12/27/4 - Salem to Port Wentworth, GA

Well, looks like I'm off on a long roadtrip to Georgia. I sure am hopin' the Weather-Gods will be kind to me.
Before leavin', I figured I'd show y'all the kinds of dumb-ass signs I usually find when I'm drivin' across the States.
See ya when I get back! keep an eye out and take care of this nice little town y'all got here.
-Tom

12/21/4 - Outlet-Mall to Home

I realize that it isn’t a Sunday in the middle of June. And with only a few days til Christmas, I guess this must seem a strange thing to say, so I’ll explain.

On the way home from some last-minute shopping with my friend Rick Moody, we started talking about our fathers. How every year they’d get into the garage and unpack the Christmas lights and hang them in bitter cold, shovel snow out of the driveway, pack all of us kids into the car for the tour of lights on our street, how they’d tell us in that fatherly tone that we would not open a single-present, under any circumstances, until Christmas morning. It seems to me now that all of this was done without much complaint or excitability; unlike Rick and me, who were totally pissed and worn out from our relatively simple shopping-trip to an outlet-mall.

Fathers use acronyms. Fathers refold maps; fathers like to appear as though they have infallible knowledge of direct routes between any two points. Fathers are purveyors of ethics.

My dad was a salesman and never appeared to be quite comfortable at home to me. I always thought he didn’t really appear in my life until I was seven. He was in-residence before that - the early-years, sure - but in a way more erratic than fatherly. I always supposed he flourished at his office but when he got home, he merely made his way around the premises. His most frequent expression was one of furrowed skepticism. He dressed casually but never sloppily. My dad wore Top-Siders and cable-knit sweaters and tweed jackets with patches on the elbows. He had thinning hair and was slim. He was, compared to me, very large. He was a behemoth. My childhood interest in dinosaurs—in the T. Rex or the Pterodactyl—was really a metaphorical interest in dads. My dad dispensed incontrovertible orders. And we executed these orders. But my father was also a cipher to me, a mystery, an enigma.

Fathers may offer standard-issue praise, such as “Attaboy!” “Stick with it!” or “Way to go!” Fathers are able to dispense paternal wisdom even in a semiconscious or unconscious state. Fathers dispense advice that they spurned themselves.

My dad hated noise. The noise of kids, the footsteps of kids, herds of kids. He had immediately married right out of school, spawned his first child ten months after marrying, two more by the time he was twenty-six. He had no idea how he was going to pay. He had no idea how he was going get us through college, how to manage teenage rebellions or any of the unpredictable adolescent stuff. The noise of kids made my dad crazy because he was not actually watching football on TV, or the news, or whatever; my dad feigned watching TV. He was actually quietly brooding about how he was going to pay. Up on the second floor of our house, I would be throwing a pile of shoes and toys, one by one, at my brother and he would be crouched and screaming behind a desk, when suddenly we would hear the sound of my father’s voice in the stairwell, “What the hell is going on up there?” And we would fall into our brief, shameful silence, an anxious silence so familiar as to have preceded our very births.

Fathers appear to us without condition if only we can interpret their complicated language. Fathers move over expanses of time, across abysses of generations; fathers move across impediments, opening out, softening, becoming unguarded, giving away the rules of fathers to younger, angrier men; fathers, over time, become attentive and kind, regretful and warm, sensitive and even, gentle.

He was a dad: clocking in and out, getting vested in the pension-plan, taking the car to the garage for repairs, catching the 5:02, showing me how to throw a baseball, putting up Christmas lights, and eventually, moving somewhere else and writing the child-support checks.
So, why was I stunned this week when he waxed artistic, literary-truth over the phone of Melville, Dickens, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy? Turns out, Dad was a Lit-Major with hopes and dreams way-back when.
Who knew?
“You’re a good writer Tom, keep it up,” he said.
“Thanks Dad,” I told him.
“Sure Tom…it’s true. I sure wish your Grandfather had said that to me.”

The resistance to fathers is honorific, and resistance to fathers is always the last lesson in the instruction of fathers. Fatherhood knows that it is honored by its offspring’s contempt.

A whole sequence of fathers looking backwards for answers, ultimately finding that the most impossible father, with the most draconian set of regulations, was not in a living-room preparing to lecture us, but cradled inside of us and impossible to dislodge.
Happy Father’s Day/Merry Christmas Dad.
-Tom

12/11/4 - Longview to St Helens

There's nothin' like a cold Saturday morning with the loadin'-dock forman in Longview. Honestly, I was surprised he was even there and from the looks of things, he was too. "Grab me a cup-a-coffee Tom, willya?" he asked me in a subdued (and somewhat-shocking) civilized manner. And I figured, what the hell - it's the Christmas season: even the loadin'-foreman could catch the 'bug'. So following his first short-sip from a hot cup-a-joe I brought him from the Dispatch-office, why was I actually surprised when he winced at me and said, "Christ T*******," (he usually calls me by my last name) "I could get used to yer brown-nosin'." (followed by his cynical laugh)
I just about blew a gasket. And in fact, I actually did a few minutes later when Lorraine called me on my cellphone to remind me about pickin' something up from Safeway on the way home.
"Just let it be Tom," she advised in her beautiful forgiving voice. "He always likes to push your buttons, because he knows it works...I think it's sweet you brought him his coffee this morning."
And with that, it all went away. Poof - vanished in an instant- courtesy of my wife's beautiful mind and voice. And I'm here to tell ya that a few minutes later, I was still feelin' grateful and lucky after signin' his log-papers and handin' him back his pen with a, "Happy Holidays Jimmy, I'm glad I could getcha yer coffee this morning."
"Screw you T*******," was his reply. It didn't faze me in the least as I climbed into my truck.
Yeah, he knows how to push my buttons, because he 'installed' a few of them over the years.
The day was uneventful in St Helens, except for one brief instance: Coming out of Safeway, I noticed a small group of shoppers gathered around the Salvation Army bellringer. Turns out the 'ringer' was State-Rep. Betsy Johnson from Scappoose. I smiled and threw a few bucks in. To which Ms. Johnson smiled back, looking me in the eye and offering me her genuine, "Thank you, and Merry Christmas!"
I didn't see any news cameras around to film her doin' this. And I know there is a few of you out there in internet-land that might say that what she was doing at a Safeway on a Saturday morning in St Helens was self serving or whatever. I've got news for ya: Betsy was doing this very quietly. No publicity; no ulterior motives.
One thing y'all should all know about me: I'm a man who still believes in Santa Claus. I believe in the 'bug' of Christmas. Because as I see it, if I ever lose that, a LOT goes along with it. I always give it my best every year to reconnect with my childhood wonder. To never lose touch with my inner hopes and beliefs of Mankind's good-will, grace and love for one another.
Happy Holidays Lorraine!
Happy Holidays loadin'-dock foreman Jimmy!
Happy Holidays Betsy!
Happy Holidays Bill, and to all of you sthelensupdate readers!
Happy Holidays St Helens!
This sure is a nice little town y'all got here.
-Tom

