Many of the recruits had predetermined paths chosen upon enlistment and they were being assigned, sent to training and new posts in country and overseas. Other, Peter included had been unknowingly evaluated through the many small tests they had taken, never realizing that their answers would determine their future service. Those with second language skills were directed to interpretation school, a select few showing leadership skill and some advanced education were sent to officer candidate school. Prior technical training would lead to school for communication or electronics. Guys like Peter that did not show a particular aptitude were given a battery of test to see what popped. Peter reverted to his old school paradigm and did poorly on most skills. The army didn't need cannon fodder and some of the guys without capabilities would be discharged. The Master Sergeant had a feeling about Peter, seeing himself in the young man and knowing that a discharge would be a devastating failure. He asked Peter to accompany him on an off base errand with the intention of intervening.

“Have you got a driver’s license?” he asked.

“Sure” Peter answered, asking “Are you going to let me drive?”

It hadn't occurred to the Sergeant but he readily agreed and handed Peter the keys. Peter just beamed with excitement, came alive and focused his attention asking where to go and wanting to know the best route and all the details. The Sergeant smiled to himself, satisfied that he need look no deeper, this young man would do just fine as a driver for the brass or other motor pool duties and just like that Peter had his place. He spent three years as a driver, even learning to drive a tractor trailer big rig. He had several posting, all in country and was discharged from Fort Benning, Georgia.

_________________________________________________________________

As is common, he floundered for several months living off of discharge savings and hanging with new and old friends. He ran into an ex motor-pool buddy at the movies and exchanged “Hay man, what's up with you’d?”

Peter's first question betrayed a hint of desperateness, “Are you working? Have you found a job yet?”

“Yeah man, I'm driving a delivery truck.” he answered.

“That's cool. You work around here?”

“Fast-tracks trucking, we're all over the state. You must have seen our trucks?”

“Oh sure.” Peter answered and added, “How you like it? Better than the Army, I bet.”

“Hell yes, pays way better, too. What you doing, are you driving truck, too?”

“No man, I wish, I don't have a job yet” Peter couldn't hide a sigh.

“Hey man, you willing to drive long haul?”

“Sure” Peter replied. “Why, do you know of something?”

“I'm not sure it's still out there, but last week there was a notice for drivers needed by a long haul big rig company. It's worth a shot.”

They exchanged cell phone numbers and high fives and Peter saw his movie but was not able to concentrate. Afterward he went to his church group for a regular Sunday night prayer meeting. He had been spending more and more time at church, made some friends and felt a real connection. The younger congregation was suspicious of his California accent but were now more open around him. The all white congregation didn't seem unusual and he did not give it much thought. He did overhear a few off color remarks about minorities which was quite common in Georgia. The army was pretty much the same. He was just glad to belong.

The next day his army buddy called and gave him the name and the number of the trucking company looking for drivers. The information had been posted at the union hall, that was the only caution from his friend, “You will probably have to join the Teamsters. You okay with that?”

Peter answered “Sure, I don't mind.” even though he had never given it much thought.

He recognized the guy that interviewed him as a member of his church and the guy remembered seeing him. He was hired on the spot, went and got his license upgraded, joined the union and started within a week.

He mainly did runs up and down the Atlantic coast, Florida and back, usually but sometime north as far as New Jersey, often sleeping in the truck and showering at the truck stops. When he could he found a prayer meeting attended by like minded truckers. Many had problems in their family lives due to the work schedule and some used the services to stay on the righteous path. Over time Peter became a deacon at his church and took a leadership role at some of the truck stop services. Try as he might to be a good Christian and pastor there was something off about Peter, his ministry and his aloneness. Others noticed, not everyone, just the ones that notice things. Peter felt it too, but couldn't get a handle on what made him feel and act differently, that level of self analysis was beyond his abilities. He dismissed the doubt from his mind with a quick prayer. The emptiness was not so easily avoided.

He saw his family maybe once every five years, never left Georgia or his first real job. Church and his ministry became more and more important to his life. He chose to believe those who told him he was living a righteous path and a full Christian life even though those that spouted those words didn't believe them themselves. His truck stop diet of too much fat and sugar fell him with a heart attack at age forty eight. Almost no one noticed. His church for the past twenty five years held a poorly attended memorial service. His co-worker said a prayer. Thankfully, his parents had died several years before. None of his brothers or sister could take the time from their busy lives, something they would all come to regret. C'est la vie.

***

Peter had come to some realizations during his basic training. He watched his fellow soldiers and came to realize that it's always the dumb ones that make fun of others for their less-than-ness, the dumb calling others stupid, skinny, fat, short, ugly. It had been that way in school and he had just accepted it as normal but as they got older it got meaner and the army was full of meanness The list expanded to include racism, homophobic remarks, sexism, but always dumb. Politics and name calling walked hand in hand, dumb asses liberal, libtards, I'll talk real slow so you morons can understand. It seemed like slow would have sympathy for the lame, but instead it's get out of my way so I can keep up and not be like you.

Peter returned from his after Boot Camp break with a new resolve to be a good soldier and make something of himself, maybe even a career. He tried hard on the aptitude placement tests and qualified for two training programs, one as a machinist and the other as an equipment operator. He thought hard about the future and sought advice from his sergeant who told him both were good choices but the machinist was the harder tract if that was a consideration. For the first time in his life, Peter chose the harder path and threw himself into the apprenticeship, earned four promotions and left the service after two hitches a fully qualified tool and die maker.

Georgia did not suit him and he did not want to go back to California either, so he settled on Texas where there was lots of aircraft and defense work to be had. He found a pretty good job right away but was not happy with the level of the work or the attitude of management toward the workers. It seemed to matter which church you went to more than the quality of your work which he could not abide. He wanted nothing to do with the whole religious thing. In his experience, the bible thumpers were the first to disparage their fellow man. He joined the union, something that did not sit well with most entry level Texas employers but he knew his stuff and kept his eyes open for a better position. He changed jobs three times in as many years. At Bell Helicopter he made some good connections and was recruited by Lockheed for a new program in Alabama. He was surprised to find he liked Alabama, the food, the climate and the housing. The locals, not so much but that didn't matter, he mostly associated with people from work who like himself, came from all over the country. He met his future wife at a company picnic and they had two children within as many years.

He never again visited his parents in Sanger. Even the idea was too much for him, to be made to face the way he used be, the indulgent kid in the dreary vineyards, the smell of the sheds, grapes rotting into raisins, dust and desperation. He would stay close to his new clean life of hard work, wife, kids and organizing, his awakening passion for his fellow workers and a good life for all, not just management and stock holders. He often found himself muttering “You can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union.”

Lockheed didn't love his union involvement, they weren't unionized, but they realized his skills and work ethic were admirable. He was offered several promotions but always declined, stating he liked his job, the satisfaction of creating tools to solve problems and the respect of his coworkers. He didn’t mention the real reason, time with his family. He saw the politics played by the first level of management and wanted no part of being asked to fire fellow workers or scheme for ways to get ahead.

Family life included the usual challenges and successes. The kids were well adjusted and would fit right in at Lake Woebegone. His wife was working again at the local Costco which made her feel better about herself and their future. He was glad when his folks came to visit, especially when the kids were babies. Now that they were retirees, the parents came more often and that was okay. His brothers and sister even visited every few years but he would not go back and be reminded of the Peter of old, no thanks! His well ordered life may have lacked pizzazz, but like they say around the shop, “Not too shabby” either.