The Life of Me: An Autobiography

by Clarence Edgar Johnson

Joel was not alone in this business of turning trucks over. As I have just told you, Papa tried hard to turn one over into a creek, but failed. Then he got another chance some time later and made it okay. Dode and Albert also contributed their bit toward making it a family affair.

Albert was driving down a dirt road with a full load of freight. He didn't know that a rain cloud had crossed the road ahead of him, dumping its water on the road. No cars had driven over the wet road since the shower, so it didn't show to be anything but a nice dry road. But the road was slick and it came as a surprise, and Albert found his truck skidding out of control. It turned sideways and scooted until it had almost stopped, then it lay over on its side very gently, so as not to damage any of its cargo as it poured it out onto the road. The truck was not damaged either. There was only one little bit of damage. Included in his load was a small mirror which he placed on the seat beside himself for safety. It got broken.

A part of the road between Roby and Rotan was graveled, and along the graveled part were two rounding curves which were quite an improvement over the sharp turns so common in those days. You could sail right on around the curves without slowing down much, since we didn't get up an awful lot of speed any time, even on straight roads.

One day a fellow who was riding with Dode bet him he couldn't go around both curves and not get under 25 miles an hour. The bet was on—perhaps a dime or maybe a cold drink. He made it around the first curve okay, but the gravel was heavier on the second curve and the truck lost its footing, skidded, and turned over. It just lay over on its side and didn't hurt anything except maybe Dode's pride, and of course he lost his bet.

When Papa was just getting into the trucking business, he had two trucks, and one of them was a Maxwell. I think he bought out a truck line from somebody and inherited the old truck, or maybe the man gave it to him. I can't really believe Papa bought it. If he did, anything he gave for it was too much. It didn't have enough power to pull the hat off your head without getting a run on it. Anyway, one time Papa had it loaded with something and was hauling it to somewhere. Now, on this road to somewhere there was a hill he was supposed to go up. But the old Maxwell just couldn't make it up; it went as far as it could and stopped. That was when Papa learned that the brakes would hold better going forward than backward. Going backward the brakes were as weak as the motor. They simply wouldn't hold it. The brakes and the gears together wouldn't hold the Maxwell and the load. The truck, the load, and the driver all went slowly backward down the hill.

Now to keep from backing off a bluff on one side of the road, Papa steered the truck toward the mountain on the other side. When it backed up on the side of the mountain a way, it leaned so much it turned over and dumped the load right in the middle of the road.

As I said, the old Maxwell was not powerful. When you got it loaded, it would take a mile of straight level road for it to get up to 25 miles an hour. So when we got up a little speed we sure hated to have to slow down for anything.

So it was one day with Joel or Albert driving and I was co-pilot. I really believe it was Joel driving because there was a time when Albert was too little to drive, not for long, mind you, but for awhile.

Anyway we had just gotten up speed when, way down the road ahead of us, one farmer in a Ford car and another one in a wagon stopped in the road to talk with each other. They were stopped with their front ends—their vehicles that is—headed toward us and outward, one toward one ditch and the other one toward the other ditch. Their back wheels were about far enough apart for a truck to go between, or was there room? As we came nearer, it looked doubtful. But then, they could see us coming and they were still in their vehicles and ready to drive on. We thought surely one of them would drive forward a step or two and that would make plenty of room for us to go between them. There was certainly not room to go around them on either side.

With the two rigs aimed outward, they were like a big funnel, with us heading into the big end, and their two hind wheels forming the little end of the funnel. By this time it was plain to see that neither man had any intention of moving his rig. Also, by this time, other things became obvious. First, it was too late to stop; our brakes were not that good. Second, there was not room to go between them without hitting. Third, there was enough room to go between by hitting both vehicles just the right amount. So my driver said, "Hang on." Then he aimed at the center of the funnel and kept the gas feed down to the floorboard.