12/6/4 - Astoria to St Helens

It always is nice to be back in this nice little town y'all got here. These last few trips, I seem to be makin' a beeline to Wayne's Hotdog Truck every time I roll into town. Besides the fan-friggin'-tastic dogs and hot-sandwiches, I'm usually able to shoot the bull with all the others hangin' around and catch up on the news in town. The talk circlin' round the dogtruck this particular day was about replacin' Sen. Joan Dukes being that she was appointed to the NW Power Planning Council by Governor K. Everyone agreed it was a no-brainer and that Betsy Johnson was the shoe-in. So the question became who will take Betsy's place? They were sayin': Rosemary Lohrke, Rita Bernhard, George Dunkle, Gary Heide, Dianne Dillard, Margaret Magruder. The way the process works is that the Democratic Central Committee with the largest population (Columbia County) puts together a list of people that they would like, and then County Commissioners from the affected regions make their decision. If they can't arrive at an acceptable candidate, then the final decision is made by Governor K.
Of all the people I heard talked about, I was intrigued with Margaret Magruder. Margaret was a former chair of the Oregon Board of Ag. and is the Coordinator of the Lower Columbia River Watershed Council. She also raises sheep and this is where it gets interesting. Turns out that Margaret is a part of a newly formed company of local sheepgrowers, Oregon Shepherd, who are manufacturing a wool insert that is placed into stormwater-drain catch-basins. This wool-insert filters sediment and pollutants like hydrocarbons from stormwater that runs off streets and parking lots following heavy rainfalls and trap these pollutants before they head into our rivers and streams. They tested these wool-filters in storm drains at the Port of Portland, Freightliner Corporation in Portland, and Clackamas County. The successful trial-run encouraged them to begin marketing them. And here's what is really great: most catch basin filtration products in use today are made out of polypropylene—very durable, but non-biodegradable. Margaret and Co.'s wool insert is made of natural fibers that not only capture and remove environmental pollutants, but can then be composted after use—normally about eight months to a year. The wool inserts are also relatively inexpensive—expected to be much less than $100 each.
“The polypropylene inserts have to be put in the landfill, whereas our inserts do not create another source of pollution,” Magruder said.
Ok...now that's one smart lady. Talk about a no-brainer! As I see it: there's the person ya want in Salem watchin' your backs.
Take care of things in this nice little town y'all got.
-Tom

12/1/4 - St Helens to Snowflake, AZ

I'm on a long haul. Listenin' to Moby Dick on tape. I was riveted to Chapter 23, which is short, (six inches long Melville says). Ishmael watches the sailor Bulkington steerin' the Pequod and writes of him as a restless pioneer, fated to die at sea. And he considers this kind of death infinitely preferable to fading away through cowardice and comfort:

"When on that shivering winter's night, the Pequod thrust her vindictive bows into the cold malicious waves, who should I see standing at her helm but Bulkington! I looked with sympathetic awe and fearfulness upon the man, who in mid-winter just landed from a four years' dangerous voyage, could so unrestingly push off again for still another tempestuous term. The land seemed scorching to his feet.
Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable; deep memories yield no epitaphs; this six-inch chapter is the stoneless grave of Bulkington. Let me only say that it fared with him as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land. The port would fain give succor; the port is pitiful; in the port is safety, comfort, hearthstone, supper, warm blankets, friends, all that's kind to our mortalities. But in that gale, the port, the land, is that ship's direst jeopardy; she must fly all hospitality; one touch of land, though it but graze the keel, would make her shudder through and through. With all her might she crowds all sail off shore; in so doing, fights 'gainst the very winds that fain would blow her homeward; seeks all the lashed sea's landlessness again; for refuge's sake forlornly rushing into peril; her only friend her bitterest foe!
Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?
But as in landlessness alone resides highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety! For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! is all this agony so vain? Take heart, take heart, O Bulkington! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray of thy ocean-perishing—straight up, leaps thy apotheosis!"

Better is it to perish in that howling infinite. Talk to y'all when I get back.
-Tom

11/22/4 - Home

I know this is the next entry above a "conversation at-a-bar" post, which makes what I’m gonna say even more important:

So there you are: your friends & family are all boozin’ it up at Thanksgiving dinner and then driving home. And in December, you'll see all these important people at the office Christmas party and they’re all drinking a lot and then drivin’ home. And since you see your friends and family and co-workers all drinking and then going home in their cars, you figure “I can too”.
My friends, this is just the beginning of how alcohol can affect your driving. It doesn’t just include the obvious vision and reaction time; it impairs your mental judgment as well. The fact is that alcohol quickly disrupts your normal thinking patterns and you’re suddenly not in the condition to recognize and adjust for it. Therefore, you can make these critical errors in judgment. And we’re all celebratin’ this time of year. And this is the problem.
Scientists have discovered that alcohol in the brain causes the mind to magnify certain things and minimize other things, so essential facts become distorted. For example, you can talk yourself into thinking that you are an exception to the rule since “I can hold my liquor, so it is ok to drive.” Or you might convince yourself that it’s ok to drive since the streets are mostly empty anyhow and you won’t run into much traffic. This is what is called impaired thinking and can also be an example of denial. And denial – which prevents you from taking corrective action of any impaired decision - can be the greatest impairment of all.
Sadly, most drivers are unaware of how alcohol impairs their driving. Many think that in order for driving to be seriously affected, you need to see double or be unable to walk a straight-line. Nope. The fact that you’re actually unaware of the affect of the alcohol on your vision makes it especially dangerous to rely on your judgment at that moment whether you can drive or not. Besides your vision, alcohol in the blood and brain influences you motor reactions. You do not have to feel drunk. In fact you can feel quite awake and energetic. Yet, your reaction time has slowed down. If ordinarily you need a quarter of a second to hit the brake, with alcohol in your bloodstream, you might need a full second or possible two seconds. But you don’t give yourself two seconds so you crash into the car ahead of you.
All of these factors combine to increase the probability of a fatal accident due to the consumption of alcohol and driving under its influence. Especially this time of year. And since I’m on the roads for a living, I am askin’ you to take a risk assessment of your plans and situations and make intelligent choices and appropriate actions to save your life, the lives of your loved ones, and my life as well. Take responsibility for your decisions and make the right choices about your drivin’ during the holidays, don’t become a statistic and a memorial service.

11/15/4 - Tenino WA to St Helens

I couldn’t tell if this fella was drunk or not. He was damn clear about him not tellin’ me his name, that’s for sure.
“Shhhh…” he kept sayin’ to me, with his finger pressed hard against his face from nose tip to the bottom of his chin.
Apparently, the City boys hired this guy way back when to run some kind of a pretreatment wastewater program.
“I was in charge of all the doings and regulations for the industrial-plant wastewater discharge in town,” he said between swallows of beer.
“Really…” I replied, before trying again with, “…uhm, I didn’t catch your name there pal…”
“Shhhh” he interrupted again.
So my nameless friend’s job was to make sure that the water being “discharged” from Boise was not toxic and dangerous before it made its way into the river. And come to find out that y’alls’ main drinking water intake is located in Columbia City, just downstream from all this discharge. Knowing all of this, my new friend wanted to do his job as best he could, but something happened along the way.
”Damn right something happened along the way,” he said staring at me angrily. “They told me to break the law, that’s what happened along the way, they wanted me to use fake water-samples and then cover-up the real data in my records.”
Suddenly, I was gulpin’ my beer between his sentences as he went on.
”I wanted no part of it, I just wanted to do my job, and they punished me for trying to do my goddamn job,” he said while lookin’ at me for any kind of sign of empathy. “Hell they wanted me to go to counseling, the bastards. Like I was crazy or something!” I thought I detected a slur but he continued right back on point. “They gave me the worst job performance reviews they could, makin’ up this supposed bad stuff I did.”
And eventually they suspended him without pay. And this week, they beat him in Circuit Court.
“That’s some tough shit there Sam…or what was it again…?”
“Shhhh” he repeated, lookin’ around in every direction from his barstool. “Best you weren’t even talking to me pal; these guys have threatened to get me, ya know?”
“Sounds like the City-boys sure didn’t want you around if you weren’t gonna play ball,” I told him.
“Let me tell you somethin’ pal,” he began with this fierce look in his eyes. “Ya better not have that glass of water with your dinner here in town. And, oh yeah: better get yourself one of them expensive water filters too.”
“That’s some real bullshit there…er, John was it?”
“Shhhh…”
And I thought I had it bad with the Longview loadin’-dock foreman.
-Tom

