Before I get into the appeal process and the deeper truth I uncovered about the incident that led to my termination at Conway, I want to make clear just how different their policy was compared to Overnite—especially when it came to supporting drivers through accident.
At Overnite, the rule was simple: three minor accidents in a 12-month period or one catastrophic event, and you were gone. However, they also considered your job performance and safety record. If you had two incidents close together, they would typically remove you from the truck and assign you to the dock until one of the incidents dropped off your record. The bottom line? Overnite fought for their drivers.
Here’s a perfect example I haven’t shared until now: Years ago, I was accused by the U.S. Army of sideswiping one of their military vehicles. They provided the exact date, time, and location and even cited the unit numbers from the equipment I had that day. But Overnite didn’t just accept the accusation at face value. They asked me about it—I denied any involvement—and then they dug in.
Thanks to Overnite’s tattletale clocks with those paper disks (the ones that recorded every stop, start, and speed), they verified my movement. I was in motion during that time but made no stops near the location in question. Still, the Army pushed back. So, Tom Williams, one of our supervisors, went to the Stout Field National Guard base to inspect the damaged vehicle. It was scratched along the side and had blue paint on it. He returned, examined the trailer and tractor I used that day, and found no trace of paint transfer. That was the end of it—the accusation was dropped.
That’s what I mean when I say Overnite stood up for their drivers.
Now contrast that with Conway. Conway’s policy was simple: the more it cost, the more points against you—no context, no debate. The chiller I bumped was over 30 years old, outdated, and completely unprotected. Yet, the customer claimed $40,000 in damages. Conway didn’t push back, didn’t question the age or condition of the unit, and didn’t even request scrap credit, which could have at least lowered the claim and possibly saved my job.
When I filed my appeal, I did my own research. I found out that the chiller I bumped couldn’t be repaired—not because of the damage I caused, but because it was obsolete. No replacement parts were available. It had also been sitting unprotected, directly in a travel lane. No bollards, no railing, not even warning signs. After replacing it, the customer installed a concrete pad, bolted it down, and surrounded it with guardrails—proving it should have been protected from the start.
None of that mattered. I lost the final appeal.
And I walked away with two painful but important lessons. First, if I’d had Teamsters union backing, I believe I would have kept my job. Second, and perhaps even more important, I learned never to blindly trust any company again—not after that experience.
That’s when I decided to take my future into my own hands. I bought my own truck and started working for myself. It was another bitter chapter in a career that had already seen its share of hard knocks. But this one left a mark—not because of the job I lost, but because of what it revealed about the people who signed my paychecks.
And I vowed from that moment on: never again.
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My Trucker Life 