I’ve told this before. In the late seventies I was driving from Amarillo to Ft. Worth pulling a trailer. I was running smooth at about sixty when my front U-joint let loose and the drive shaft went sideways breaking the connector at the differential. At that point, not knowing what had happened, I coasted to a stop. Looking back I saw a pickup had stopped and was loading my driveshaft . Soon it pulled up beside me and we drove a couple miles to a small filling station at the edge of a very small farming town. The owner of the station had a car on the lift and was greasy to his elbows but wiped off his hands and drove his wrecker back and pulled my car in. The problem was obvious and he got on the phone and called suppliers [Long distance was expensive in those days] and after several calls determined that it would take at least two working days to get the replacement part out of Dallas. It was a Friday and I was low on cash and no credit card anyway to pay the new-price for the part and shipping.

So, he said, the best chance would be a wrecking yard in in a small town in Oklahoma about forty miles away. Then he told me that a driver who had a regular route picking up tapes at different banks should be stopping for gas within an hour and his next stop was Clarendon and he thought the guy would drop me where I needed to go. The driver arrived. He was happy for the company and off we went. I knew I would have to hitchhike back and having done that quite a bit in the past I knew that people were getting scared to stop in many places but this was Texas and as the day played out I experience what I like so much about most of that state.

I was let out at the yard and soon enough had my part and the guys working there knew my situation. Laughter and jokes about that's what I get for driving a Dodge. Always got a yard full of them that folks got smart and gave up on said a Ford Guy. I asked if they knew of anyone going my way. No one did but one of them threw me his keys and said to go out to that red Impala and get on the CB radio and see if I could stir up somebody going that way. No luck but there was a lot of crackling interference on the radio. I would soon know why. I started hearing thunder. I told them thanks anyway and headed out on foot to the highway to stick up my thumb. About a quarter of a mile away was a turn off into the town and I decided to walk that far so that there was no mistaking where I was headed and so I did so as a summer storm built in the sky.

I hadn’t been passed yet by a single car when I got to that t-intersection but about that time the cold wind blew in signaling that all hell was about to break loose and a pickup approached but started to make the turn away. Part way into the turn it slowed and turned back and drove up alongside me as the sky grew darker yet. A young guy and his girlfriend were inside and she rolled down the window and with a smile said I was about to get real wet. I told them my situation and the guy said that he would be happy to take me but he didn’t have the gas. I said I’d be tickled to fill their tank for a ride. He said jump in quick and off we went. They both lit up with big smiles as he said to his girl, “Now we can go to the goat-roper tonight. Goat-roper is what they were calling the Friday night Country-Western dance at a big club in Clarendon.

By the time we had gone a couple miles we all felt like friends and the guy pulled out a joint and we laughed our way down the road in a roaring thunderstorm that shook that old truck and halfway blinded the way forward. Before we arrived back at the station though we had broke into sunny skies. They dropped me off, wished me luck, and I went to work on my car. I am still infatuated with the young woman, pretty, smart, and such a happy laugh.

The owner had already told me his priority had to be finishing the car he was working on but he could let me use his tools and he had what I needed already laid out, just a big socket wrench and a long breaker bar plus the two new u-joints. While I was under the car a local farmer, just a kid really, came up and filled his car on his own without even speaking to the owner and went inside and put the money on the desk and then went and started talking farming with the owner as he worked. Why was one farmer better than another? The owner said they were all good, called them by name, but there was so much luck involved. Sometimes one would get rain at the right time while the other might see his crops mostly burn up and then get flooded just at harvest. I was close enough to hear their talk and after a bit the farmer asked what was going on with me. After a quick explanation the kid comes over and laid on his back and slid under with me enough to see what was going on and we talked a bit. What do I do? Railroader, huh? Where was I going? Yeah, the train don't stop here anymore. He asked if I would get finished that night and said if I needed to lay over that his momma owned the little motel just up the road. “She’ll give you a good easy price”, he said. “What the hell, she’ll probably let you stay free if I tell her on account of you being broke down and all”.

By now it was about six and bit later the phone rang and I heard the owner telling his wife that he would be a little late, to go ahead and have dinner with the kids and he would be home as soon as he could make it. “Luv ya, darlin, I shouldn't be long”.

I finished up soon after and went in to settle my bill. He would only take payment for the two u-joints that he had supplied. He wished me luck and I thanked him and drove away.

I still pass that station a couple times most years. It has been closed for a long time, the motel is abandoned, and many other businesses are boarded up. I know enough about the people in that part of the country to believe I would have as much friendly help if I was to have a problem there today. They were all fine neighbors, mostly fine people I would bet. I would also bet that everyone I met that day voted for Trump.