Bar B Que Bill
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Twenty two year old Bill Williams dropped off the steps of the Semi Tractor with a grunt. The packed Sea Bag he held in his hands was heavy. When he lifted and carried it his muscles bunched and stretched his faded and ratty looking T-Shirt. The weight made him hit the ground harder than he anticipated. He felt the jolt in his feet and knee joints. Before he closed the door Bill turned back and looked up into the truck cab. He smiled up at the driver then said, ‘Thanks again for the lift. You really didn’t have to drive me out here from the interstate but I am glad you did. I sure wasn’t looking forward to walking all the way back here especially carrying this damn heavy bag.
‘If you’re ever in the area again and need something look me up. Hell look me up anyway. I’d like to see ya again. I’ve enjoyed riding with you this morning. I plan to be here at the junction for quite a while and I owe you.’ Bill could barely see the head of the driver from where he was standing. He still couldn’t believe someone as beautiful and small as Suzie was a truck driver. She couldn’t be over five feet two or three inches tall. Dripping wet he bet she didn’t weigh a hundred pounds. He also couldn’t believe she would pick him up and offer him a ride like she had. Most people who saw him eyed him warily and moved carefully away.
Bill looked rough. Hell, he looked downright scary. He had spent the last four years in the Navy. When he got out instead of spending money flying home or buying a car like many did he decided to hitch hike his way across the country to his hometown. Bill saved a lot of his pay while he was in the service so he could have afforded either option. In his mind there just was no reason to hurry home and he was too cheap to purchase a ticket so he hitch hiked. Besides, everything he owned on the ship would fit nicely into his sea bag. The bag had straps to carry over his shoulders so what was the big deal? He was tough, in good shape and had nothing pressing, no big plans for the future so why not hitch and enjoy the country on his way home.
Bill was six feet one inch tall with a chest that made the ladies swoon. His biceps were as large as some men’s thighs. He spent many hours working out while he was on the ship and was in top condition. His size and musculature along with his rough unkempt appearance intimidated almost everyone he came into contact with. He kept his head shaved. A razor had not touched his face since his discharge. His almost black beard was unkempt and gave him an even rougher appearance than did his overall body conformation and his dress. Over the course of his month long walk across the country Bill’s clothes were worn almost to rags. The outfit he was wearing was filthy from stains and ground in dirt. Oh, he washed his clothes a time or two but hitching as he was left little chance of staying pristine clean. Many nights he slept on the ground or in roadside rest areas.
Bill closed the door on the big rig and stepped back. He raised his hand in a final wave and watched Suzie wave back. He saw her lean forward somewhat and her torso moved. With a lurch and a roar the big rig began moving, heading down the road toward her next delivery in San Diego. Gravel crunched under the wheels as the rig moved through the weed strewn parking area of the Junction Garage.
Bill watched until Suzie was lined out on the highway once again and picking up speed. She would rejoin the traffic on the interstate about five miles down the narrow two lane state highway. Finally Bill turned to survey his surroundings. He was standing in front of a large 3 bay plus office and storeroom garage. To the left under several old oak, pecan and walnut trees was a two story house. His grandfather built the house in 1926 when the original house burned. The large old house was the only home Bill knew from birth until he went into the Navy after graduating high school. He loved the large tree shaded yard surrounded by a now unkempt hedge of various flowering shrubs such as lilac, forsythia, mock orange and crepe myrtle. His grandfather, then later his father owned and operated the garage beside the house.
Bill’s father had died almost two years before. Bill was the only surviving family member. His mother had been dead almost seven years. His older sister died of alcohol poisoning in her freshman year at college six years ago. The death of his mother and sister so close together was more than Bill’s father could take. Like many of the older mechanics Paul Williams had liked his beer and cigarettes. When his family was torn asunder by the deaths of the female members he retreated deeper into the bottle. By the time Bill graduated high school Paul was a certified alcoholic just as his father (Bill’s grandfather) before him.
