joseph engraver
09-24-2025, 06:39 AM
The day I started to write this story
I was somewhere in the middle of it when my dearest wife called for the ambulance to take me to the hospital where they put me in intensive care until they could operate on my heart .I do not recall much of the events that follow after that.
When I recovered my senses I was in a semi private ward with oxygen tubes in my nose and stitches across my chest where my heart been removed and operated on .Running up my left leg also were stitches that closed the wound caused when the surgeons had removed a large there to replace one to my heart
During this time i became very depressed. No longer could I engrave or paint as my hands shook so badly. If it had not been not been for my wife’s care I would have taken my life
After three months i had recovered enough to become bored of lying in bed...
I decided to clean up the files in my computer. While doing this i rediscovered this forgotten manuscript I started six years earlier-
Now , I am finally finished. and feel well. I hope you will enjoy my effort
Joseph
Texas Tom
Chapter one
Night had over taken Billy as he wandered into the small town of Pleasantville. He was sad lonely and very hungry, it had been four days since he had a full meal and his stomach was in revolt. The pangs of an empty stomach made everything clearer; His mind was sharp and his Hermes wallet had been empty for a week. Gone was the hope of eating. Driven away by the malevolent winds that stole what heat his body had retained underneath his business suit. He took shelter in the alcove of The First National Bank. The cold made him decide to attempt forcing open the vestibule doors and steal the Save the Children donation jar the he could see on the other side.
He thought, “To hell with saving poor children, right now I need to save myself, my fingers are numb and my ears are burning from frostbite.” It seemed so long ago that he had had a nice car and the inheritance from his Grandmother...
It was all gone now, gone into the hands of lawyers, his beautiful and recently divorced wife, along with anything else that he once owned, leaving him with the lawyers bills. The clothes on his back, his almost new wedding ring, and an empty leather wallet. the idea of get arrested was comforting. At least in jail he would have a warm cot and some food. He suddenly kicked the glass panel setting off the alarm that triggering a swath of lights, surrounding him like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching car.
He was happy, he said out loud. “Now all I have to do is sit here and wait for the patrol car to come and take me into their custody”. Five minutes later he was handcuffed and sitting in the warm patrol car. Twenty minutes more passed before he was sitting on a comfortable jail house bunk.
The arresting officer looked in at him and asked, “What in the hell were you thinking.” He smiled at her and said with a sigh of relief. “I was thinking that here I would be warm and maybe get something to eat”. Then he told her of the bitter circumstances that had brought him to this point of desperation.
His words were spoken to a woman who had seen many others in similar situations...
“Do you know what day this is?” she said, unlocking the cell door, and then motioned him to follow her. “Today is the feast of Saint Joseph Labre. He is the Saint of vagabonds, beggars and petty thieves. It is your lucky day. He is watching over you.”
Shortly thereafter he was seated at a small stainless steel table where he was served a hot coffee, with beans and meatloaf. As he ate he thought of his future and what he could do to change its downward spiral. Warm and sated he reflected on his life and wondered if he was responsible, and what he could have done that could have made a difference. .
That night, while he slept on the jailhouse bunk, the memory of his father returned to haunt him once more in a recurring dream... He dreamt of being with him, and riding on the big black motorcycle behind him. He can hear the low rumble of the engine and feel the stiff leather of his father’s vest. The familiar smell of whisky and tobacco on his breath lingers in the summer air. They stop at a park and his father helps him off. His father always tells him the same thing. “My dearest, son I cannot stay here any longer. Your grandmother will take care of you until I return… I love you.” Then without looking back he climbs on to his motorcycle and rides away. But never in all those dreams over the passing years has he ever returned...
In the morning he was released from custody with the warning that he would be wise to leave town.
Back on the cold empty street he wandered aimlessly until he found himself standing in front of the public library. Then he thought of the jailers words and went inside. He sat down at a computer and looked up Saint Joseph Labre. As he read, he was struck by the austerity of life that the beggar Saint had chosen to live, and then die starving, at the age of forty, on the cold steps leading into a Roman church. He made up his mind that was not the way to live his life. The very thought was all the motivation he needed to change the course he was now on.
