1/2/2005 01:51:15 AM|||Amy|||Today I was doing my damnedest to stay in bed, and participate in the swelling depression which would swell if only I didn't have three kids and a father and a sister: basically, a bunch of demands and demanding people who know how to play me like a fiddle and thus not allow me to succumb to the intense desire I have to stay in bed all day.
Anyway, I was in bed and the girls were crawling all over me. Winston was trying to go to sleep, and every once in a while, Monkey would cough extra hard and throw up all over the place. So, while they were crying because they couldn't fall asleep and/or wimpering because the vomit kept spewing - I watched the Monk marathon as a way to pass all the extra time. At the end of one of the episodes, there was an epitaph and I've been wondering tonight for whom. Was it Phillip Baker Hall? Is he dead?
For the last while I've been half-aimlessly surfing the internet looking for this information, and I came across the website for this show, Pasadena. This debuted shortly after Monkey was born, and so I watched the first episode (because if there is one thing you can do when you have a newborn baby and aren't sleeping, ever, it is to watch endless hours of tv) but then never saw or heard of it again. All this time I thought I dreamed it. Kind of a bummer to realize that my imagination is less fertile than I thought.
My Dad told my sister and I tonight the story of Phantom 309. As he told it, he choked up and started to cry. My sister wrote in her blog that she had never seen my father cry, but honestly I have. In my memory I have seen my father cry once before, and that was about thirteen years ago when he thought that my mother was dying after an (accidental or otherwise) overdose. My father has been working through his grief since my mother died by expressing his anger with her and her family - her family mostly. (I don't have many kind feelings toward them either.) And then he cries. I think we would all be lucky to have someone love us so much.
PHANTOM 309 Recorded by Red Sovine
Words and music by Tommy Faile I was out on the West Coast, tryin' to make a buck And things didn't work out, I was down on my luck Got tired a-roamin' and bummin' around So I started thumbin' back East, toward my home town.
Made a lot of miles, the first two days And I figured I'd be home in week, if my luck held out this way But, the third night I got stranded, way out of town At a cold, lonely crossroads, rain was pourin' down.
I was hungry and freezin', done caught a chill When the lights of a big semi topped the hill Lord, I sure was glad to hear them air brakes come on And I climbed in that cab, where I knew it'd be warm.
At the wheel sit a big man, he weighed about two-ten He stuck out his hand and said with a grin "Big Joe's the name", I told him mine And he said: "The name of my rig is Phantom 309."
I asked him why he called his rig such a name He said: "Son, this old Mack can put 'em all to shame There ain't a driver, or a rig, a-runnin' any line Ain't seen nothin' but taillights from Phantom 309."
Well, we rode and talked the better part of the night When the lights of a truck stop came in sight He said: "I'm sorry son, this is as far as you go 'Cause, I gotta make a turn, just on up the road."
Well, he tossed me a dime as he pulled her in low And said: "Have yourself a cup on old Big Joe." When Joe and his rig roared out in the night In nothin' flat, he was clean out of sight.
Well, I went inside and ordered me a cup Told the waiter Big Joe was settin' me up Aw!, you coulda heard a pin drop, it got deathly quiet And the waiter's face turned kinda white.
Well, did I say something wrong? I said with a halfway grin He said: "Naw, this happens every now and then Ever' driver in here knows Big Joe But son, let me tell you what happened about ten years ago.
At the crossroads tonight, where you flagged him down There was a bus load of kids, comin' from town And they were right in the middle, when Big Joe topped the hill It could have been slaughter, but he turned his wheel.
Well, Joe lost control, went into a skid And gave his life to save that bunch-a kids And there at that crossroads, was the end of the line For Big Joe and phantom 309
But, every now and then, some hiker'll come by And like you, Big Joe'll give 'em a ride Here, have another cup and forget about the dime Keep it as a souvenir, from Big Joe and Phantom 309!"
|||110465381027787302|||Monk, Pasadena and Phantom 3091/2/2005 08:19:47 AM|||Judy The Great|||Dearest Amy,
I left a comment on Lisa's blog - it's meant for you as well as her. I'd writing something original and Halmark Card-ish here for you but I just don't have the time. I'm running late for work as I type this and it's pouring rain (which I hate to drive in) so I need to dry my hair so I can be the appropriate level of frizzy for the day.
I don't have your phone number and I really want to talk to you. Call me or send an e-mail with your number Please.
Hugs to you all,
Judy2/8/2005 11:40:11 AM|||Anonymous|||I have only recently found out about this artist and his songs (I only came from Europe last year).
Do you happen to know: does "309" mean anything, or is it just a number like any other?
Thanks,
Cristian2/9/2005 05:24:58 PM|||Amy|||My guess is that 309 is the number of the truck - even a phantom truck would probably have a number. Still, I'll ask my dad, who is an old trucker, and then post a comment with his opinion.
I hope you're enjoying your time in America!
Amy2/12/2005 12:06:46 AM|||Anonymous|||Thank you Amy...
Yes, it is beautiful here in southern New Jersey!
Regards,
Cristian