Slowly Paul’s health deteriorated as did his business. He never seemed to complete a repair when promised. Many times he failed to repair the vehicle left for him and the owner came to take it to a different garage. Like many old school mechanics the modern vehicles were beyond his ability to repair. He could not afford the test equipment to diagnose the problems and didn’t have the ongoing training to be able to repair them. By the time he died Bill’s father was only working on older vehicles and simpler farm machinery. He did a bit of welding and odd jobs. It was a mercy when he died in his sleep at age 63. The sad part was he wasn’t found for three or four days after he died.
Bill returned home for the funeral. After the services he locked up the garage, cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer then closed up the old house. He fully expected it to be totally trashed when he returned. A time or two one of his few friends would write that they replaced a window for him because kids had once again broken into one of the buildings. Of course Bill sent the money to pay for the repairs.
No other work was done on the place since well before his father died. No one mowed the yards or picked up debris or fallen tree limbs. The day he returned home for the funeral Bill was shocked and saddened at the disrepair evident in his old home. By then the yard was grown up and weeds were sprouting all around the garage. He knew this was the third summer at least since any yard work was done and it was evident. His mother’s carefully tended flower beds and vegetable garden were full of weeds and small trees sprouting in the fallow soil.
Bill picked up his sea bag and slowly walked toward the old house. Every step stirred dust in the hot August day. Earlier when the truck turned off the interstate to bring him home the radio announcer reported it was 103 degrees Fahrenheit. It was a typical August. No rain in sight and so dry the trees were dropping some of their leaves. The grass and weeds in poorer, thinner soil were turning brown. Bill’s shirt was already wet with his sweat. Drops of sweat were running down his face.
Bill slowly walked up the two steps onto the old wooden porch that completely wrapped around the house. He fumbled at his neck and pulled his dog tag chain out of his shirt. He bent forward and inserted the key on the chain into the front door. After he unlocked the door he threw it wide open and stepped into the living room of the house. It smelled musty and stale. There was dust over everything. Bill did not cover any of the furniture when he left last time. There was trash and beer cans on the floor from the parties kids had while he was gone but there was surprisingly little damage. Some of the damage he saw Bill remembered was already there when he came home for the funeral.
Bill’s eyes were drawn to the empty space in which his mother’s old couch had once sat. His father was sleeping on it when he died and his decaying body ruined it before he was found. They had to burn it after his body was taken away. Bill set his sea bag down on the floor then wandered through the old house. As he went from room to room he flipped the light switches. He was pleased to find the lights worked. They should ha
ve because he called the electric coop almost a week ago to request service but he was still pleased. There was no guarantee they had been out yet or, if they had, that the circuit box’s main breaker would have been on.
When Bill arrived at his old bedroom upstairs he stood in the door and looked around. He felt nostalgic and a little sad. He was home and there as no one left to share his arrival with other than his few remaining friends. They now had lives and families of their own so would have little time for Bill. Their experiences necessarily caused them to grow in different directions than Bill. He knew he grew away from his friends over the last four years because of his experiences also. Many of his old friends left for college after high school then took jobs elsewhere or went into the service as he had. The few who remained in town were friendly enough when he was back for his father’s funeral but they were not as close as they once were. After all, he had been gone for years and their lives diverged.
Bill glanced into his sister’s room and felt himself tensing up. It was just as she had left it the last time she was home with the exception of a box on the bed and another on her desk beside her suitcase. Bill walked to the bed and opened the box. It contained some of her clothes and personal possessions from college. He glanced at the closed suitcase on her desk and a second box beside it. Bill remembered the day he and his father returned home from picking them up. It was all the old man could do to carry her belongings into the room and drop them where they still rested. Bill and his father left and closed the door. As far as Bill knew neither of them ever opened the door again until now. The dust and dirt on the furniture and floor didn’t indicate anyone’s entry for quite some time anyway. He was slightly surprised since local kids appeared to have been in the house several times.
