The Lone Haul Essay Research Paper The — страница 2

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help. Sometimes two or three trucks would stop to help. That was before CBs. It was just consideration for your fellow man on the road. I helped many cars if they had a flat but didn t have a tire pump. The reason truckers rarely stop to help anymore is that you re afraid to, really, because you don t know who s out there. I ve seen on the news where they rob the poor truck driver. Treuthardt misses the close sense of community that characterized the trucking industry in his early days. But when asked what his fondest memory is from 50 years of trucking, He replies: The days when there were good truck drivers out there. Nowadays, there are five, six or seven greenhorns just yakking on the CB, every on of them passing you. I don t like to see tailgating, he continues. Cars are

just as bad as trucks, but you can t train the car drivers, because there are too many of them. So train the truckers. I ve seen trucks run over cars from behind and kill everyone in the car. That s not right. Treuthardt drove his first truck at 15, when he hauled milk without a driver s license. Two years later, he volunteered to fight in World War II, landing a job driving an ammunition truck in Europe. You didn t have to walk as much if you drove trucks, he says. Although freeing the Jews was a noble cause, Treuthardt has memories that are better left buried. You ve got to forget about it, he says. The skills he acquired form driving a six-axle truck through mud were not applicable to driving a commercial vehicle back in the States. But when he returned form Europe at age 21,

he started hauling springing heifers, cows preparing to have their first calves. He drove the heifers form Wisconsin to Texas, Mississippi, Ohio and the Carolinas. It was work that came easily to a man reared on a dairy farm. He knew how to milk cows by hand, which he had to do while crawling around on the floor among the 15 cows on the 26-foot trailer. He knew how to shepherd the cows off the trailer every 36 hours for feeding at the railroad stockyards. In seven or eight years of hauling cattle, he did not lose one cow, a record he is very proud of. After demand for springing heifers dropped, Treuthardt began grocery hauling, a trade he was to ply off and on for 25 years. Reefer driving has changed a great deal. In the 1960s, grocery warehouses never wanted truckers involved in

unloading. You couldn t go in the building. They brought the bills out to you. In the early 1970s, that started changing. First, the driver helped here and there; now he helps everywhere. Treuthardt s days of breaking down pallets came to an end after a fall in 1984. He had a job hauling shrubbery and 6-foot trees, whose roots were packed in burlap bags. After the trees were watered, the trailer floor would turn into a mudbath. One day he slipped in the mud and fell off the truck. He was clutching a tree, which only added impact to his fall. I should have let the tree go, but I was holding it to my belly. It took seven hours on the operating table to fix his back. Treuthardt sued the company, got a settlement and spent three years away from trucking, but not by choice. I ve never

lied to anybody, so I told them (trucking companies) I had a bad back and couldn t lift anything. No one would hire me. During that time, Emil worked various jobs, such as bartending and putting up mailboxes for the local newspaper. I d see a truck go by, and it broke my heart, not being able to drive, he says. Finally, he found a no-touch-driving job through a friend at Capitol Warehousing, a small company in Windsor, Wisconsin. He has hauled humidifiers and new Pepsi-Cola cans ever since. If the culture of trucking in the old days has been the highlight of Treuthardt s career, the low point is not hard to find. In 1954, two women in a car pulled out in front of his truck. He tried to turn to the right, but the wheel locked, and he smashed into the car, killing the driver. There

were 90 feet of skidmarks tracing the path of his truck, so he was not far from the car when it pulled out in front of him. The judge found him 10 percent negligent. Treuthardt says he still can t help thinking about the accident. If I see a couple of women on the road, I won t even attempt to pass them; it just brings back memories. Taking a life is something no one wants to do. I did it in World War II, overseas, but I didn t want to do it at home. Treuthardt bounced back from that tragedy, just as he has from other setbacks in his 50 years on the road. Two qualities that have girded him through the hard knocks are his honesty and his work ethic. He prides himself on never lying. Once he got caught going faster than 70in a 55-mph zone. The officer was a little woman who could