopers or local cops) for the last few miles and because I’m about an hour over my 10 hours I needed to know whether or not the chicken coops (weigh stations) about ten miles down the road were open tonight. Big Jim assured me the chickens had flown the coop for the night (the weigh station is closed) and said he hasn’t seen a bear for a couple hours or so. Mash the gas Bojangles, this is Big Jim, I‘m heading to the house. I thanked Big Jim for the information and told him to be careful and to keep his britches between the ditches. This is Bojangles, I gotta be in Jacksonville, Florida by morning and I’m outta here. And off into the night we headed our separate ways.
I was doing a little rearranging in my basement the other night and brought in another box of priceless treasures (junk) from days gone by out of the garage and came across the briefcase my dad had given me years and years ago when I first started trucking. I probably hadn’t seen this stuff in almost 20 years. In that box was my old log book, which by the way, I hated. There was a map of fuel stops from one end of the country to the other. Safety manuals out the wazoo, and booklets dealing with hazardous materials, load limits, and night time driving. I came across my dispatcher’s card, her name was Jean and for the most part we got along pretty well. I opened a manila envelope crammed full of the papers my wife and I had to fill out anytime she came along as a passenger. Then there was the notebook I used for all the needed information on every load I ever hauled. Information like Shipper name and address, phone numbers, load and seal numbers, piece count, weight, and pick up time. That was followed by the same information about the receiver of whatever I was hauling at the time.
I Can’t say I remember every detail of every load I ever hauled but a few of them do stick out. One load (hazardous chemicals) started in New Orleans and ended in a town called Nitro, West Virginia. First off, I thought the name Nitro was a little weird. It was a trip that included the “Huey P. Long” bridge in New Orleans. I’ll just say my wife ended up scared to death in the sleeper before we’d even gotten half way across it. It was after we arrived in Nitro when the real fun started though. The rest of the story involves a “Haz-Mat emergency clean up crew, a completely unrelated explosion at a chemical warehouse across the road from where we were. That explosion prompted local health officials to issue a warning for citizens to stay indoors and to close all windows, doors, and to shut off their air conditioners. Yeah, I remember that particular load pretty well.
There was the time outside Ashville, North Carolina when I lost my brakes going down a mountain called “Black Mountain,” that was fun. The last load into Chicago is still fresh in my mind too. Let’s just say it involves a fellow trucker who called himself Wagon Master, a truck stop bar, a couple of bikers, and making what could easily be considered one of the worst decisions I‘ve ever made. We’ll see, maybe I’ll get into that but then again, maybe not. I’ve got stories about truck stops, lot lizards, missing kids, (especially young girls) and some of the other things that go out there with some of those living life on the road.
Anyway, I’m going to tell some of these stories over the next few weeks. If you’re interested, stop on by, who knows, maybe we can have a little fun along the way. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Happy New Year.
Maybe you have a similar story or you’re just curious about life on the road. Visit my web-site at www.rm235.blogspot.com click on comments and lay it on me. Or you can always e-mail me at www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
The Numbers...
Numbers. I've never been a numbers guy, never really gave them much thought one way or the other. But over the course of the last 23 days I've learned numbers can literally mean the difference between life and death.
Numbers like 17, 235, 15,12, 160, 87, 65/45, and 23 all became to mean everything in my Granddaughter's world. Emily was born 17 weeks premature on November 12th.and was transferred to “room 235” of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Stormont-Vail Hospital. This was also the day my journey through her world of numbers began.
Good morning Emily, I'm your Grandpa. I know, I'm kind of big and probably a little scary looking but you'll get used to me. Hey, look at those numbers on the ventilator. The nurses tell me 15 is excellent for your oxygen level. And that the vent setting doesn't get much better than a 12. I know it's been a pretty rough first day for you, so I'm not going to stay too long. You be a good girl and mind the nurses, I'll see you in the morning. And remember that Grandpa loves you.
And so our daily routine began. We talked about the adventures we were going to have once she got to come home. First and foremost I explained she was going to have to put on some weight. At 1lb., 4oz., it was going to be hard for her to ride a bike. I offered to start bringing her chocolate chip cookies and pop. While Emily thought it was a good idea, the nurses didn't think so. We talked about her first day of school, about the fishing trips we were going to take. She was really excited about going 4-wheeling in the mountains of Colorado.
I told her how lucky she was to have two Grandmothers Linda and Debbie that loved her so much. We talked about her aunts, uncles, and cousins. I warned her about the stupid cats and dogs she'd meet. I even warned her about staying away from boys. I'm not sure, but I think I saw her blushing after this conversation. But mostly, she liked hearing about her Mommy and Daddy.
Over the next few days I learned about the other numbers on the monitor above her bed. The top one was her heart rate. I learned that 160 was a very good number indeed. And that 87 indicated how much oxygen was in her blood. The 65/45 was the blood pressure.