He looked at the useless wedding ring on his finger and suddenly realized that it was worth money. How much could he get for it, he had no idea. But, whatever it was worth he could use the cash. He needed a shower, clean and warmer cloths, something to eat and bus fare to some undecided destination.
As he got up to leave the library custodian said to him. “There is a jeweler down this street that will buy your ring for the price of gold.” He stared at the custodian, and then asked him how he knew what he had been thinking. “Son, that was easy. I have been custodian here for over fifty years and I can see you are homeless, helpless, and broke. I also know that you spent the night in jail...When I saw that you had looked up Saint Joseph Labre and stared at your wedding ring that was all I needed to see. The jeweler is a friend and he has a kind heart. He will give you a fair price. I hope you will use the money well, and I wish you luck as you travel to your destiny.”
“Destiny, I have no destiny, just a bleak future.” Billy said. The custodian smiled and waved his frail hand towards the exit doors. “Yes you do, and I am positive you will discover what it is.; it is waiting for you out there. Remember that ring on your finger brought you hopeless misery, and once it is removed you will be free to find hope again”
Chapter two
Texas Tom
Taking the old man’s advice, he went out into the cold and walked down the street looking for the Jeweler´s shop. Then he came upon a thin, old man sitting on the tailgate of a dilapidated old Ford pickup truck playing a guitar. The truck had a very unusual homemade camper made of plywood, covered with red roofing shingles; it had a hand painted sign in the back that read “Scissors, Shears Axes and Kitchen Knives Sharpened While You Wait”.
Billy stopped and studied this long haired man. His shaggy beard was white streaked with grey, the same color as his long hair and his eyes were bloodshot blue. He was wearing faded blue overalls and a matching shirt. A bright red and green Mexican poncho was draped over his boney shoulders and he was wearing leather sandals.
The largest straw sombrero Billy had ever seen was tilted to the back of his head. The sad, dented truck had Texas license plates and its tires were worn to the point of being treadles. The strange man began to pick out the tune that Billy had heard many times before. Without knowing why he began to sing.
“All around the water tank, waiting for a train A thousand miles from home, sleeping in the rain walked up to the brakeman just to give him a line of talk. He said if you got money son Ill see that you don’t walk. I haven’t got a nickel mot a penny can I show. Get off you railroad bum and he slammed the boxcar door. He put me off in Texas a state I dearly love .The wide open spaces all around me-The moon and stars above. Nobody seems to want me or give me a helping hand”
The guitar player looked up in surprise, “There is not one person in ten thousand who knows those lyrics son, why do you?
“Sir, my dad once worked for the railroad, and when I was a boy he taught me many railroad songs. “Waiting for the Train” by Jimmy Rodgers was his favorite.” Billy replied.
The old man put down the guitar and stared directly at him. Billy could not help notice that his eyes were as blue as his and there was something comfortingly familiar about him.
“Now this is a real coincidence, railroading runs in my family, father, and my half brother were also railroad men until whiskey got the better of all of us. My name is Tom, Texas Tom, I am flat broke, this truck is almost out of gas and the local police want me out of town, or they are going to impound it and put me in jail. You don’t have ten dollars to spare for gas by any chance. Do you?” Billy shook his head and said... “My name is Billy, nice to meet you Tom, I am from Boston. At this moment I am as broke as you, but I am going to sell my wedding ring to that Jeweler across the street; then I can give you money for gas, provided you will take me out of town with you.
Seems like we know the same cops as they want me to move on also. You wait here and I hopefully I will get us some money.” Tom laughed and said.”You can be sure I will, Billy from Boston, the gas tank is near bone dry.”
The two down and out strangers shook hands and that is where this story begins.
The Jeweler was at his bench, setting small diamonds into a broach when the bell over his shops entrance rang. Without looking up he removed his loupe and put his hand on top of the small pistol he kept in the drawer beside him. It had become a necessary precaution, ever since he was held up two years ago.
