It’s my turn to laugh. “You sound like a travel ad.”
“I was stationed at Camp Lejeune.”
“Nice,” I tell him. “I was at Jacksonville.”
Jerry laughs again. “Small world. I live just outside of Jacksonville.”
We talk about our experiences in the service, each surprised as to how much some things have changed and many have not. I ask him why he left, and he tells me his cousin got him into the trucking business. He asks me the same. I tell him I want to explore more of my country and less of the world.
“You going back home?”
“Oh, yeah. Soon as I get this wild hair plucked. Get some money in my pocket, get a car, and get back.”
He laughs. “You’ll get that hair plucked pretty quick in Oakboro. Don’t seem like much is happening there.”
We make three stops: one is to relieve ourselves, another is a delivery, and the last is for some of the finest Cajun cooking Louisiana has to offer.
We roll into Oakboro, Texas, by four that afternoon. Jerry pulls the rig over in front of the Oakboro Chamber of Commerce. “They’ll be able to help you with room and board. They might even know of some job openings.”
“Thanks, Mr. Albertson.”
“It was nice to make your acquaintance, Mitchell Deal.” He shakes my hand and hands me a card. “If you’re ever back down Jacksonville way, look me up. I’ll put you to work driving one of these babies.”
“Will do.” I smile at him.
I slide my arms through on my backpack and climb out. He gives two long pulls on the air horn and pulls away.
* * * * *
Inside the Chamber, a cute girl sits at a desk with a nameplate that reads “Gwynn.” I tell her my name, why I’m here, and what my situation is.
She gives me a big smile. “Have a seat, Mr. Deal. I may be able to help you.”
I take the one across from her, set the pack down beside me, and hand her my military ID. She pulls some papers from one drawer and takes a clipboard from another one.
“You may be in luck, Mitch…do they call you Mitch?”
I give her a smile. “You can.”
She smiles back. “Okay, Mitch. We have a nice boardinghouse just four blocks from here. Ask for Missus Jacobs.” She takes one of the papers and starts writing across its top. “And I hear Super Sale is hiring. They are always needing help.”
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
“Go down there, and speak to the manager. I know him personally. Tell him Gwendolyn Jones sent you. His name is Ed Snow. Super Sale is one block over and one block down from Missus Jacobs’s place. Everything is within walking distance.”
She’s done writing and slides the paper over to me with my ID. It’s a map of the town with the Chamber, the boardinghouse, and Super Sale highlighted. At the top, printed neatly is:
Missus Jacobs-Boarding
Super Sale-Ed Snow
Gwynn Jones 555-6656
I thank her for her time, and she hands me a card. “Let me know how things work out.”
I look at it. “This number isn’t the same as the one on the paper.”
“The one on the map is my personal number.” She grins.
* * * * *
I start down the four blocks toward Missus Jacobs’s place, observing while I’m walking. I don’t know how Oakboro got its name, but it wasn’t from the tree. There are none. No oaks, no acorns, no squirrels to collect them. This town was built in the parched prairie land of Texas. All I’ve seen so far are cactus plants, tumbleweed, and a few lizards scampering about.
I see a large, gray, two-story on down at the next corner. It has to be the one Gwynn was describing. When I get there, I see that it is and turn and go up the walkway. It’s a corner house on Main and Elm Streets.
What is it with all these tree names? Are they wishing for things that could have been had they built elsewhere? Personally, I like their situation better. Raking leaves each fall isn’t one of my favorite pastimes.
* * * * *
Missus Jacobs is a sweet, little old lady with a very large house. It is a stately version of a southern manor on the outside, but the inside has been remodeled, and everything is modernized.
And her rates, I feel, are very reasonable. “It’s twenty dollars a night or 140 a week, Mr. Deal, whichever is more convenient for you.”
“Weekly is better for me, Missus Jacobs.” I count out seven twenties and hand them to her.
“I serve breakfast at eight so people on the night shift won’t miss it, and dinner is served every evening at six.” She smiles at me. “Lunch is on you because people are in and out at that time.”
“That sounds good to me. I’ve been missing some home-cooked meals.” I smile back.
“Do you mind an upstairs room? I try to save the lower rooms for my older guests.”
“Upstairs is fine, Missus Jacobs.”
She pulls a key from a hook. “Your room is the second one on the left at the top of the staircase. There’s a TV, radio, phone, and shower in it.”
I take the key. “A shower sounds good right about now.”
In a little while, I’m back down and find Missus Jacobs in the parlor watching the local news.
“My, you clean up nice,” the old woman tells me.
“Thanks. I’m going to Super Sale to see about a job.”
“Well, you ought to get one there,” she says. “They’re always hiring.”
“That’s what Gwynn at the chamber said. She says it’s close.”
“It is. Go to the end of the block here on Elm. Go left and down a block. Super Sale will be on the right.”
I thank her, she wishes me good luck, and I’m out the door.
* * * * *
I don’t know if it’s because he knows Gwendolyn Jones or because he likes what he sees on my application or none of the above, but Ed Snow hires me on the spot. He says he needs stockers. I say stocking’s fine. What shift do I prefer? I tell him I like nights. Can I start tomorrow? Tomorrow’s fine.
“Good. Report to Frances Gould tomorrow night at eleven. She’s the night supervisor.”
“I’ll