11/9/4 - Mossy Rock (WA) to St Helens

I was pokin' around Pufferbelly Toys the other day, lookin' for some Christmas presents for the grandkids. That's when Stephanie, the owner, told me about "the call" she got a few months back: A cryptic phone call from the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. She thought it was a prank at first because she couldn't believe Homeland Security would need to investigate a small toy store in St. Helens. But it was real, and the Homeland Security people proceeded to scare her half to death. They refused to tell her what they wanted to see her about. "We're not at liberty to discuss this matter over the telephone," they told her. They agreed to meet in early August. A few days later, the agent canceled and Stephanie thought the matter had blown over. However, in September, the agent called back again to tell her they would be coming the next day. They arrived at her store in two separate cars and flashed her their badges. The agents then asked her to lock the door to make sure that the "building was secure." The whole thing took about 10 minutes. They had come for a dangerous terroist toy called the Magic Cube. It was an illegal copy of the Rubik's Cube, one of the most identifiable toys of all time. He told her to remove all of the Magic Cube from her shelves, and he watched to make sure she complied. "I was shaking in my shoes," she told me. As they were leaving, she asked them why not just contact the factory who makes the Magic Cube? They gave her some strange excuse about "Auburn, Washington being out of their local office's area of responsibility", hopped in their cars and sped away. After the agents left, Stephanie called the manufacturer of the Magic Cube, the Toysmith Group, which is based in Auburn, Washington. A Toysmith representative told her that the Homeland Security agents were wrong: The Rubik's Cube patent had expired, and the Magic Cube did not infringe on rival toy's trademark. John Ryan, corporate counsel for the Toysmith Group, said Homeland Security, which includes US Customs, routinely blocks shipments of products from overseas that violate intellectual property rights, such as patents, copyrights and trademarks. "That's fine. That's not an outrageous federal act by any means," Ryan said. "But we certainly were surprised that a federal agent approached a toy store owner and frightened them." After gaining assurances from Toysmith officials, Stephanie put the Magic Cube back on the shelf soon after the agents left. I picked a couple up for the grandkids before leaving. "I guess there aren't enough terrorists out there," she sighed. "I guess not," I told her. Four more years people.
Tom

11/1/4 - Longview to Salem

Five people messin' with me this week:
The loading dock foreman in Longview
George W. Bush
4:45am Garbage man
Safeway clerk in St Helens
The Baptist minister down the street

Five cats who always messed with me:
Blackie (1977) - Clawed maniacally at my calves as I slept uneasily
Sushi (1992) - Calm demeanor belied hateful, blood-filled glances
Unnamed neighborhood cat (1979) - Hissed menacingly from the front yard
Sapphire (1998) - Mephistophelean Siamese with transparently homicidal designs
Chuck (1991) - Repeatedly shat on my pillow

Five companies who have me by the balls:
Gillette
Microsoft
T-Mobile
Costco
Fred Meyer

Five things I wished truckstop drugdealers sold instead of meth:
balsa wood toy airplanes
breath mints
flowers
novelty gifts, magic tricks, and small puzzles
books on tape

Five things that need to be messed with in St Helens:
hospital
amphitheater
City Hall
library
parks

10/23/4 - Crescent City (CA) to Florence to St Helens

40 miles south of Coos Bay, Oregon on Hwy 101. Siren with red & blue lights.
"Crap...fuck!" I pull it over. "Fuck," I tell myself again. An State Patrol officer approaches the cab:
HPatrolman: "Good evening sir: licence, registration, road-log and load papers, please."
Me: "Yessir."
I pretend to be professional and efficient and not angry while I collect his required items.
Me: "My load is pretty light, so I know you didn't pull me over for..."
HP: (interupts) "Ok sir...gimme a few minutes, I'll be right back."
The officer heads back to patrolcar. "Christ," I mutter to myself with a sigh. The World Series on my Satellite-Radio suddenly seems louder without the road-noise. The game is tied 9-9, so I sit and listen while staring in my side-view mirrors at the officer getting into his car:
Satellite radio: "The Red Sox allowed opposing hitters a .255 batting average, while the Cardinals' opponents were at .251...fouled down the right field line, one and one. (5 seconds of stadium noise) So, only four points of batting average is all that separated these two teams, yet the Cardinals gave up a startling 112 fewer runs...a fastball outside ball two."
"Jesus Christ", I mutter to myself again, lookin' at the cop doing his thing inside his patrolcar.
Satellite radio: Mark Bellhorn on deck...tomorrow, game two from Fenway: Cardinals will have Matt Morris on the mound facing Curt Schilling...
The game quickly turns into an audio-blur as I begin spacing-out on oncoming traffic headlights. I'm starin' and thinkin' about my money troubles and all the craziness it seems to dish out on a daily basis. I can not afford a ticket. I instantly snap out of it with the patrol-cardoor shutting and I notice the officer headin' back. I instinctively turn the game down.
HP: "All right, everything looks good."
He starts handing my pile of stuff back at me while beamin' his flashlight in my face like I was some kind of a labrat undergoin' a cruel science experiment.
Me: "So, what's the deal here?"
HP: "Yeah...I'm just checking tonight for criteria under 49 CFR Part 391.41
Me: "Huh?"
HP: (chuckles) "I'm checking tonight for evaluation under 49 CFR Part 391.41, which is for mental, nervous, or functional disorders likely to interfere with a driver's ability to operate a commercial motor vehicle safely.
Me: (I chuckle) "391 dot...what?"
HP: "Well, it's a serious problem we have on this stretch of Highway 101: Emotional or adjustment problems contribute directly to a driver's level of memory, reasoning, attention, and judgment and these problems often can cause drowsiness, dizziness, confusion, weakness, or paralysis that may lead to incoordination, inattention, loss of functional control and susceptibility to crashes while driving..."
- I must have been starin' like an idiot at him, which would give him even more reason to grab my licence and papers again and throw me in jail. -
HP: "...physical fatigue, headache, impaired coordination, recurring physical ailments like chronic "nagging" pains that could be present to such a degree that commercial driving isn't inadvisable."
Me: "Jeez officer, isn't that about every damn driver on the road?"
HP: (chuckling again) "Not necessarily..."
- And off he went again on another speech. I just pretended that I was payin' attention til he was obviously done.
HP: "You seem to be alert and I don't want to keep you any longer."
Me: "Ok officer...thanks I guess."
HP: "You bet! And be careful on the roads tonight, good evening sir."
I felt like sittin' there and listenin' to the game a little longer, but I couldn't wait; I might have ended up in jail. Anyhow, I was lookin' forward to sittin' in the Dockside with a big steak and glass of beer in front of me.
-Tom

