Driver Appreciation Means Something To Me

Twenty-nine years ago, my brother pulled in the yard with his first truck. It was a red 1984 Kenworth cabover with a 425 CAT / 13 speed. I was too young to drive and still in high school, but I sure thought it was cool seeing that rig sitting on our yard. At 18 years old, he made a living for his family pulling loads. I guess my initial idea of a driver was a good as it had a cool appearance and gave my brother a way to support his family at such a young age. He worked hard and soon had a second truck, and his own ICC rights. The truck was a 1990 Volvo, White. I couldn’t wait to ride shotgun in this awesome semi. It wasn’t long, and I stepped into what he called his office, which was the cab of his truck. I was a rider destined for Jessup, Maryland to lump freight. I now witnessed what it really meant when he pulled off the yard to go on a run. It was hours of steady windshield time, listening to some great classic rock and watching him pay careful attention to what he called the four wheelers below us. I also quickly learned that he didn’t really play bingo at destination just because he had what he called a bingo card. Instead, he unloaded with me.

As the years passed, I became more eager to hit the highway and see the world from 8 feet above the four wheelers horizon. So, after college and a few attempts at other traveling jobs like working on a food delivery route dollying freight, I went to CDL school. Landing myself a job as an Allied Van Lines Foremen, I once again learned a valuable lesson about what it meant to be a driver. This time, it was an experience in work ethic, customer service and a new-found discipline in staying away from home for long periods of time. I will never forget the three years of being a household mover and will always appreciate it. I never again feared hand printing some freight as anything shy of a 30-thousand-pound household seemed insignificant.

In the next phase of my career, I found myself working at a regional LTL carrier out of Salisbury, NC. Long P&D runs, older equipment and maxing the clock every week. This time I learned the lesson of sacrifice. Raising a family of my own at that point, I never questioned waking up early every day and pre-tripping my truck in the dark. Running hard all day and into the night, getting back home and already finding my son asleep in his crib. None of us in the breakroom ever complained about it, but we would definitely ask the important questions like, how’s that little one or ya’all got anything special planned for the holiday? It was our way of sharing what really mattered to us all.

Then, in my early thirties and now a dispatch manager, I never imagined I would learn this next lesson about the real fiber of the driver. At thirty-two years old, I was diagnosed with cancer. I had finally made it to a self-respected transportation professional and was at the pinnacle of my career. Having a tough time preparing for surgeries and chemotherapy, things seemed bleak. Needing to downgrade my home and move into a smaller place, I couldn’t even lift a box to begin. Then one day after surgery, I heard the sound of a Diesel engine roar through the woods that bordered my house and the main road. As that rig broke the tree line its air horn sounded. Tailed by a straight truck and a row of cars, my fellow drivers had come to move me. It only took a few hours with the support of dozens of other drivers and I was moved into my new home. The true color of these rough and tough old drivers really shined through. Every one of the drivers out of the Piedmont terminal, the dispatch and the owners donated an hour each of their paychecks every week, so we would have a paycheck and insurance while I endured the next several months of Chemo.

Yes, that’s right! These big rigs that crowd the highway, drink all the diesel fuel and keep your spouses away from home, are driven by the same people that will offer a hand when they are not asked; they will show compassion to their neighbor and will give a valuable piece of their livelihood to help one another.

See, the drivers are the heartbeat of old school work ethic. They are the heros that their kids look up to when they pull in the yard in those big rigs after being gone for weeks to put food on the table. They are the ones that sacrifice their time while carefully navigating through dangerous weather and traffic to get home. Yes, they are the people that will curse, look tough and often have grease on their clothes. They are the ones that move too slow on an onramp and crowd the road. But they are also the ones that saved my life and my best guess is they would save yours if you were in my shoes.

Twenty-nine years after riding in my brother’s semi, from driving to working in dispatch and from management to technology, I am still here. I still remember, that for every dollar I make in the trucking industry, there is a driver out there running another mile keeping the economy of trucking in place. They are the backbone of America and provide us with almost everything we consume. They pull the grain from the fields and deliver it to the stores we shop in. They do it, rarely being recognized for their efforts.

Please join me in giving our appreciation to these men and women during Driver Appreciation Week and throughout the year. I personally wish them good health and a safe return home to their families!

A special thanks goes out to James Burr and the Piedmont Transportation family for their generous support to me and my family during my time of illness. Roll Strong!