He looked at the stranger inside his shop and relaxed a bit. Instinct told him that this boy meant no harm. “Good morning, what can I do for you today?” He asked.
“The custodian at the library sent me here. He said that you buy gold and I want to sell this ring.” Billy said as he twisted it off his index finger, and handed it to him.
“Ah… yes! The custodian is a very good friend. He sends me quite a lot of people who want to sell their wedding rings. It is a good business for me. First I sell them for a good profit to couples who expect love to last forever. Then I buy them back for much less when they find out that it doesn’t. It is amazing how many young people confuse sex for love. I must pay him a visit soon. How is he?
Now let me see what you have to sell.”He took the ring, examined it, placed it on his scale to weigh it, and then he commented. “This is a nice ring, twenty karat gold, it sold for around six hundred but, I can only give you two hundred dollars...”
He was willing to pay up to three hundred, but he waited to see what the stranger would say as he handed him back the ring.
Billy knew how the game was being played. He put the ring back on his finger, “Thank you for the offer” and started for the door. “What would you say to two twenty five?” The Jeweler asked? “Sir, I would say it is yours if you were to give me two fifty, Billy answered.” And a deal was struck.
Texas Tom was patiently still sitting on the tailgate playing Dueling Banjo´s, There was two large menacing city police men standing in front of him, when Billy walked up. Sensing trouble coming, he smiled at the cops, and said to Tom, “Thanks for waiting. I have finished my business with the owner. Let’s get some lunch and then we can be on our way out of this town.”
Tom handed Billy the keys and said “You drive; I am tired and want to take a break.” Without questioning, Billy got behind the wheel and Tom took the passenger’s seat, they buckled up the seatbelts and drove slowly out of Pleasantville.
Chapter three
the vagabonds of destiny
When they drove into the Flying J Truck stop, the motor coughed and died, and they coasted the truck the remaining fifty yards to the fuel pump. “Now this is a very lucky day.” Tom said, “I generally end up walking at least a couple of miles when I am out of gas. Billy, how much money can you spare me now that we are here?”
Billy thought for a minute, then he said, “I don´t know, It depends on whether you will let me ride along, I have no destination or anyone I can rely on. I think I am out of luck and headed for the bottom when this money I got for my wedding ring is gone. I am cold, hungry; need a shower and some warmer clothes. After that I am in the hands of Saint Joseph Labre. Do you know who he was?”
“Of course I do Billy, he is the Saint of all vagabonds, and he brought you to me just before the police
Impounded my truck and put me back in jail for panhandling. We vagabonds call him Saint Joe, and
He helps us in time of need; you and I are from the same family of destinies.
You can ride along with me as far as you want to.”
Then he held out his hand in genuine friendship. They shook hands once more.
Then Tom said, “Billy, I have a pile of clean warm cloths I got from the Salvation Army in the back. This truck stop has good food, and if you eat here, they have clean restrooms, showers, free soap, shaving gear, and towels for truckers and cots where you can take a nap. As a new member o f this very elite group of free and independent thinking humans, I will help you to understand all the customs and benefit’s, but first I want to thank you for saving my *** back there with those cops.
When I said “You drive.” you knew instinctively I was in trouble. You see I don’t have a valid driving
Permit. I had it revoked for driving under the influence of alcohol. Drinking happens to be an Irish
Weakness of mine, inherited from the daddy I never knew. Saw a picture of him once, and my dear
Mother told me he was a railroad man. .
With the exception of a dismissed burglary charge in Pennsylvania and a minor accident caused by faulty brakes and liquor store shop lifting arrest in Lynchburg West Virginia. I have few other problems.
I once had a very successful business filing income tax forms, until the government inspected my records.
Even though I felt I had done no wrong, they found too many errors in favor of my clients in my miscalculations. That judge put me in jail for tax fraud and I served two years in the state prison.
When I was set free, I decided I needed to leave Texas, retire and travel, which I have been doing for last five years. The reason I am telling you this Billy, is if we join up, you will be doing most
of the driving. “Now what about you, what is your story?”
Billy thought about this for a while and decided he needed more time to answer him
” First I need a shower and food in my stomach, and right now we need to move this truck.