10/18/4 - Longview to Hillsboro

Don't know if it was the rain, the election politics, the leaves turnin’, it being Monday, or what. I just had a really hard time staying on an even keel today. In the beginning, I was glad to be headed out only because I need the income, but I soon had a headache that coffee didn’t cure and I just wanted to be back at home with Lorraine. In Longview, the loadin’ dock foreman was even more bitter and callous than usual and once he figured out that I had no patience for any of his crap, he just stood there grinnin’ at me with that twisted smile of his. “What? None of your smart-ass comebacks today T******n?” (He always calls me by my last name.) So this particular day, I said nothin’ and just stared back at him in his drippin’-wet ball-cap that seemed slightly tilted at an almost cocky angle. I signed his stupid release-papers, turned around without sayin’ a word and headed into a green/grey, wet wind towards my truck. I heard him laugh behind me and I instinctively started whistlin’, passive-aggressively, just in hope of pissin’ him off. The drive to St Helens was like going through a carwash, hard to see the whole way. The political rhetoric on my satellite radio—which usually perks me up—just drove me nuts. I turned it off with a groan. In the road-noise of my truck-cab, I suddenly realized that I'm way overdue for a long, nighttime run. I’ve always liked doing long-hauls during the winter months; somethin’ about it calms me down. I’m also lookin’ forward to Christmas lights showin’ up soon. Cold crisp air and twinkling lights do wonders for me. Cue those lights. There's this one particular neighborhood in my town that I visit every Christmas - the sheer volume of these new tract-houses with massive light-decorations makes it almost like an amusement park ride. I’ll go back two or three times before New Years hits, always takin’ Lorraine with me. She's usually bundled-up, mesmerized, reflective and quiet. But that’s months away. It seemed really dark in St Helens for 4:30pm to me. A massive line of traffic-headlights was headed the opposite way. I swung into the Community Federal Credit Union for some cash and decided to get it inside, instead of at the ATM, so I could grab another free cup of coffee. The teller-lady there was havin’ a bad day too, mostly because of their new computer system that had only been in place for a week or two. “When it works, it’s really great,” she sighed. “But when the system goes down, it makes for an awfully long day for us.” I couldn’t help but see frustration and sadness in her face. “I get it,” I told her. “20, 40, 60, 70, and 5,” she said and suddenly looked up at me with a beautiful and unexpected smile. “If your out on the roads today Tom, you be sure and be careful,” she advised still smiling. “It’s always nice to see you, and just where is that smile of yours that I always see you come in with?” And with that, a smile flashed across my face before I even knew it. “Aw…I dunno…thanks sweetheart,” was all I could muster in return. “Ok then, be careful Tom; we’ll see ya next-time,” she said and quickly called out “next” to the person at the head of the line. I’d like to tell y’all that it fixed my day, but I’d be lyin’. I jumped in my truck, turned on the Red Sox/Yankee game and headed towards Cornelius Pass. I’m not lyin’ though when I tell y’all that there sure are some real nice people livin' in this town here.
Tom

10/12/4 - Olympia to St. Helens

I had made a mental-note to myself that the next time I was passin' through town, I would investigate Weird Harold's for my wife's birthday present. I figured I might find a beautiful cast-iron piece for her to implant into our backyard. Lorraine is really good at this backyard-landscaping stuff - she's very creative and awfully serious about it. Our friends and neighbors always appreciate her "wonderful-eye for it" and usually complement her for this whenever we're Bar-B-Qin' out back or havin' one of our get-togethers. So on my way out of Harold's, I made my way to this Hot Dog Truck in the parkin'-lot to sample one of the 'authentic Chicago Red-Hots' being advertised. I'll admit that I was skeptical because of the fact that I did a lot of livestock-haulin' in Chicago (back in my "early days") and I know first-hand what the real deal is. Welp, I gotta tell y'all that this Wayne's Red-Hots is the real deal. After the "test-dog", I was soon wolfin' a bunch of 'em down like there was no tomorrow, happy as could be. These hotdogs really take me back. And a few other people there had figured this fact out as well: they were grabbin' hotdogs like seasoned Chicagoans, pullin' up to the cartside table and talkin' about the Amphitheater troubles down by the river. Even though they were happily eatin' great hotdogs, they seemed pissed. "The city wants to throw something up quick and dirty down there rather than make something beautiful and lasting," one fella said. "They also want to keep as much money as possible for themselves," another man interupted, "Hell, I heard that Betsy Johnson just gave them five-grand and Walmart gave them a thousand-bucks too!" Another lady added that, "The city will probably take their cut off the top and then dole out the rest of the money to friends of theirs like they usually do." While Sanders the hot-dogman was makin' me one more redhot (dragged through the garden) he reminded me that the park's initial layout-plan, (designed by Larry Buzbee) had already been approved by some sort-of steering-committee, the Merchants Association, and the Park Commission. Most of the people around the cart seemed to think that the original plan and design might not materialize at all, something I couldn't possibly imagine my wife puttin' up with. "The city now is sayin' that it all must be reviewed by an Art Commission," one fella said while finishing off a Polish-Sausage. "Art Commission?!? Hell, it doesn't even exist. What's wrong with them?!" My own translation from all of this talk was that the boys at City-Hall were sayin' to hell with Buzbee's vision and that they will finish off the Amphitheater cheap and fast by a bunch of "hacks" (as Lorraine would call them.) I wondered why they were so damn callous to what people want to have in this park down in OldTown. It seems to me that the boys downtown have adopted a "who cares what people in St Helens want" attitude. Yeah sure, they'll appoint some boards and commissions...and then, they'll probably ignore any of their recommendations. I said goodbye to everyone and on my way back to the truck, I got to thinkin' about my nextdoor neighbor Russ who also was originally from Chicago. He's always tellin' me to "keep an eye on all of these City-Hall boys, cause they're always playin' around with YOUR money." He'd seen it for years and years back in Chicago. "Hell, it's an institution back in Chicago!" he always says. I decided right then and there to turn back-around and order-up a nice, big Italian-Beef sandwich to bring home for him. It might just take him back too.
Be sure and keep an eye on the city hall boys in this nice little town y'all got here.
-Tom

10/8/4 - Longview to US Bank to Home

Just back from pickin' up my paycheck from Longview where I felt lucky that I didn't run into the loadin'-dock foreman. He's always tryin' to ruin my day in a hurry. I was thinkin' on the way back home that if I didn't have a calandar or know what month it was, I'd somehow still know that it must be damn-close to election time just by all of the other timber-drivers bitchin' around the loadin' yard. Lots of "this or else". Lots of talk in Oregon yards about Measure 34 and how "it'll put us all out of work" or how it'll "give us lots of work". Lots of arguing about Bush "saving us from terrorists" or Bush "making things worse." Elections are fun...Right? You know what’s fun? Trying to get a loan. That’s a lot of fun. See, what you do is, you call up a bank, and say, “Hey, I’m a truck driver, I’ve got steady work, and I want to borrow a bit of money from you for a new rig.” They say, “Ok then, give us all your information, and we’ll see what we can do.” You say, “Ok, here: name, SSN, monthly-income, credit info.” Then they say, “Ok, we’ll let you know Tom,” and shake your hand. So then, you wait around for a few days, and finally, when you're just about "officially pissed and crazy", you call them back. That's when they say, “NO LOAN FOR JU!", like the soup-nazi on Seinfeld. Then your wife goes to bed crying, because this is the 4th or 5th time this has happened. Now THAT'S a lot of fun. And don't get me started about my insurance costs. Look, I may not know much about politics, but I DO know how hard I'm workin' and how little I have to show for it. I also know the same is true for ol' W. Bush. Lots of hard work and nothin' to show for it. So little to show, that he has to get up behind a podium and talk about what kinds of bad things Kerry might do, instead of tellin' me what he has done himself. Cause he ain't done shit. Like we voted against his daddy, Lorraine and I will vote against Junior based on our wallets. And our crappy health-care plan. And kids dyin' for an unjustified war. And a lot of other things. Basically, junior Bush keeps tryin' to convince me and Lorraine that his economic plan is "working" and ya know, I don't know where he's livin', but it sure as hell ain't anywhere around here.
-Tom

