If you recall from Chapter 2, my stepmother passed away. I feel the need to clarify that further.
Mom Laura died by suicide on October 10, 1969. I was 12 years old at the time. My little sister was not quite two, and my baby brother was just six months old.
Looking back, I now believe she was dealing with severe mental health issues. As a kid, I didn’t understand it, but with the clarity of age, I’m almost certain she suffered from either deep depression or bipolar disorder. Whatever the case, her death sent our family into an emotional tailspin—one that, in some ways, we never fully recovered from.
Running From the Past
By spring of 1970, my dad began looking for property on the south side of Indianapolis. There were two reasons behind it.
The first was rooted in a major shift happening across the city. Indianapolis had started busing Black students from the central school district into outer township schools like ours—Wayne Township. My dad explored other districts and ultimately chose Perry Township, which had fewer Black students at the time and was known for its stronger teaching programs. Whether that choice was educational, racial, or both, I leave to interpretation—but that was his decision.
The second reason, in my honest opinion, was personal: to escape the memories of Mom Laura’s death. I’m not sure if that worked, but we survived.
A New Home and More Work
Dad found an estate sale and bought property on the south side. That’s where I finished my schooling. My oldest brother Frank asked to stay out on the west side so he could graduate from Ben Davis High School with all his friends. Dad granted his request. He lived with his best friends the Arnold family until he was out on his own. The 2 Arnold brothers were a lot closer to Frank than his own brothers. I’m not really sure why that happened, but it did.
I attended Meridian Middle School for 7th and 8th grade, then moved on to Southport High School for 9th. Finally, I became part of the second graduating class at the brand-new Perry Meridian High School, earning my diploma in 1976.
But moving to the south side didn’t make life any easier.
At that point, Dad decided his next venture was growing crops for profit—while still working full-time as an over-the-road trucker.
The Chores, the Caretaking, and the Chaos
From age 12 until I graduated high school, my list of “chores” included:
- Mowing and trimming the lawns of four rental homes on the west side, plus our own lawn on the south side
- Weeding a massive home garden
- Harvesting vegetables
- Cleaning gutters on all the properties
- Watching after my younger siblings when no one else could
To top it off, from the time my stepmother passed until I graduated, we had 42 different live-in housekeepers/babysitters. Some lasted days. Some stayed months. Most didn’t last long. Through it all, I often became the default caretaker—especially when no one else stepped up.
My First Jobs and a Pivotal Class
I never imagined that driver’s education—a simple high school elective—would become one of the most important classes of my life. But it did.
At 15, I got my first job at Champlin Gas Station, working part-time. After a year, I moved over to a Standard Oil station. I also worked weekends in the spring at Brehob Nursery during their busy season.
During my senior year, I started working for my older brother Frank in his masonry business. He taught me the trade, and by the time I left, I was a pretty decent brick and block layer.
Still, masonry wasn’t for me. It was seasonal. Here in Indiana, winter slows everything down. The money wasn’t steady enough.
The Turning Point: May 24, 1978
In the spring of 1978, my brother Fred was driving over the road for McCormick/All Portions Food Service. His traffic manager, a man named Danny Eldridge, told Fred they were looking for a local driver—someone to handle pickups and deliveries in a 24-foot straight truck.
Fred recommended me.
Mr. Eldridge called me in for an interview and told me to get my chauffeur’s license. It took about a week to make the switch from an operator’s license.
And just like that—on May 24, 1978—I started my career as a professional trucker.
Coming Up Next…
In Chapter 4, I’ll share what it was like starting out in trucking as a local driver—and how that job led me down a long, winding road I never expected to stay on.
The story is just beginning to roll.
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My Trucker Life 