Here are ten dollars for gas so we came move it out of the way.” he finally said.
Once the truck was fueled and out of the way. Tom said “In the back of the camper there´s a cardboard box full of clean clothes under my bunk. Get rid of that suit and find something that will make you look like a truck driver. You need a heavy wool sweater, a pair of jeans and a baseball cap. And try on my old boots, the soles are thin but I think they will fit you. Truckers are a willing to help out one another, but they don’t take too kindly to strangers who look like they work for the IRS or finance company.”
To Billy’s surprise the back of the truck was well organized. In one corner sat a small grinding wheel powered by a foot treadle, neatly racked along one wall there was a well cared for guitar, a banjo, and a small filing cabinet that served as a table. Its door was open and Billy could see that except for an empty half pint bottle of whiskey it contained nothing
He rummaged through the box of cloths and found everything he needed to stay warm. Once he had changed, he stepped down from the camper.
Tom was waiting and smiled in approval, “Now you look like a long haul trucker. You will fit in, as long as you keep your mouth shut and don’t let anyone shake your soft Lilly white hands.” Then he bent down and scraped a bit of oil off the asphalt, “Here rub this on them and some on your forehead. The secret of survival in the vagabond part of the world is to become invisible, like a chameleon. The truckers know me as Texas Tom. It is my road name, and from now on you are Boston Billy. We travelers do not use last names, makes it easier to disappear and much harder to be found. The past, we now have left behind in Pleasantville, and only Saint Joseph knows what our future is to be.
Now we can eat. I am looking forward to a chicken fried steak, hash browns and a couple of beers.
What about you?” “I want pizza and a coke, Tom.”
Tom stopped dead in his tracks, looked at Billy and shouted. “Pizza and a coke! That’s tourist food; these truckers will laugh you out of the place, Have a double cheese burger, fries and a beer. How old are you Billy? ” “I will be twenty-four in a couple of months, got married at twenty-one, Even though my grandmother once told me it was the biggest mistake to marry young. I thought it would last forever, but it ended after she had spent all of my inheritance. And put me in debt
Can you believe that she divorced me on the grounds of mental cruelty
I finished college where I studied marketing, but never had a job, and now I am broke, and confused. Tom, I sure could use some help.”
“Billy I am old enough to be your father and I will help. You are now going to learn a job, working with me, playing a harmonica and sharpening knives, I have a good feeling about you and I believe Saint Joseph Labre is going to be looking over us. Putting his arm over Billy’s shoulder he said...Right now the most important thing is to be opportunistic and get some food.
Then I will begin to teach you how to survive and make money, and your marketing training will be a big benefit to that endeavor.”
When they entered the restaurant, two truckers waved and said. “Hey, Texas Tom is back, are you going to play a few songs for us tonight old man?” As Tom took off his sombrero and sat down at the counter, he said “It depends on how much money you intend to put into my sombrero amigos , and how many of you show up, I don’t share my talents without applause, and for me the only applause I want is money, and believe me I need some. I had an unpleasant run in with the cops in Pleasantville, and by the time it was over they had confiscated my stash and all my cash.
This here young feller saved me from the jail. His handle is Boston Billy, and he will be sharpening your folding knives, straight razors and Bowie knives to a fine edge. All the while, accompanying me with the saddest sounds the harmonica ever made. Show will start at dark and continue until my last half pint of whiskey is gone.”
When they were seated and the flirty waitress had taken their orders Billy said. “Tom, the only thing I know how to do is sharpen is a pencil, and I don’t know how to play a harmonica.” Tom took a long swallow of his beer, and then he took another, finally he said. “Not to worry Billy, by tonight you and I are going to be rolling in the cash. After we eat and get cleaned up I will show you all you need to know about putting a razors edge on any knife and as far as the harmonica is concerned , all you have to do is think sad thoughts and play, my guitar and your emotions will do the rest. By the time we are done, these homesick truckers will be crying, and giving us enough cash to fuel the truck. Then we get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we hit the road again, Kentucky is our destination and the next truck stop three hundred miles south of here.