10/2/4 - Astoria to St Helens

As I was passin' through Deer Island, I noticed there was trouble up ahead alongside the road. An SUV with it's emergencies flashing away looked stalled and stuck. The driver appeared frustrated and helpless, her arms flailin' away upwards to a brite blue sky. Since the hood was up, I decided to pull over to see if I could offer any help. With my haul being pretty heavy and extended, I managed to finally get stopped a few hundred yards past and as I eased outta my cab to make a long walk towards the scene, I noticed a white Camaro suddenly pull in front of the disabled-SUV and another samaritan instictively hop out to investigate as well. Squinting, I could make out an orangish racing-stripe down the center of the Camaro dancing in a mirage of heat-vapors. It was then I noticed that it was indeed an unseasonably hot autumn day as I continued the long walk, glancin' to check my watch to see if I really had any spare-time due to my tight run-schedule. As I approached shouting-distance, I noticed that the samaritan was a sturdy, balding man who seemed focussed and very intent on what he was doing. "Sometimes you have to just keep at it, ya know?" I heard him advise the discouraged driver. "There...try it again," the man said, grimacing as he continued holdin' something inside the hood. "Nothin," was the reply from the SUV. "Hey, can I help?" I wondered, greeting the samaritan. "Uhm," he replied while intently peering into the problem at hand, "I'm not...quite sure...yet," he said slowly, and turning to smile at me between attempts at tackling the engine-problem before him. I gave my own cursory look inside the hood, as if I could somehow quickly figure out what was wrong and help. The man was unfazed, "Sometimes it can be a little thing here, or a little bit of tinkerin' there...Try it now," he shouted around the hood. "Nothin," again was the reply. The man was getting oily and dirty before my eyes. Small beads of sweat appeared on his bald head. I made a comment about an old alternator problem I had with my car a while back, but was interupted by another of his requests to "try it again," followed by a sudden roar of the engine in question. "Whaah-hoo!" was the verdict from inside the SUV. "Thank you! Thank you," she said emphatically while scrambling out to give the stranger a well-deserved and appreciative bear-hug. "You were so kind to stop what you were doing and help me!" In return she received a, "It was nothin', really, and be sure to take your car to a real-mechanic, ok?" And with that, the lady climbed into her car and spit a little gravel as she motored back onto Highway 30. As the man fished a rag out of his trunk to wipe down his blackened arms, I marveled at his mechanical skill. "Nah," he replied, "I'm not a mechanic, I just like helpin' out when I can." He sure could have fooled me I told him, and he smiled at me while pattin' me on the back. "Be safe on the road," was his parting advice. Making the walk back to my rig, I wondered if the volcano would blow again. The white camaro sped past with a friendly and oily arm wavin' towards me. Y'all got some real nice people keepin' an eye on things in this nice little town y'all got.
Tom

9/27/4 - Home: Bed to Computer

Well, I picked up a nasty virus the other day and have been in bed with one of the worst colds I can remember. I passed off on two different timber-runs and that's just the way it had to be - I sure could have used the money, but it's been takin' a lot out of me just to get up and go to the bathroom...Hell, I couldn't imagine drivin' all day. Lorraine's been keepin' a close watch on me: pokin' her head in our bedroom to look-in on me every so often, and supplyin' me with everything from chicken-soup to that green cold-medicine stuff, which always seems to send me off to dreamland. It also turned out that my computer picked up a nasty virus the other day too. Lorraine got Sean, the hacker-kid from down the street, to come and look at it and he had my computer diagnosed and fixed within 30 minutes. That just blows my mind 'cause I can sit there and yell at the damn-thing for 30 minutes easy. Sean told me that, "while viruses, internet worms and some hackers can be stopped by anti-virus software and firewalls and all, this latest virus-spyware that messed-up your computer Tom, arrived through Microsoft's Internet Explorer." Because it never started popping-up ads and installing unwanted programs and all, I didn't even know it was there. Sean finished his diagnosis with, "It's all Microsoft's fault, Tom". I didn't buy it. That got me thinkin' and I had to explain it to him this way: "My truck was built to haul timber along the road. Now if someone gets drunk and uses their truck to drive up onto the sidewalk and plow into a crowd of people, who is to blame: the maker of the truck, or the driver?" Sean didn't like that and I went on tellin' him that the way to deal with the driver who just killed 20 people isn't to ban trucks, but to jail him for misusin' the truck. So the way I figure it: the correct way to deal with computer viruses, worms and spyware isn't to reduce computers back to being TV sets, but to jail the hackers who misuse what computers are able to do. Sean REALLY didn't agree, said a quick good-bye to me on his way to the kitchen, picked up a twenty from Lorraine and headed back home. Lorraine popped her head in our computer/sewing room: "Now why were you calling Sean and other hackers criminals Tom?" she wondered. "Because a lot of hackers are not about making computers better for us all, they are only out to line their own pockets and use our computers to do it. A real computer-security expert can do what they do using their own computer. Only a criminal needs to wander out over the Internet and into other people's machines." Lorraine reminded me how onery I can be when I'm sick and I heard her grumbling to herself as she went back into the kitchen. I got to thinkin' again: I've been hearin' from the people I run into in St Helens, and readin' on sthelensupdate about missin' funds, unfinished parks, a missin' mayor, all kinds of stuff. I wonder if it's time to call these people on their virus-like behavior and the stuff they seem to be doing. I dunno... Well, I gotta go, Lorraine's tellin' me that, "that's about enough out of me and time to get back in bed." Hope things are goin' good this week in that nice town y'all got, be sure an keep a sharp eye out on things; kinda like Lorraine keeps on me...ya hear?
Tom

