The Light of The Moon

I never really noticed how much people like to hurry until I became a truck driver. It’s also of interest to me how the road can level the playing field. We are all one people with a common goal: Trying to get somewhere. Sans the different the classes of automobiles, we are all just little people going about our business. It was soon after I began holding the wheel of an eighteen-wheeler that I gave up the nonsense that is defined as the rush. Paying attention to the beautiful things and the people I interact with holds more importance with me than sticking to a schedule. Amazingly enough, I always seem to arrive at my destination.

There were many destinations in my travels this past week, thirty-three to be exact. In a weird twist of fate, I began the week by delivering to one of my favorite stores on Monday, and saw them again on Friday. It’s a rarity to see the same account twice in one week. Actually, it wasn’t a store. It was a warehouse for Laskey’s furniture in Farrell, Pennsylvania. For those not versed in geography, Farrell is a small town tucked away an hour north of Pittsburgh almost right on the border of Ohio.

I enjoy going there because it’s a good ride from our warehouse in Leesport. Usually, there are many decent things to see along the way. Interstate 80 is the magic carpet that provides a smooth and straight path. Once I am there, the people in the warehouse are a good bunch of guys to work with. When I visit, I usually bring a whole lot of the world’s best furniture with me, so we get to spend a fair amount of time together.

I am especially fond of the warehouse manager. I’m not good with names. I tend to remember people by the way they treat me, their mannerisms in general. He is the kind of guy who projects peace even though he stands a good foot taller than me. He’s never in a mad hurry, and he always has a smile on his face. Have you ever noticed two people in your life who not only look alike, but also have the same air about them? He reminds me of an acquaintance in my home town who owns a local BP gas station. He is a nice guy too, and both gentlemen remind me of each other when I see them. I don’t know why that is important to mention other than I find it to be another mysterious working of our universe.

 My manager friend and I talk about common things like the weather, and sometimes his hobby of gun collecting or hunting. The last we spoke, he was heading to a show in Ohio where he hoped to add to his collection. I cannot forget the first time I delivered to their warehouse. It is a long red building that sits too close to the road in my opinion. On my first visit, I backed into the dock that faces the street and my truck was halfway in the northbound lane of travel. “So be it,” I thought and went inside. When my friend saw how I was parked, he informed me that I would have to unhook from the trailer because the cops in town were real sticklers. They would come by and create a ruckus. He guaranteed that yelling and tickets would ensue, so I followed his instructions and disassembled my combination, parking my truck next to the trailer. I have been in similar situations where customers have flipped out for my parking skills. My friend in Farrell wasn’t like that. He told me the way things were in his usual kind manner with a side order of understanding my predicament as a truck driver. I like that about him.

On a future visit, he came outside and taught me how to back in so that I would not have to unhook. He stood next to my machine, and pointed where I should let the driver’s side rear trailer tire roll. It went up and over the sidewalk. I cranked the steering wheel hard to the right as he instructed. Just like that, my truck was parked at the dock door at a horrid ninety degree angle, but safely off of the road. More importantly, it was out of the eyes of the local police department. Not only did I use that procedure on every visit thereafter; I also employed that technique successfully at similarly placed docks in my other travels. In addition, I went on to become a driver trainer. I stood outside and pointed to my students where the trailer tire should roll as they learned to back a combination into a tough place. It is amazing how people can impact our lives and the lives of others by the simple act of being pleasant.

On my visit this past Monday, I noticed that the warehouse manager was not there. Instead, a guy with ten years less life experience than me handled the job of checking off everything as we unloaded. I did not find this unusual because I knew the manager to be a hunter. I’m not a hunter only because I did not grow up with it. I did, however, know that the deer season had just begun, and he was probably out taking advantage of it. It was less of a big deal because the younger gentleman is nice too, as are the rest of the crew. 

On Friday morning, I showed up again. It was my first stop of the day and I noticed my friend was absent again. This time, I asked the man who had been standing in for my friend just where he was.

He looked right at me and said quietly, “He passed away.”

“What? What happened?” I could literally feel the emotion on my face as I tried to untangle what he just told me.

“We’re not entirely sure. There was something with his heart. He went into the hospital one morning and never came out.”

“But he wasn’t that old.”

His voice was so quiet that I had trouble hearing his response. Something about fifties is all I could tell. I told him that was a shame, and he agreed. How could he not? He worked with him daily and knew him much better than I.

After we finished and said our good-byes, I drove away in shock. The news had placed a terrible damper upon a day that otherwise turned out to be pretty good. I pictured him and his smile with sadness. He was young, and left without the benefit of his enjoying his retirement. That always bothers me when people pass too soon. I could see him standing at the back of the trailer as we unloaded. He used to lean inside, and read small numbers on a piece of furniture from an impossible distance. I used to ask him how he did that, and teased him that he had the eyes of an Eagle. Most of all, I remembered just how nice he was to me.

He was a little person, just like me, and probably led a quiet life much as I do. Nonetheless, I wondered if anyone had considered the impact he had on the lives of other people. I envisioned hundreds of homes all at once. Did the people sitting on sofas, eating at tables or sleeping on beds consider that he had a part in the orchestra that made it all possible? Probably not. Did people read or hear the news of his death with sadness, knowing that he was such a kind soul? Possibly. I know that I did.

When I arrived home at the late hour of 11pm Friday night, I used Google to search for his obituary. I was able to find it. I learned his name was Daniel, and that he was only 57 years old. Even though I was at Laskey’s warehouse twice this week, I learned that I hadn’t been there in a few months. Daniel passed away on July 6^th. I know I wasn’t there since July without checking my logbooks because I would have questioned his absence, at least to myself. I don’t know why it bothers me that it took this long for me to find out of his untimely death, but it does.

So, Friday was a good day other than hearing such unfortunate news at the start of the day. As I drove home on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I thought about my departed friend as I watched the moon rise from above the northeast horizon. It was a magical thing to go along with my thoughts. As more proof that I am never in a rush, or concerned with arrival times (even on a Friday), I stopped and took a picture of the moon. (It is posted below. It will look better if you click on it.) It may not be the best picture because I did not have my tripod with me. To me it does not matter. The simple act of noticing the more wonderful things and people in life is what is most important.

As I neared my exit, and the moon became higher in the sky, I had one overlying thought of the ride back to our warehouse. Having the moon along for the journey made the path ahead a little brighter, and the task at hand a little easier to bear. It was not unlike my warehouse manager friend who has left our world too soon. May he rest in peace.

This picture is dedicated to the memory of Daniel Gerda  (5.26.1955-7.6.2012)