Recently, while attending a small meeting of like-minded truck enthusiasts, I shared a couple of my previous poems with the group. They seemed to enjoy the brief entertainment value of me stumbling over my own words in an effort to recite my poems. After a few minutes, a gentleman by the name of Dick Phillips approached me and shared a bit of his own history with me. He let me know how he was a mechanic for so many years and asked if I would write a poem for the mechanics. After all, we couldn’t continue to be the backbone of America if it weren’t for the expert care of a good mechanic. Some of us drivers are blessed with enough mechanical knowledge to get ourselves out of trouble, and some are just knowledgeable enough to dig ourselves deeper into trouble. And let’s be honest, there are plenty of drivers out there who couldn’t change a headlight if their life depended on it. So, thank God for the grease-monkeys – the guys and gals who come to the rescue when things go pssssss… grrrrrr… hummmmmm… rattle… whizbang… and then go dead! The folks who step up to the plate with a toolbox (or a laptop) to be our hired hitmen to make a Check Engine light disappear without a trace. This one is for the rig doctors. Thank you for the jobs you do. The picture I’ve included is of Dick’s 1964 cabover Freightliner wrecker that he bought from my friend, Doug Buchheit. Some of you may remember seeing it at the last truck show in Brooks, OR in 2019. Dick has recently removed the wrecker unit off the back and replaced it with a flat drom deck and an RV 5th wheel. It looks like he’s ready to put the tools away and ride off into the wild blue yonder with a bit of vintage class.
THE RIG DOCTOR
By Trevor Hardwick
When I hear something knockin’…
When I smell something new.
When I see something leakin’…
I know what I should do.
When somethings really rockin’…
When I need drums and shoes.
When I hear mystery squeakin’…
I’m back to callin’ you!
You’re my problem solver…
You tend to pull me through.
You keep my wheels turnin’…
And I’m thankful for you, too.
Some call you a grease-monkey…
Or maybe monkey-wrench.
I just know I call you…
When my rig is in a pinch.
You fix my knocks and squeakin’…
You check my engine light.
You bill me like a doctor…
But I guess the price is right.
You work for big-name places…
You work beside the road.
Your shade-tree backyard fixes…
Help me drag another load.
Some drivers turn their wrenches…}
Some simply hold the wheel.
Some couldn’t tell the difference…
In a combo-wrench or combo meal.
I guess that I’m just sayin’…
That I’m thankful you’re around.
The finest busted knuckles…
This ol’ boy has ever found.