9/16/4 - Longview to Portland

Coupla things that're for certain my friends: death & taxes, the change of seasons, and that goddamn loadin'-foreman in Longview bein' a constant pain-in my-ass: always testin' my patience, my temper and my belief of all those things I try to remember from church on Sundays. After loadin' up on Thursday afternoon, I offered up a friendly suggestion about one of the paper-filin' procedures, and as the loadin'-foreman shoved my road-log back into my face, he started glarin' at me, yellin' and goin' on and on about "this is the way things are around here Tommy-boy", and "we've done things this way for years now and we're not about to change it just for some stupid driver who don't know nothing", and "If ya don't like it, ya can drive your truck all the way to Timbuktu where some front-office boys might actually listen' to ya." So I was pretty-near a whistlin' & boilin' tea-kettle on the drive over the river and into town. The whole way I was perfectin' my response to him in my mind - the one I never said at the time because I was so damn mad. As I rolled into St Helens I decided to take a minute and stop in at the Red Apple Market to grab a Dr. Pepper and some jerky to help cool me down before headin' into Portland. As I got out of the cab, some young fella, maybe 14 or 15, who was hangin' in front of the store started tellin' me how cool my rig was. As I began pointin' out some of the finer-points of my truck to him, he suddenly interrupted me and leaned in quickly towards me while shovin' a ten-dollar bill into my hand. "Can ya pick me up a half-case of PBR dude?" he said out of the side of his mouth, while lookin' around to see if anyone was onto him yet. I wasn't havin' any of it. I looked at him and asked what a young fella was doing wantin' to drink a half-case of beer after school. "Ain't nothin' else to do dude," he said angrily while shoving the ten back into his pocket. "I mean...look around dude, what do you do around here? They shut down the BMX bike-track I used to hang at." This got me a bit curious and fired-up again and after I asked him why this track-place wasn't around any longer, he began to tell me that the people who started the BMX track owed some money to a contractor for hauling some of the dirt that was supposed to have been donated, and not wanting to turn it down, the track-fellas told the contractor that they would pay him as soon as they could. I started gettin' that feelin' in my gut again as the kid finished his story. "And they were payin' him for it too, but the contractor-dude was friends with the Mayor and some City Hall assholes who paid him off and then the city went and kicked the BMX people off the track for good." The young fella was clearly pissed. I asked him if there were any parks around, or a library or somethin' to go to. "Are you kiddin' me?" he said lookin' at me like I was out of my mind. "The parks? What parks are you talkin' about? And anyways, when me & my buds go to any of the parks that are around, we always end-up gettin' chased outta there anyway...and dude, check out our joke-of-a library sometime...it's right there down that street, and THEN you come ask me about goin' to the library. That place sucks." And quick as that, the young fella turned and walked away, lookin' for some other kind-benefactor to buy him his beer in trade for keepin' the change. I got to wonderin' as I headed out of town what y'all can do to change some of these things and help out some of these kids around here before they can just become another casualty of the streets. Y'all be sure and take of things in this nice town ya got, ya here?
Tom

9/12/4 - Longview to Sandpoint, Idaho

It’s early: 4:30am on a still Sunday morning, and I’m about to leave the motel here in Longview to make a run up north. My wife Lorraine is sound asleep with the left side of her mouth slightly curled up into a makeshift smile. You see, I got home yesterday around 3 in the afternoon and after checkin’ in with the front-office boys, I figured I’d grab a 5pm dinner and hit the sack early. But Lorraine had other ideas. Opera. She had stumbled across a couple of free tickets to a concert in Longview, (of all places) and I quickly learned first-hand that Lorraine won’t say no to a spur-of-the-moment opportunity to hear a “Requiem” by Mozart. Me, I can take or leave that kind of music, though I do like some of those slow, sad opera songs that just seem to hang in the air forever. Since I’d finished up a long day of drivin', Lorraine was as happy as a kid in a candy story to suit me up and take the wheel for our 75 mile drive into Longview. I took a nap on the way and awoke in front of The Longview Community Church. Lorraine straightened my tie and in we went to see the Columbia Chorale of Oregon and the Southwest Washington Chamber Orchestra perform the "Requiem". I usually get a little nervous and quiet around these kinds of crowds but I was charged-up as we took our seats. I noticed in the program notes that the proceeds benefited the Women's Resource Center of Columbia County in St Helens and the Ethnic Support Council in Longview. Another reason I was happy to be sittin' in my seat. Even though we had free tickets, I made a point to kickin' the organizations a couple twenties during the intermission. The music was great. I tell you, those voices soared. Higher and farther than I usually drive in a year. I have no idea what that choir was singin' about. They had the words translated in the program, but the truth is - I didn't want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I like to think they were singin' about something so beautiful and sad that it can't be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache just because of it. I'll see y'all next week.
Tom

9/11/4 - Tillamook to Portland

On Saturday I headed out listenin' to the news on my satellite radio and I heard Vice-President Cheney makin' a speech to voters in Ohio. I started payin' close attention because ya see, I haven't quite made up my mind who I'm votin' for in November. Lorraine already has, and she sure can get a little peeved with me sometimes because it always seems to take me a while longer to figure out all the ins-and-outs of what both sides are sayin' - This here guy is a liar, and that guy is this, and so on. Anyway, ol' Cheney was talkin' about all these new connections he's put-together between that bastard Saddam Hussein and those crazy al Qaeda fellas, and he was goin' on and on about how sendin' our Boys over to Iraq was a good thing because Saddam had always been a friend of those terrorists and how Saddam had always personally helped out those al Qaeda fellas. So I was feelin' a bit confused, 'cause I remembered the boys in the White House sayin' a year or so back that there was no connection between Saddam 'n Al Qaeda and that we were sendin' our boys over there to find those WMD's of Saddam. Now with my neighbor's boy Steve bein' one of the 1000 soldiers killed over there, I really didn't take too kindly to some politician tryin' to get reelected by changin' his story about why we sent Steve and the other 999+ boys over there to die. Cheney is sayin' that them al qaedas were gettin' help in Iraq since day-1 and Saddam must have been officially involved the whole time? Ya know friends, I ran into some trouble with my rig once outside of Dallas/Ft.Worth and I had to get some help from the folks at Triple-A in Texas to get me back-up and going again...and that doesn't mean ol' George W. Bush was helpin' me out. And to try to tell me otherwise is just lyin'. No sir, I don't like what ol' Dick Cheney is tryin' to do here, and I made up my mind right then & there who I'll be votin' for. I sure liked Steve, he was a helluva good kid.
-Tom

9/3/4 - Astoria to Albany

A late Friday night run which I took at the last minute soon found me changin’ a flat rear-tire just outside of Goble, a stones-throw away from that creepy damn Trojan Plant. With it bein’ night and all, I don’t mind tellin’ y’all that I was a bit jumpy to say the least, and damn if I wasn’t payin’ attention to what I was doing when the crowbar slipped and I tore open my wrist and forearm but good on some sharp metal underneath the rig. After wrappin’ an old oily-rag as a turnicate on my arm, I finished up and lead-footed it on into St. Helens to find an Emergency Room for some stitches. Problem was - there wasn’t any ER to be found anywhere in town! I pulled in at the 76 Station and asked the night-shift fella where I should go and he told me in a monotone-drawl, “Portland I guess…or, uhmmm…maybe St. Johns Hospital in Longview, I don’-know.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearin’ and I must have started carryin’ on like a lunatic cause he started lookin’ at me like I was somekind of an idiot. “Why the hell isn’t there an emergency hospital in town?” The 76-fella spit on the blacktop and said, “Used-ta-be-one…not any more though, damn! That is a nasty cut ya got there mister.” “What-the-hell happened to the hospital?” I asked. “Well, some people say the Ad-minister took off with all-a-the money, but then some other people say that it was just crappy bean-countin’ and crooked accountin’; I personally think it musta been somethin’ to do with their computers or something like that. Hell, that’s always happenin’ around here.” As I jumped into the rig and scooted on into Portland to get fixed up, I thought to myself that this must have been the first time I’d ever heard of a hospital losin’ money. Somethin’ ain’t quite right here friends, and I’ll try an’ find out some more about this when I come through town. Y’all sure better be careful and not get hurt too badly after the sun goes down in this nice little town. Be sure and take care of things, ya hear?
Tom