I was somewhere in the middle of it when my dearest wife called for the ambulance to take me to the hospital where they put me in intensive care until they could operate on my heart .I do not recall much of the events that follow after that.
When I recovered my senses I was in a semi private ward with oxygen tubes in my nose and stitches across my chest where my heart been removed and operated on .Running up my left leg also were stitches that closed the wound caused when the surgeons had removed a large there to replace one to my heart
During this time i became very depressed. No longer could I engrave or paint as my hands shook so badly. If it had not been not been for my wife’s care I would have taken my life
After three months i had recovered enough to become bored of lying in bed...
I decided to clean up the files in my computer. While doing this i rediscovered this forgotten manuscript I started six years earlier-
Now , I am finally finished. and feel well. I hope you will enjoy my effort
Joseph
Texas Tom
Chapter one
Night had over taken Billy as he wandered into the small town of Pleasantville. He was sad lonely and very hungry, it had been four days since he had a full meal and his stomach was in revolt. The pangs of an empty stomach made everything clearer; His mind was sharp and his Hermes wallet had been empty for a week. Gone was the hope of eating. Driven away by the malevolent winds that stole what heat his body had retained underneath his business suit. He took shelter in the alcove of The First National Bank. The cold made him decide to attempt forcing open the vestibule doors and steal the Save the Children donation jar the he could see on the other side.
He thought, “To hell with saving poor children, right now I need to save myself, my fingers are numb and my ears are burning from frostbite.” It seemed so long ago that he had had a nice car and the inheritance from his Grandmother...
It was all gone now, gone into the hands of lawyers, his beautiful and recently divorced wife, along with anything else that he once owned, leaving him with the lawyers bills. The clothes on his back, his almost new wedding ring, and an empty leather wallet. the idea of get arrested was comforting. At least in jail he would have a warm cot and some food. He suddenly kicked the glass panel setting off the alarm that triggering a swath of lights, surrounding him like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching car.
He was happy, he said out loud. “Now all I have to do is sit here and wait for the patrol car to come and take me into their custody”. Five minutes later he was handcuffed and sitting in the warm patrol car. Twenty minutes more passed before he was sitting on a comfortable jail house bunk.
The arresting officer looked in at him and asked, “What in the hell were you thinking.” He smiled at her and said with a sigh of relief. “I was thinking that here I would be warm and maybe get something to eat”. Then he told her of the bitter circumstances that had brought him to this point of desperation.
His words were spoken to a woman who had seen many others in similar situations...
“Do you know what day this is?” she said, unlocking the cell door, and then motioned him to follow her. “Today is the feast of Saint Joseph Labre. He is the Saint of vagabonds, beggars and petty thieves. It is your lucky day. He is watching over you.”
Shortly thereafter he was seated at a small stainless steel table where he was served a hot coffee, with beans and meatloaf. As he ate he thought of his future and what he could do to change its downward spiral. Warm and sated he reflected on his life and wondered if he was responsible, and what he could have done that could have made a difference. .
That night, while he slept on the jailhouse bunk, the memory of his father returned to haunt him once more in a recurring dream... He dreamt of being with him, and riding on the big black motorcycle behind him. He can hear the low rumble of the engine and feel the stiff leather of his father’s vest. The familiar smell of whisky and tobacco on his breath lingers in the summer air. They stop at a park and his father helps him off. His father always tells him the same thing. “My dearest, son I cannot stay here any longer. Your grandmother will take care of you until I return… I love you.” Then without looking back he climbs on to his motorcycle and rides away. But never in all those dreams over the passing years has he ever returned...
In the morning he was released from custody with the warning that he would be wise to leave town.
Back on the cold empty street he wandered aimlessly until he found himself standing in front of the public library. Then he thought of the jailers words and went inside. He sat down at a computer and looked up Saint Joseph Labre. As he read, he was struck by the austerity of life that the beggar Saint had chosen to live, and then die starving, at the age of forty, on the cold steps leading into a Roman church. He made up his mind that was not the way to live his life. The very thought was all the motivation he needed to change the course he was now on.