Bill turned and walked back downstairs. He walked into the Master Suite and looked around. He would sleep there from now on. He would live downstairs entirely. There was a large country kitchen, dining room, a large living room the master bedroom and two bathrooms downstairs as well as a large laundry room that doubled as pantry and utility room.
Bill walked out of the house through the kitchen. The back yard was in worse shape than was the front. One of the trees had lost several limbs at some time and they were littering the yard under it. Bill walked to the old well house and opened the door. He flicked on the light and turned to the breaker box that controlled the pump. He turned the power on and stepped back. To his delight and surprise the pump came on. He listened to the water pouring into the pressure tank from the nearly 300 foot deep well.
Bill stepped out of the well house and looked at the water faucet on the side of the house. It was spitting rusty looking water. He walked back into the house and checked all the faucets. They were spitting rusty water also. Bill moved to the kitchen faucet and removed the aerator from the spout. It was already filled with rust. He did the same in the three bathrooms. After the water was running clean and clear Bill closed the faucets and let the pressure build in the tank until the pump shut off. He moved to the breaker box and turned on the water heater. Next he checked the toilets. While he was doing that he turned the water supply off to the sink and toilet upstairs. The toilet in the master bath was leaking water from the tank to the bowl. It looked as if it needed a new flapper. Not surprising considering how long it had sat unused.
Bill’s home was only a little over a mile from town but in this heat he sure dreaded having to walk into town for something to eat. He needed wheels badly but had none. His father had wrecked his old Ford Ranger pickup a few weeks before he died. Bill could see it sitting in the weeds behind the garage. Well, there was nothing for it but to take off. Bill closed the refrigerator and made sure it was operating then walked outside and locked the door into the house.
Before he started his walk to town Bill decided to look over the garage. He first walked around the outside of the building. It was as he remembered. There were several wrecked and junked vehicles behind the garage. There were also several piles of junk metal and pieces of farm machinery that had been deemed unrepairable. Bill unlocked the garage door and entered the building. This was the first time he looked in the garage since he left for the navy. There were two broken windows but as far as he could see nothing was missing. It looked as it did the last time his father worked inside. There was wire mesh covering the windows so no one could break into the building and steal the tools and few remaining parts in the store room. To his surprise all the tools were properly stored in their racks. He would not have been surprised to find them strewn around considering his father’s depression and alcoholism near the end of his life.
Bill turned and started from the building. He stopped when he saw his old bicycle. The tires were showing cracks from age but seemed ok. He shrugged his shoulders and thought ‘why not’. Bill turned on the air compressor and moved the bike near it. Surprisingly there was still some air in the tires. Bill carefully aired them up and walked the bike from the old building. He locked the door and mounted the bike.
Bill carefully rode onto the asphalt road and headed to town. He rode slowly, being careful not to hit bumps or rocks because of the old tires on the bike and for safety reasons. It only took about ten minutes to get to the grocery store near the edge of town. Bill parked his bike and went inside. He knew even with the basket on the bike and the small saddle bags that he could not purchase a lot of food. He got a gallon of milk, six pack of Newcastle Ale, eggs and breakfast meat. He also purchased some hamburger, buns and fixins along with chips, potatoes, salad fixins and some Bush’s Grillin’ Beans. When he finished he had seven of the little plastic grocery bags full of food.
Bill looked hilarious after he festooned his bike with the bags of food. He and his bike looked as if they were escaping from an old Abbott and Costello movie. He put the milk and beer in the basket and the eggs and some small items in the saddle bags. He put two plastic sacks on each side of the handlebars. Every time his leg made the down stroke when he pedaled his knee would hit the sacks of groceries. He was an accident waiting to happen as he pedaled home.
