Over the Road
I remember that drive through central California up to San Jose. My head rattling away against the bus’s window. I readjusted my arm, trying to get somewhat comfortable. The sights of California slowly slide past. I had been recognized by a few patrons on the bus from my radio show. They thanked me for showing them a slice of home. I still wonder where they might be today. I pulled out my notebook and began to scribble down some lines. There are a large number of shanty towns out in the valley, small wooden or sometimes cardboard huts, fire barrels, and extreme poverty. It’s enough to downturn even some of the hardest people. At some point the bus had to stop for gasoline, at which time I had to take the liberty of stretching my legs.
I stepped out of the bus into a run-down town in the middle of nowhere, nothing to struggling farm fields as far as the eye could see. Rows of disheveled huts lined the road, some had cars in front of them, a few had a bike or two sitting in front. Many had nothing. It reminds me now, thinking back, about my childhood in Oklahoma. I was in much the same position as these people, many of them even Okies like myself. We never had a dime to spare, especially after the Dust Bowl tore our farms apart. The highway was desolate in terms of traffic, a vehicle passing only rarely. You could feel in the air how isolated this little town was.
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