Truck Drivers

We look like the walking dead, straggling into the receiving office of a large discount retailer, shirts wrinkled and sweaty, hair disheveled, faces gaunt, shoulders slouched.

Truck drivers.

I first saw him while rounding the turn at the far end of a long warehouse. He was sitting on the landing gear of a semi, and he looked very tired.

It's a long way back to the check-in area. I made that long walk, and a little later he was sitting across from me holding a book.

"Brought something to read, eh? " "I wrote it. Here."

He pushed it to my side of the table. His photo was on the jacket and I could see the resemblance, although it had been years since it was taken. "Life or Death for Freedom" by Demir S. Hysolli. He had escaped from communist Albania, and this was his harrowing story.

Then, why was he driving a truck? In his twilight years? He had published a book a while back, but distribution was a problem. He didn't have enough money to put it on the shelves. Doors have slammed. Fuel and other costs have risen. He was getting older and hanging on. It's a long, tiring run from here to Georgia but that was his lot in life now.

It's pretty pathetic. This man escaped a brutal regime, lost members of his family in the process, almost froze to death, got to America, established himself, wrote a book about it, and now he struggles to get it distributed and just make a living.

On the way out, I saw him standing by his rig. I asked to buy the book."You can't buy it, but I'll give you a copy."

He signed it, "Dear Mr. Steve Goodman, I wish the best to you and your family."

God bless you Demir. I wish you all the best and thanks again for the book. However thanks especially for the opportunity to meet you.

Steven Goodman
Sebring