All day and night long the doctors and nurses watched these numbers. They made adjustments to the machines or medications according to what the numbers told them. They were very up front with us from the beginning. Some days were pretty good. Others were pretty bad, it all depended on the numbers. The nurses referred to this as the roller coaster ride.
Monday December 4th was an exceptionally good day. Her numbers were even better that they had been the previous weekend. She was finally able to open her eyes for the first time. They were the biggest, most beautiful, brown eyes I had ever seen. We talked about riding the train at Gage park. I blew her a kiss, told her Grandpa loved her, and assured her I'd see her in the morning.
Sometime around 9:00 Monday night the hospital called. Emily had taken a turn for the worse, and we needed to get there as soon as we could. It was the numbers, the 15 and 12 had turned into 101 and 40. The 160 was now a 50. The 87 was somewhere around 35 now, and the blood pressure that once read a steady 65/45 wasn't even registering anymore. They told us her system was shutting down, she was dying, and didn't think she'd be able to hang on for much more than 3 or 4 more hours.
While ultimately the numbers got the best of her, Emily did beat the 3 and the 4. She wasable to hang on about another 24 hours. And in doing so we were all able to say our goodbyes. I'm not sure what the others said to her. For me though, I held her tiny hand, kissed her on the forehead and told her I understood that if she had to go, and to remember that Grandpa loved her.
There are three more numbers to this story though. We had her with us for 23 days, 4 hours, and 42 minutes. And for that I'll always be grateful.
You can get a hold of me at my blog www.rm235.blogspot.com or you can e-mail me at: www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
Numbers like 17, 235, 15,12, 160, 87, 65/45, and 23 all became to mean everything in my Granddaughter's world. Emily was born 17 weeks premature on November 12th.and was transferred to “room 235” of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Stormont-Vail Hospital. This was also the day my journey through her world of numbers began.
Good morning Emily, I'm your Grandpa. I know, I'm kind of big and probably a little scary looking but you'll get used to me. Hey, look at those numbers on the ventilator. The nurses tell me 15 is excellent for your oxygen level. And that the vent setting doesn't get much better than a 12. I know it's been a pretty rough first day for you, so I'm not going to stay too long. You be a good girl and mind the nurses, I'll see you in the morning. And remember that Grandpa loves you.
And so our daily routine began. We talked about the adventures we were going to have once she got to come home. First and foremost I explained she was going to have to put on some weight. At 1lb., 4oz., it was going to be hard for her to ride a bike. I offered to start bringing her chocolate chip cookies and pop. While Emily thought it was a good idea, the nurses didn't think so. We talked about her first day of school, about the fishing trips we were going to take. She was really excited about going 4-wheeling in the mountains of Colorado.
I told her how lucky she was to have two Grandmothers Linda and Debbie that loved her so much. We talked about her aunts, uncles, and cousins. I warned her about the stupid cats and dogs she'd meet. I even warned her about staying away from boys. I'm not sure, but I think I saw her blushing after this conversation. But mostly, she liked hearing about her Mommy and Daddy.
Over the next few days I learned about the other numbers on the monitor above her bed. The top one was her heart rate. I learned that 160 was a very good number indeed. And that 87 indicated how much oxygen was in her blood. The 65/45 was the blood pressure.
All day and night long the doctors and nurses watched these numbers. They made adjustments to the machines or medications according to what the numbers told them. They were very up front with us from the beginning. Some days were pretty good. Others were pretty bad, it all depended on the numbers. The nurses referred to this as the roller coaster ride.
Monday December 4th was an exceptionally good day. Her numbers were even better that they had been the previous weekend. She was finally able to open her eyes for the first time. They were the biggest, most beautiful, brown eyes I had ever seen. We talked about riding the train at Gage park. I blew her a kiss, told her Grandpa loved her, and assured her I'd see her in the morning.
Sometime around 9:00 Monday night the hospital called. Emily had taken a turn for the worse, and we needed to get there as soon as we could. It was the numbers, the 15 and 12 had turned into 101 and 40. The 160 was now a 50. The 87 was somewhere around 35 now, and the blood pressure that once read a steady 65/45 wasn't even registering anymore. They told us her system was shutting down, she was dying, and didn't think she'd be able to hang on for much more than 3 or 4 more hours.
While ultimately the numbers got the best of her, Emily did beat the 3 and the 4. She wasable to hang on about another 24 hours. And in doing so we were all able to say our goodbyes. I'm not sure what the others said to her. For me though, I held her tiny hand, kissed her on the forehead and told her I understood that if she had to go, and to remember that Grandpa loved her.
There are three more numbers to this story though. We had her with us for 23 days, 4 hours, and 42 minutes. And for that I'll always be grateful.
You can get a hold of me at my blog www.rm235.blogspot.com or you can e-mail me at: www.kevinmcginty@sbcglobal.net
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