Date: Tue, 11 Feb 1997 23:51:00 -0500
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
Subject: The Winslow Experience

On last Wednesday I left Taos New Mexico.  I proceeded to go west on I-40
after easing through Sante Fe and then Albequerque.  My destination as I
mentioned in an earlier post was Winslow Arizona where I have some
relatives I have never met.

I arrived in Winslow on ^Thursday afternoon after staying the night at a
truckstop between Albequerque and the Arizona Stateline.  The land between
Albequerque and Winslow varies like some of my old girlfriends.  I dropped
out of the Rio Grande Gorge into the flat hot desert sands.

My arrival in Winslow was somewhat welcomed, but more like questioning.  My
last conversation with my kin had been pleasant and I expected to do a lot
more than I did.  The one person there that I knew was a cousin.  Jim
Griffin is a man that when I was a child he was a missionary in Mexico.  I
remember him as a man with a kind heart with much passion toward being of
service to the folks of the land to the south of us.  My reunion with him
told a much different story.

He is now 78 years old and has become quite fraggled with age.  he moves
very slowly and this man that once could shoot a match stem off a fence
post can now hardly see his hand in front of his face.  I must say that
this disturbed me greatly.  When I was a kid at least once a year he would
trek up from the depths of Mexico and cross the country to hazlehurst where
he would show all of us pictures of this land far away.  In Hazlehurst
everything seemed far away.

He is one of the people that I inherited my wanderlust from.  I thought he
was amystical man that traveled in his Dodge Van.  He played an accordian
and a guitar, and when he spoke of the poverty stricken conditions of of
the families he worked with he always shed tears with his descriptions.

This passion stuck with me in the years to come.  Hanging on me like a
piece of clothing.  I wanted to have that sort of call and purpose.  Plus I
wanted to see the enchanted lands he had seen.  Now I sat in a room
shouting to a mere skeleton of a man that once was.

The beginning of our visit was nice.  I spoke loudly to him so he could
hear me, and sat close so he could see me.  He asked about my Grandmother
and Mother.  Then I asked him about his family.  he explained that his son
had basically distanced himself from him and he hadn't seen him in years.
he explained that he had gotten old and was basically just hanging on to
life as if it were nothing more than a thread.

He all of a sudden rose up and excused himself to his room.  he said "I
have to be ready at 12:30 so I can go and eat lunch.  I thought this rather
odd becuase here he was in his house and why didn't he just eat lunch
there?

I later discovered that at thye beckoning request of his daughter he each
day goes to the Burger king to eat his breakfast and lunch.  Sometimes his
daughter even comes by and picks him up and takes him there.  I found out
later that sometimes is exactly what he meant.  She was supposed to be
there that day but for some reason she didn't show up.

I offered to take him over and he accepted.  I then found out just how this
man is treated.  The Burger King is roughly 1/8 mile away.  It crosses a
four lane highway and several open vacant lots where gang grafitti is
strewn along the walls of the buildings that border them.  The local kids
run these alleys and lots I later discovered, and an old man of his
feableness would be easy prey to knock down and drag away.

I sat and watched this once strong man eat his food, and on each bite he
would have to fight the urge to choke.  he chewed his food as methodically
as one would carry nitroglycerin.  He slowly devoured the tasty Burger King
morsels of chicken, having to concentrate serioulsy on each bite.  I
chomped on my Whopper with Cheese and wandered what it must be like to be
in such sad shape physically.  It made me want to cry, it made me want to
help, it made me angry!

He told me to go on back to the house becuase it took him about an hour to
eat.  I asked him how he would get home.  he told me the employees of the
Burger King would bring him back over when he was finished.  I explained
that I didn't mind waiting, but he insisted.  Apparently he pays them for
the lunch and the transportation in advance, so he expects them to carry
out there part of the bargin.  I understood and left, but not before
telling one of the young male employees about what he was when he was
younger.  I felt for some reaosn that I needed to explain why they should
respect this old feable man.