8/28/4 - Tenino to Vernonia

After a couple of dark, rainy days that already had me thinkin’ ahead towards winter, I headed out early on a beautiful late-summer Saturday morning. I was whistlin’ practically the whole way drivin' to load up in Tenino, and then singin’ along (outta-tune of course) with my satellite radio as I headed on across the river into Oregon. I was real happy that I didn’t have a stop in Longview where I would have probably crossed paths with that crabby old loadin’ foreman. Nor sir, I was in too good a mood to even think about him this gorgeous Saturday morning. As I drove in past Pittsburg Road, your pretty little town was just wakin’-up and it sorta reminded me of some of Lorraine's flowers in the backyard this time of year - shakin’ off the dew & raindrops and reachin’ up to soak-in these last few rays of the summer sun. I stopped in for a quick plate of eggs at The Villiage Inn where I sat next to a nice ol’ gal who started tellin’ me about Saint Helen. No…not your town, and not the mountain neither…she was nice enough to fill me in on the Saint Helen. Turns out that she is the patron-saint of divorcees and difficult marriages! I damn near didn’t believe this nice lady at first, but after talkin’ with her a while I was soon convinced she knew all about the Catholic Church and all the Saints and Stations of the Cross and everything else there is to know in that line-a-work. “Saints are the timeless celebrities of the spiritual world,” she told me. Wow! Y’all sure got a lot of real interestin’ people to talk with here in town. She went on to tell me that livin’ here under Saint Helen’s protection might have even helped and guard her own marriage because she and her ol’ man were still in love and together after 30 some-odd years. I told her I hoped that some of Helen’s saintly help might rub off on me & my wife every time I pass through town. Oh yeah…and after I got back home that night, Lorraine asked me to remind y’all that with school startin’ up here next week, to be sure and keep your eye out for the little ones who’ll be out and about again, because they might be runnin’ for their school bus stop in the morning without payin’ no-mind to nothin’ but catchin’ their bus. Be sure and drive slow and keep a sharp eye out for ‘em, and take care of things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear?
Tom

8/20/4 - Winlock (WA) to Longview to St. Helens

Things sure looked promising as I loaded up and left Naillon Logging in Winlock on Friday morning armed with a full thermos of coffee at my side and a couple of ham sandwiches Lorraine had made me the night before. I only had a quick stopover in Longview before droppin' in for another visit to my favorite town this side of the Columbia River. I'd been talkin' a few days back with some of the head-office boys at my company about upgradin' from my current truck to a real nice Pacific P16. No sooner than the boys heard that, they told me that they'd kick in a tidy $5000 to help-out with payin' for such a high-grade haulin' machine -- what with the extra work and money it would mean for them -- just so long as I had the startup costs and the rest of the balance covered myself, and that I would put it to work for them pronto. Well, they didn't have to twist my arm and as soon as I heard 'em say that, Lorraine & I made it our mission to get all of the money-gatherin' done. We got quite a few outside loans & contributions from our friends & families who sure didn't have to be told twice that a new P16 would make a helluva difference in all of the heavy-haulin' prospects I'd be able to take-on. So on Wednesday, with all of the money raised, I figured I'd be pickin' up my new P16 sometime next week, just as excited as a kid on Christmas mornin'. In Longview, the loadin' foreman was his usual crappy-self sayin' somethin' about how I "would never get a P16 and no company in it's right mind would help me get one neither." Boy, I hate that guy. As usual, he got me hoppin' mad and this time he got me to start doubtin' the head-office boys' promise and after crossin' the river at Rainier, I called the head-office to check in with 'em to see about the status of their $5000 toward my new P16. I should have known it: all's they had was a bunch of excuses for why they couldn't do it right-off: money this and thats and that I must have "misunderstood them" and whatnot. And then they had the nerve to tell me to try and raise the $5000 that I was short myself. Mind you, they still wanted me to put it to work for them just as soon as I got it. I really couldn't believe what I was hearin', so I just hung up on 'em. I rolled into town toward Boise and before unloadin', I stopped for minute to blow-off some steam down by the river at the new amphitheater. I noticed that it still looks as unfinished as it did last week. Somebody passin' by told me that, "it might not get finished at all, what with the city backin' out on it's pledge to help out with their end of the money." What's happening with people keeping their word these days? Do we actually have to remind people what they had promised in the first place? I ain't too good about keepin' my cool when this kinda stuff happens, that's for sure. Well, I'll be keepin my eye on things in my own yard, be sure an keep an eye on things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear?
-Tom

8/14/4 - Rainier Timber Co. (WA) to Pope & Talbot, Portland

As usual, I was one of the last ones to find out about the “important stuff” goin’ on. The talk ‘round the Boise yard the other day was about Boise agreeing to sell off its timberland, wood products and paper operations to somekinda investment group in Chicago for $4 billion. Four-Billion…man, I can’t even imagine havin’ that kinda money. Hell, I just jumped back in my truck and headed on down the road, a little bit upset - I figured a workin’ feller like me and my little ol’ job don’t matter a whole helluva lot to the sorta people makin’ that kinda money. No sir. So needin’ a pick-me-up, I stopped in at the Dari Delish to wallow away my sorrows in a large dipped cone. While I was waitin’, one of the old-timers hangin’ around told me about Bobby Kennedy pickin’ up a cone right there at the Dari Delish a couple days before he was shot down in California back in ‘68. I sure liked him and his brother and I was proud to be eatin’ a cone from a place right here in St. Helens that served one to Bobby K all those years ago. As I drove home to Lorraine, I started thinkin’ how Bobby was the sort of fella who would have kept his eye on those guys makin their billions at me and my job’s expense. I sure am missin’ ol Bobby right about now. When I got home, Lorraine gave me a big hug and kiss and told me everything was goin’ to be fine. I dozed off to sleep thinkin’ about Bobby Kennedy, The Dari Delish and this nice little town y'all got here. Y’all be sure to keep your chin up and take care of things, ya hear?
Tom

8/7/4 - Scappoose to Weyerhaeuser-Mossyrock, WA

Had some time before loadin’ up on Saturday mornin’ and headed out to do a little fishin’ on a nice quiet river in the woods between Mist and Vernonia. I ran into a nice ol’ fella from Scappoose who seemed keen on showin’ me the better spots to fish on. He was talkin’ the whole time about all of the differences between Scappoose and St. Helens, which basically was all about how much better their high-school football team is and some artsy events and little coffee shops that he thinks are much better than any in St. Helens. Well, I was getting’ close to puttin’ in my two-cents worth, when all of a sudden we heard some rustlin’ in the thicket some fifty or so yards past us!!! “Shhhh!,” the old boy said somewhat nervously. “That maybe the Elk boy!” Now with me just passin’ through town all of the time, I’d never heard of any such Elk Boy, which of course got me a little bit curious. “All that Bigfoot stuff ain’t but a bunch a-nonsense,” he whispered to me quietly so we wouldn’t be discovered. “But the Elk-Boy is fer reals!” There was a little more rustlin’ moving from the weeds and brush to the thicket just a little past us. "Some say it was a science experiment gone wrong," he continued on with his eyes getting’ bigger with each sound we heard and I was listenin’ real carefully and keepin’ my sharp eye out for this-here Elk Boy when suddenly a branch snapped just a few feet away from us! This ol’ Scappoose boy went a runnin’ and a hollerin’ like a chicken about ready to be grabbed, killed and served for dinner. I turned around fast and saw somethin’ that looked like a hairy deer or maybe a small elk movin' away from me just as fast as it could. I think it was movin on two feet! Though I can’t be sure. Hmmmm…I’ll try an’ keep my eye out for this-here Elk-Boy each time I come through town. Y’all sure got some real interestin’ stuff goin’ on around here. Be sure and take care of things, ya hear?
-Tom