He looked at the useless wedding ring on his finger and suddenly realized that it was worth money. How much could he get for it, he had no idea. But, whatever it was worth he could use the cash. He needed a shower, clean and warmer cloths, something to eat and bus fare to some undecided destination.
As he got up to leave the library custodian said to him. “There is a jeweler down this street that will buy your ring for the price of gold.” He stared at the custodian, and then asked him how he knew what he had been thinking. “Son, that was easy. I have been custodian here for over fifty years and I can see you are homeless, helpless, and broke. I also know that you spent the night in jail...When I saw that you had looked up Saint Joseph Labre and stared at your wedding ring that was all I needed to see. The jeweler is a friend and he has a kind heart. He will give you a fair price. I hope you will use the money well, and I wish you luck as you travel to your destiny.”
“Destiny, I have no destiny, just a bleak future.” Billy said. The custodian smiled and waved his frail hand towards the exit doors. “Yes you do, and I am positive you will discover what it is.; it is waiting for you out there. Remember that ring on your finger brought you hopeless misery, and once it is removed you will be free to find hope again”
Chapter two
Texas Tom
Taking the old man’s advice, he went out into the cold and walked down the street looking for the Jeweler´s shop. Then he came upon a thin, old man sitting on the tailgate of a dilapidated old Ford pickup truck playing a guitar. The truck had a very unusual homemade camper made of plywood, covered with red roofing shingles; it had a hand painted sign in the back that read “Scissors, Shears Axes and Kitchen Knives Sharpened While You Wait”.
Billy stopped and studied this long haired man. His shaggy beard was white streaked with grey, the same color as his long hair and his eyes were bloodshot blue. He was wearing faded blue overalls and a matching shirt. A bright red and green Mexican poncho was draped over his boney shoulders and he was wearing leather sandals.
The largest straw sombrero Billy had ever seen was tilted to the back of his head. The sad, dented truck had Texas license plates and its tires were worn to the point of being treadles. The strange man began to pick out the tune that Billy had heard many times before. Without knowing why he began to sing.
“All around the water tank, waiting for a train A thousand miles from home, sleeping in the rain walked up to the brakeman just to give him a line of talk. He said if you got money son Ill see that you don’t walk. I haven’t got a nickel mot a penny can I show. Get off you railroad bum and he slammed the boxcar door. He put me off in Texas a state I dearly love .The wide open spaces all around me-The moon and stars above. Nobody seems to want me or give me a helping hand”
The guitar player looked up in surprise, “There is not one person in ten thousand who knows those lyrics son, why do you?
“Sir, my dad once worked for the railroad, and when I was a boy he taught me many railroad songs. “Waiting for the Train” by Jimmy Rodgers was his favorite.” Billy replied.
The old man put down the guitar and stared directly at him. Billy could not help notice that his eyes were as blue as his and there was something comfortingly familiar about him.
“Now this is a real coincidence, railroading runs in my family, father, and my half brother were also railroad men until whiskey got the better of all of us. My name is Tom, Texas Tom, I am flat broke, this truck is almost out of gas and the local police want me out of town, or they are going to impound it and put me in jail. You don’t have ten dollars to spare for gas by any chance. Do you?” Billy shook his head and said... “My name is Billy, nice to meet you Tom, I am from Boston. At this moment I am as broke as you, but I am going to sell my wedding ring to that Jeweler across the street; then I can give you money for gas, provided you will take me out of town with you.
Seems like we know the same cops as they want me to move on also. You wait here and I hopefully I will get us some money.” Tom laughed and said.”You can be sure I will, Billy from Boston, the gas tank is near bone dry.”
The two down and out strangers shook hands and that is where this story begins.
The Jeweler was at his bench, setting small diamonds into a broach when the bell over his shops entrance rang. Without looking up he removed his loupe and put his hand on top of the small pistol he kept in the drawer beside him. It had become a necessary precaution, ever since he was held up two years ago.
He looked at the stranger inside his shop and relaxed a bit. Instinct told him that this boy meant no harm. “Good morning, what can I do for you today?” He asked.