It took nearly twenty minutes to get home with his purchases. Bill knew he would have to do something else about transportation when he made purchases from now on. That evening after his supper Bill sat on his front porch watching or more accurately listening to the small amount of traffic on the roads. While he watched traffic and the sunset Bill made plans for the future. He had no idea what he was going to do to support himself but he knew it was going to be something local so he could live in his hereditary home. He decided the first thing he would do was clean up the place. He badly wanted it to look like it did in his memory of better times when his mother and sister were alive and the yard was pretty.
Just at dark Bill stood and walked into his house. He took a quick shower and crawled into the bed. He wasn’t even sure if the sheets were clean or not. They didn’t look or smell too clean and knowing his father near the end they probably weren’t. He sighed. That meant another bike ride into town for laundry supplies tomorrow. He hoped the old washing machine would still work.
Bill spent the remainder of his first week home cleaning the rooms he was going to live in and beginning his work on the yard. He worked outside during the relatively cooler morning and evening. He worked inside in the air conditioned house during the heat of the day. It saddened Bill to see all the deterioration to the house. There were many things that
badly needed repair but he did not have the money to take care of any but the most important items. He left the service with slightly less than $35,000 saved from his salary plus what he inherited when his father died. He had no job and no prospect of one in the immediate future. In fact he had not even begun looking seriously for work of any kind.
Of course one of the first things Bill did when he got home was file for unemployment. All returning servicemen and women could qualify. He made only the minimum attempts to obtain work because of that. The rest of the time he worked on his home and decompressed.
Transportation became more and more an issue. Many things Bill needed to purchase for the house were difficult if not impossible to haul on his bike. One morning instead of clearing brush and weeds as he normally did Bill went to look at his father’s old truck. The truck had severe front end damage. His father had driven it off a ‘T’ intersection and drove the radiator into the engine. It appeared as if the front of the frame was slightly bent also. Both front tires were blown, one had the end of the bumper driven through it. Bill opened the hood and looked at the engine. He knew it was once in great shape. Bill and his father overhauled it just before Bill went into the Navy. It looked as if it was still ok.
Bill spent the cool part of two days working on the truck outside in the weeds. He removed the fenders, hood, cab and bed stripping it down to the frame. After that was done he got an air jack to lift the front of the truck and pulled it into the shop. That was a battle in itself because the small wheels on the jack rolled poorly in the gravel of the parking lot.
The next task was removing the engine from the frame. Then out came the cutting torch and the frame was shortened, notches were cut in it and the frame rails were bent together in the front. Next the frame was boxed in to strengthen it. Bill became immersed in his project. August flowed into September. The weather was still hot and humid but Bill ignored it. He was spending money but it was mostly his unemployment. His savings were only about $1000 less than when he got home.
On Columbus Day weekend Bill opened the garage door and drove outside in his new ride. He had converted his father’s old Ranger pickup into a large trike. He shortened the bed, cut the cab down to almost nothing and took the doors off. Instead of the old bucket seats Bill installed a smaller bench seat to the rear with one of the buckets in front for him to drive from. He utilized a motor cycle style handlebar to steer as was traditional. He left a windshield and solid roof on the trike. It had removable hard sides that stored in an enclosed storage compartment on the roof of his creation. It even had heating and air. Bill left the 2′ receiver hitch on the rear so he could pull a trailer to haul light but larger loads. Bill even changed out the rear end to improve the fuel economy. The change in gear ratio resulted in an estimated 30 MPG now which was pretty good for a trike or a truck.
Bill caught several people’s eye when he drove his candy apple red creation through town. Now he had to jump through the hoops at the license bureau to get it licensed. At least he had wheels once again and they had cost him almost nothing except labor. Some of the body work wasn’t real pretty since he did the work himself but the price was right. The trike was built mostly from parts found in the scrap yard behind the garage.
Bill decided he would try to reopen his family business for his living expenses. He could weld and do mechanic work on older vehicles and machinery. He got a license to do state vehicle inspections. His homemade trike helped him get some business. Some days he had no work, others he worked a full day. He was getting by.
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