It’s funny how our lives can be changed and molded by a simple experience, or an encounter with another person. Back in 1999, I was 22 years old and running a pretty regular route from Everett, WA to Phoenix, AZ hauling various building materials in a 48’ curtain van, pulled by a ‘92 Freightliner FLD that was an ex-Marten fleet truck. One of my common stopping points was at the old Rip Griffin’s truck stop at exit 103, just west of Phoenix (I believe it is a TA now). Anyway, on one particular evening, I rolled into the parking lot and saw the beautiful white and green Kenworth T-600 which belonged to David Sweetman – and man, this thing was spotless, and very recognizable, in the Horseless Carriage paint scheme. It was often seen in various magazine pictures and on trading cards. I was also familiar with Dave’s stories and contributions to various other trucking publications. His stories are riveting, and often laced with humor, drama, wisdom, and even danger. Such is the life of an American truck driver. I saw Dave sitting in the restaurant, and I wanted to introduce myself, but I didn’t want to disturb him, so I waited outside and ambushed him, like a crazed fan or paparazzi. Okay, I wasn’t exactly a crazed lunatic, but you get the picture. He was very gracious and polite. Dressed like a true, old-school professional, he seemed delighted to spend the next couple of hours chatting with me and sharing stories. I shared a few of my earlier poems I had written as a teen, and he listened with amusement. He complimented me on the cleanliness of my piece of crud Freightliner and encouraged me in my writing and work ethic. We shared some stories, some jokes, and a few name drops of people we knew. One of the common names we each knew was Darian Stephens, who was arguably the king of the truck shows throughout the late 90s and on into the next century. I had met Darian and shared a poem with him back in 1997 while I was still on the road with my dad. So, to make a long story short, I heard that Dave had talked to Darian sometime after we met and he had mentioned our visit and my poems (Darian had remembered our encounter from a few years prior, as well). So, Darian spoke to Kim Grimm and Bette Garber about this young poet and suggested they contact me to print some of my poems and artwork. Shortly thereafter I got a phone call from Bette Garber, in the summer of 2008, and I was delighted to speak to her! Ultimately, she suggested that her friend Kim would be happy to use my poems in her column in 10-4 Magazine. You can imagine my delight to be considered by the very people I have admired and thought of as celebrities for years! Not long after that, Kim featured a story about my poems and artwork in the August 2008 edition of 10-4, which eventually led to the opportunity of a lifetime – to write monthly poems for the magazine! Mr. Sweetman, it was the inspiration I derived from your writings, and the encouragement you offered me sixteen years ago, that is partly to credit (or to blame) for the opportunity I have been granted to share my poems with so many. Thank you, Dave Sweetman. And for those of you whom I’ve met out on the road or at the truck shows, I hope I can inspire and encourage you in the same way as I have been inspired and encouraged by that one brief encounter, sixteen years ago.
DEAR DAVE…
By Trevor Hardwick
Dear Dave Sweetman,
You may not remember me.
We met just west of Phoenix,
Out at Exit 103.
I pulled into Rip Griffin’s,
Just to let the sun go down.
I spotted your green Kenworth,
As I idled round and round.
I parked my little FLD,
A couple spots away.
That was sixteen years ago,
But it feels like yesterday.
I walked into the restaurant,
And I sat across the aisle.
I ordered chicken strips and fries,
But pork chops were your style.
You were on the table phone,
Remember those old things?
I recognized you from the pics,
I had seen in magazines.
I didn’t want to interrupt,
So I just finished what I ate.
I figured I’d just walk outside,
And pace around, and wait.
I waited for a little while,
And then I waited a bit more.
I waited ‘til you finished up,
And walked outside the door.
I introduced my nervous self,
And you were gracious as could be.
You didn’t have to be so kind,
To give your time to me.
I’d been a fan of what you write,
In other magazines.
I’ve read your stories frequently,
Since I was in my teens.
We shared a few good trucker-tales,
As the sun gave way to stars.
You even let me take a peek,
At some fine, exotic cars.
We shared a couple photos,
And you listened to my poems.
And then we shared some stories,
‘Bout our families back at home.
Dave, I guess I’d like to say,
I’m just another fan.
Inspired by your stories,
Since I was a younger man.
I thank you for the time we met,
And the stories that you write.
I thank you for the encouragement,
You gave to me that night.
You’re still out there hauling cars,
In polished white and green.
And I’ve been writing poems,
In my favorite magazine!
I’m starting to be recognized,
Some people know my name.
If you stop and think about it, Dave,
You’re partly who’s to blame!