“The custodian at the library sent me here. He said that you buy gold and I want to sell this ring.” Billy said as he twisted it off his index finger, and handed it to him.
“Ah… yes! The custodian is a very good friend. He sends me quite a lot of people who want to sell their wedding rings. It is a good business for me. First I sell them for a good profit to couples who expect love to last forever. Then I buy them back for much less when they find out that it doesn’t. It is amazing how many young people confuse sex for love. I must pay him a visit soon. How is he?
Now let me see what you have to sell.”He took the ring, examined it, placed it on his scale to weigh it, and then he commented. “This is a nice ring, twenty karat gold, it sold for around six hundred but, I can only give you two hundred dollars...”
He was willing to pay up to three hundred, but he waited to see what the stranger would say as he handed him back the ring.
Billy knew how the game was being played. He put the ring back on his finger, “Thank you for the offer” and started for the door. “What would you say to two twenty five?” The Jeweler asked? “Sir, I would say it is yours if you were to give me two fifty, Billy answered.” And a deal was struck.
Texas Tom was patiently still sitting on the tailgate playing Dueling Banjo´s, There was two large menacing city police men standing in front of him, when Billy walked up. Sensing trouble coming, he smiled at the cops, and said to Tom, “Thanks for waiting. I have finished my business with the owner. Let’s get some lunch and then we can be on our way out of this town.”
Tom handed Billy the keys and said “You drive; I am tired and want to take a break.” Without questioning, Billy got behind the wheel and Tom took the passenger’s seat, they buckled up the seatbelts and drove slowly out of Pleasantville.
Chapter three
the vagabonds of destiny
When they drove into the Flying J Truck stop, the motor coughed and died, and they coasted the truck the remaining fifty yards to the fuel pump. “Now this is a very lucky day.” Tom said, “I generally end up walking at least a couple of miles when I am out of gas. Billy, how much money can you spare me now that we are here?”
Billy thought for a minute, then he said, “I don´t know, It depends on whether you will let me ride along, I have no destination or anyone I can rely on. I think I am out of luck and headed for the bottom when this money I got for my wedding ring is gone. I am cold, hungry; need a shower and some warmer clothes. After that I am in the hands of Saint Joseph Labre. Do you know who he was?”
“Of course I do Billy, he is the Saint of all vagabonds, and he brought you to me just before the police
Impounded my truck and put me back in jail for panhandling. We vagabonds call him Saint Joe, and
He helps us in time of need; you and I are from the same family of destinies.
You can ride along with me as far as you want to.”
Then he held out his hand in genuine friendship. They shook hands once more.
Then Tom said, “Billy, I have a pile of clean warm cloths I got from the Salvation Army in the back. This truck stop has good food, and if you eat here, they have clean restrooms, showers, free soap, shaving gear, and towels for truckers and cots where you can take a nap. As a new member o f this very elite group of free and independent thinking humans, I will help you to understand all the customs and benefit’s, but first I want to thank you for saving my *** back there with those cops.
When I said “You drive.” you knew instinctively I was in trouble. You see I don’t have a valid driving
Permit. I had it revoked for driving under the influence of alcohol. Drinking happens to be an Irish
Weakness of mine, inherited from the daddy I never knew. Saw a picture of him once, and my dear
Mother told me he was a railroad man. .
With the exception of a dismissed burglary charge in Pennsylvania and a minor accident caused by faulty brakes and liquor store shop lifting arrest in Lynchburg West Virginia. I have few other problems.
I once had a very successful business filing income tax forms, until the government inspected my records.
Even though I felt I had done no wrong, they found too many errors in favor of my clients in my miscalculations. That judge put me in jail for tax fraud and I served two years in the state prison.
When I was set free, I decided I needed to leave Texas, retire and travel, which I have been doing for last five years. The reason I am telling you this Billy, is if we join up, you will be doing most
of the driving. “Now what about you, what is your story?”
Billy thought about this for a while and decided he needed more time to answer him
” First I need a shower and food in my stomach, and right now we need to move this truck.