On the way out of the parking lot I felt myself well up inot tears.  I
could not belive a man that once did so much for mankind was now being
devoured by life's living.  I had a good cry.

I drove up to the house and soon after a nice new dodge pickup rolled in.
Out stepped a woman of roughly 40 years of age.  I announced who I was and
she introduced herslef as Annette, Jim;s youngest daughter.  I explained to
her what her father meant to me as a child, and she in return told me just
how little regard the has for her father.  She embellished openly that when
she was a child she hardly ever saw him and becuase of the fact he placed
the poverty stricken of Mexico over his children, she had no respect for
him.

I sat and listened, trying to somehow understand her justifacation for not
holding him in the same esteeem I did.  it seems that Jim pretty much
isolated himself in his missionary wortk and left his now deceased wife to
raise the offspring.  I had always heard, even as a child that he and his
wife were not exactly partners, but that was not acceptable conversation in
the southern politness of Hazlehurst.  My Grandfather and Grandmother
always spoke highly of him and his wife, and ne'r a bad word was uttered.

I spoke with Annette a while and then went to my bus for a nap.  At least
that is what I told her.  I really went out to think about where I was and
how I was going to deal with my new surroundings and stimuli of emotions.
This was an unnerving task of great difficulty.  I would see how the rest
of the visit would go.

Later that evening, around four, another Jim stepped into the picture.  He
was Annettes husband, a railroad supervisor on the sante fe line.  i must
say I found him to be very much a good guy, only to become somewhat
disillusioned shen I heard about his quick temper and leaning's toward
unbridled anger.

I sat all evening and talked with Jim #2.  My respect and like for him
escalated when I found out that he had served in Vietnam and had actually
been wounded while serving.  Jim #2 is one of those guys that lives like
one would think a railroad man would live like.  I have known many like his
type in my life.  I certainly do not intend to put him inot a category, but
their is a certain amount of machismo that goes along with certain
occupations such as the railroad,  truckdriver, or construction worker.

I have always looked as if that is the type job I do, and being from south
Georgia I can carry on a conversation with any of those type America, they
are part of who we are as a nation.  I imagine either Lewis or Clark were
sort of like that, or maybe both.  Finally I retired the side and went to
my bed.  I camped that might in their front yard.  it was chilly inside the
van and for some reason inside of me.

On Friday Morning I was once agian deluged with the feeling I needed to
head on out.  I went in the house, had a cup of coffee and announced that I
would be leaving later that afternoon.   of course everyone started asking
why, and though their bids for me to stay were nice, I knew it was time to
go and write about this.  I couldn't do it there and do it in good taste.

These folks are not bad people, they have just not found a way to find
enough love in their lives to overcome all the bad that has happened to
them.  I hope one day they will, I would love to know them better.  if this
is ever published I am sure that will be out of the question.  Late that
day I said my goodbyes to Jim #1, Jim#2 and Annette and then to Daqle his
nicest, brightest and oldest daughter.  I was on my way and once agin happy
to be hwere all I have to worry about is driving and the operation of my
bus.  I left with a prayer.

That evening I drove along interstate 40 and eventually got off on old
Route 66.  An American highway with much history and character.  I drove
along thinking about the episodes of the TV series I could remember.

At about dark I turned off on Highway 64 just west of Flagstaff.  this is
the road that leads to the southrim of the Grand Canyon.  I drove about ten
miles and came upon Redlake Trading Post and Hostel.  Here I got to talking
with the owner of this establishment.  Joe Petrillo is a great man and I
will tell you about him in my next post.  Life is good in Arizona.

Thanks for tolerating my rambling's.

Charlie Ford







"79" Transporter, dressed for the road
The Mothership

 The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and
Search for the Beginning of Wind".

www.armory.com/~y21cvb/charlie/charlie.html

"Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set"