8/2/4 - Aberdeen, WA to Longview to Boise, St. Helens

Had a big emergency run here today because of somekinda yard mistake in Aberdeen, WA courtesy the Jackson-Timber front-office boys. Busted my ass to help get it all straightened out and was feelin’ pretty good about things until I made the mistake of stoppin-in at Longview to see if they had anything to do, since I was passing by. So they paged the loadin’ foreman over the intercom and he came struttin’ up to the office like one of them Hollywood bigwigs on the red-carpet at that Oscar Show they do every year. He’s one of these guys that can’t see a fella doing a nice thing for anybody for nothin’. And even if he could, he was all over everyone’s ass today for no particular reason at all. So all I did by being thoughtful and all, was to end-up walkin’ straight into a damn hornet’s nest. I sure was happy to pull into town again this week. Unloaded and grabbed a steak at the Dockside where I met a helluva guy named Jim. Seems Jim’s been providing the fireworks-show on the 4th of July for y’all out of his own time and pocket for years. He went on to tell me that the City-Hall boys have always been gripin’ about something he didn’t do quite right in his fireworks-show, which made me think again about the damn loadin’ foreman in Longview. I hate these kinda guys. They told Jim that they didn’t want him to do his show anymore on the 4thand that they would pay someone else to do it. That about did it for me - I was madder than an old wet-rooster. I figure that the boys at City Hall really don’t want Jim to help out because of all the insurance, red-tape and other what-nots that usually leave them City-Hall boys like deer in headlights. But I gotta tell y’all, it’s a pretty crappy way of saying thank you for all the years that Jim has helped out on the 4th for nothin’. Seems a lot like somthin’ the damn loadin’ foreman in Longview would do. Be sure to keep an eye out and take care of things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear?
-Tom

7/29/4 - Astoria to Boise Cascade, St. Helens

Whoo-boy, it’s been a couple of hot ones here lately! Atop of all that, I had one of those run-ins today with the State Patrol boys who always seem dead-set on double-checkin’ my overload permits. They’re in order fellas, every damn time! Anyway, after unloadin’ at Boise, I parked the rig and grabbed some eggs & bacon at St. Helens Cafe. The waitress there was tellin’ me how some of y’all don’t think much of Old Town, which got me to wonderin’ why it’s any worse than some of the other parts of town. Ya mean some of ya would rather be up there on the highway by all those damn fast-food places? Hell, you can set-up shop and live there for all I care; I see that kind of thing in every small-town I drive through from here to California and on past into Texas. The way I see it – it’s sure is nice down here on the river: ya gotta real pretty marina, the old City Hall and courthouse buildings, and some fine little shops all along the street. Hell, I even grabbed my wife somethin’ in one of those places, (Meg’s I think it was called.) So Lorraine was just plain tickled to death when I got home this trip. Now ya see, if I’da brought home a couple-a bags of burgers from the Mac-Donalds here in St. Helens, why she’d a just turned down that pretty little smile of hers and kept on with her business. No sir, think I’ll be spendin’ most of my downtimes right here in Old Town this summer. It’s one of things that make this a nice little town y'all got here. Be sure and take care of things, ya hear? -Tom

7/22/4 Raymond, WA to Port of Portland

Good to be headed through town again and to talk with y'all. Had a nice little haul this week from Raymond with a quick stop over in Ilwaco before I headed on over the bridge and then eastbound to Columbia County. It's nice to drive through St. Helens this time-a year because of the longer days and it being real light out later and all. It gets so damn dark driving through here in the winter, that I just as soon get the hell outta Dodge if ya know what I mean. Stopped for a burrito at Muchos Gracias when someone in line thought he spotted your mayor at one of the tables eatin' tacos; turned out the fella was a industrial lubricant salesman from Kelso who sorta looked like him. I'll keep my eye out for your mayor as I'm passin' through each time. I figure I'd better find him before November cause by then, even if I could find him I probably won't be able to see him. Take care of things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear? -Tom

7/13/4 - Clatskanie to Boise Cascade, St. Helens

A real pain in the ass haul from the logging road outside of Clatskanie to Boise Cascade here in St. Helens. Got madder than hell at the CEPA office which don't matter none other than I was hotter than my rig low on oil when I stepped in The Red Line to cool down. I no sooner was nursing a tall frosty one, when I heard this drunk talking about some of the good folks here gettin together to build an amphitheater in one of your parks for music and other gettin' togethers. A real nice thing I thought. This guy was going on and on about how y'all really need some goddamn conference center built which, as I figure it, will just end up hostin' a bunch of CEPA executive meetings. "To hell with that", I told him. "You shoulda heard about the dog statue they wanted to build in the park," he told me in a slurred bark. I figured he was just drunk because his BS story made no sense at all. I mean he was really drunk. Couldn't have been true. Anyhow, take care of things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear? Tom

7/6/4 - Longview to Stimson Lumber Portland

I really hate the loading foreman in Longview. He thinks he's got it all figured out and treats me like I'm some kind of second class citizen. I can never get a word in edgewise or however it goes. So it was nice to hit the road and get across the bridge into Ranier and downshift into St. Helens, Oregon. After a nice Fourth, the fireworks went off again as I was havin' a cup o' coffee at the Chevron on highway 30. One of the fellers there was tellin' me that the Democrats were backin' a Republican. I just imagined my old Granny rollin' in her grave. She was a lifelong Democrat who always swore she'd "never vote fer a Republicin!" She almost voted for general Ike way back when but even then she didn't do it. She always hated wolves in sheeps clothin' which sounds like what may be going on here, I dunno. Sounds like some of yer Democrats here might be Republicans in Democrate clothes. Some lady started talking about someone down the road in Scapoose who is just that but I had to hit the road so I didn't hear the end of her story. I'll be sure to keep my eye on all this business as I pass through town each week. Anyhow, take care of things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear? Tom

6/29/4 - Wheeler, OR to Weyerhauser, Bend, OR

Good to talk to you all on this here StHelensUpdate website. I don't know all that much about computers or websites though I do get my timber-run route over e-mail from the boys at the head office. I just usually read it and then go where they tell me. For the past few years I've always made a point of stoppin' here in St. Helens. I sure like stretchin my legs in your town and gettin' a bite to eat or a cup of joe. When I do, I get to talk with all the nice folks here in town and they usually end up fillin' me in on what's happening. It sure is a nice little town y'all got here. I became interested in this sthelensupdate website when I overheard some guy talkin' about how bad this website was for St. Helens. Boy, was he mad. He reminded me of my neighbor back home who's been madder than a hornet since they closed the mill down in Valsetz back in '81. Now I don't know about you, but whenever the loading foreman in Longview starts tellin me to shutup and quit askin' questions, I start thinkin' somethings wrong here. He's one of those guys who has all of the answers but doesn't seem to want you to ask him any questions. So I figure if people don't like this here website because it's askin questions, well, it sure might be just the thing for me. So, I figured I'd keep y'all updated on my passings through town and see where we end up. Anyhow, take care of things here in this nice little town y'all got, ya hear? -Tom