Here are ten dollars for gas so we came move it out of the way.” he finally said.
Once the truck was fueled and out of the way. Tom said “In the back of the camper there´s a cardboard box full of clean clothes under my bunk. Get rid of that suit and find something that will make you look like a truck driver. You need a heavy wool sweater, a pair of jeans and a baseball cap. And try on my old boots, the soles are thin but I think they will fit you. Truckers are a willing to help out one another, but they don’t take too kindly to strangers who look like they work for the IRS or finance company.”
To Billy’s surprise the back of the truck was well organized. In one corner sat a small grinding wheel powered by a foot treadle, neatly racked along one wall there was a well cared for guitar, a banjo, and a small filing cabinet that served as a table. Its door was open and Billy could see that except for an empty half pint bottle of whiskey it contained nothing
He rummaged through the box of cloths and found everything he needed to stay warm. Once he had changed, he stepped down from the camper.
Tom was waiting and smiled in approval, “Now you look like a long haul trucker. You will fit in, as long as you keep your mouth shut and don’t let anyone shake your soft Lilly white hands.” Then he bent down and scraped a bit of oil off the asphalt, “Here rub this on them and some on your forehead. The secret of survival in the vagabond part of the world is to become invisible, like a chameleon. The truckers know me as Texas Tom. It is my road name, and from now on you are Boston Billy. We travelers do not use last names, makes it easier to disappear and much harder to be found. The past, we now have left behind in Pleasantville, and only Saint Joseph knows what our future is to be.
Now we can eat. I am looking forward to a chicken fried steak, hash browns and a couple of beers.
What about you?” “I want pizza and a coke, Tom.”
Tom stopped dead in his tracks, looked at Billy and shouted. “Pizza and a coke! That’s tourist food; these truckers will laugh you out of the place, Have a double cheese burger, fries and a beer. How old are you Billy? ” “I will be twenty-four in a couple of months, got married at twenty-one, Even though my grandmother once told me it was the biggest mistake to marry young. I thought it would last forever, but it ended after she had spent all of my inheritance. And put me in debt
Can you believe that she divorced me on the grounds of mental cruelty
I finished college where I studied marketing, but never had a job, and now I am broke, and confused. Tom, I sure could use some help.”
“Billy I am old enough to be your father and I will help. You are now going to learn a job, working with me, playing a harmonica and sharpening knives, I have a good feeling about you and I believe Saint Joseph Labre is going to be looking over us. Putting his arm over Billy’s shoulder he said...Right now the most important thing is to be opportunistic and get some food.
Then I will begin to teach you how to survive and make money, and your marketing training will be a big benefit to that endeavor.”
When they entered the restaurant, two truckers waved and said. “Hey, Texas Tom is back, are you going to play a few songs for us tonight old man?” As Tom took off his sombrero and sat down at the counter, he said “It depends on how much money you intend to put into my sombrero amigos , and how many of you show up, I don’t share my talents without applause, and for me the only applause I want is money, and believe me I need some. I had an unpleasant run in with the cops in Pleasantville, and by the time it was over they had confiscated my stash and all my cash.
This here young feller saved me from the jail. His handle is Boston Billy, and he will be sharpening your folding knives, straight razors and Bowie knives to a fine edge. All the while, accompanying me with the saddest sounds the harmonica ever made. Show will start at dark and continue until my last half pint of whiskey is gone.”
When they were seated and the flirty waitress had taken their orders Billy said. “Tom, the only thing I know how to do is sharpen is a pencil, and I don’t know how to play a harmonica.” Tom took a long swallow of his beer, and then he took another, finally he said. “Not to worry Billy, by tonight you and I are going to be rolling in the cash. After we eat and get cleaned up I will show you all you need to know about putting a razors edge on any knife and as far as the harmonica is concerned , all you have to do is think sad thoughts and play, my guitar and your emotions will do the rest. By the time we are done, these homesick truckers will be crying, and giving us enough cash to fuel the truck. Then we get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we hit the road again, Kentucky is our destination and the next truck stop three hundred miles south of here.