Dallas got hit by a rain bomb on June 9. Thousands and thousands of trees down and tons of branches sheared off by historic wind.
The result is miles and miles of bulk trash in the streets of Dallas. It will take months to clean it all up.
What this place needs is the East Point Sanitation Department summer bulk-trash team from 1971.
East Point is a suburb of Atlanta. Near the Atlanta Airport, and one of three towns that make up the Tri-Cities: College Park, Hapeville and East Point. Sometimes known as East Joint.
One of the greatest summer jobs was working on the trash trucks. Trash is what you put out on the street. Not to be confused with garbage which is what you used to put in those metal cans.
Mr. Wilson ran the sanitation department. If he wasn't a Marine, he missed his calling. He liked to hire kids from the local high schools to work the trash trucks during the summer. Make them toe the line, incent them with higher than minimum wage and work their asses off to keep them out of trouble.
In 1971 the minimum wage was $1.60 per hour. This job paid $2.49 per hour. As Mr. Wilson said, a grown man's wage.
One of my best buds at that time was Jim Bennett. We wanted one of those trash truck jobs really bad so we could pay for gasoline and fatter tires for our cars.
My dad new Mr. Wilson. They had graduated from Russell High together. I begged him to make a call on our behalf. He did, and we were granted an interview the next morning at the sanitation department barn on Bayard Street.
Mr. Wilson was well known for his dislike of long hair and sloppy dress. Part of his plan to save the youth of East Point was to keep them from looking like a beatnik.
Bennett and I weren't beatniks, but we did have hair down past our collar and we weren't in any hurry to cut it off. So, before the interview, we slicked our hair with gobs of Vitalis. We looked like the dad played by Dennis Leary in "The Sandlot".
We showed up for the interview, Mr. Wilson applauded us for looking so sharp and clean and we were hired and told to show up for work the next morning.
For the first few days, we continued the Vitalis routine. Towards the end of the first week, we had convinced some friends to clock in for us so that we didn't risk being caught by The Man. On about the fifth day of work, our buddies came out of the barn with the most awful news. Our time cards weren't in their slots and Mr. Wilson wanted to see Burks and Bennett in his office immediately.
"Men, I hired you two because I know you come from good families. I am disappointed in you for tricking me with the hair during our interview. So here's the deal. You have one hour to go get a proper haircut and be back here or you're fired."
It was a short discussion between Bennett and me. No, our girlfriends wouldn't love a crew cut. But, $2.49 an hour (and avoiding the wrath of my Dad) were worth getting a nob job.
We went to the nearest barber shop we could find. Twenty-five cents and 10 minutes later, we were ready to roll. Whitewalls around the ears. Short, clean and ready for duty. We went back to the barn and we were on the trucks for the afternoon.
We spent that summer cruising the mean streets of EP in a truck like this. No A/C. Stick shift. The crew typically rode in the bed of the truck until it got too full and we all sat on top of each other in the cab.
And, we worked our asses off. We picked up grass trimmings. tree limbs, furniture, appliances, corn stalks, mattresses and you name it. With a pitch fork and 17 year old muscle and sweat. Grass trimmings guaranteed rats. Corn stalks guaranteed snakes. How much fun could a kid have?
Dale Hendrickson was the driver of my truck. He was pretty serious about the work. Didn't let anyone else drive. Was the safety officer (sort of). Until two things happened. We were full and had to go the dump. And, the last day of work that summer.
Trips to the dump meant a steady flow of fresh air to dry the sweat. Often a stop at a country store for gas and a Coke. And if we were really lucky, we'd pass one of our fellow trucks and all hell would break loose. You learned to save rotten tomatoes, peaches, corn or anything else you could heave. And when we passed each other, it was Mad Max ahead of its time driving thru College Park on the way to Welcome All Road.
The dump was a treasure. It stunk like nothing you've ever experienced. Especially on a hot, humid August afternoon after a little thunderstorm. You knew there were dead things in that place. You saw bits and pieces of once valuable things-cars, golf clubs, tools, animals and furniture. Oh, the stories buried in that place.
It was at the dump that I attempted one of the dumbest tricks ever. A hold my beer kind of moment. Dale was about to dump the truck. I told him I wanted to hang on the bed of the truck to see how high it went. My plan was to grab the lip that protected the top of the truck cab and then swing my leg over the top for a great ride. I miscalculated how fast the bed rose up. I grabbed the edge of that lip and hung on for dear life as several tons of trash fell out below me. I was trying to pull myself up when the truck did what a dump truck does. It does a little forward/backward bump to make sure all the stuff is out of the bed. When it did that, that lip smacked me in the forehead. I saw stars. Literally. But, out of fear and pride, I held on to that truck bed until it was back down in place. But for the grace of God, I'd be buried with corn stalks and rats and snakes off of Welcome All Road.
The last day of work, Dale informed us of his plan for the day. First, find him a chair. We found a nasty old orange thing with the springs sticking out. He sat it in the bed of the truck and proclaimed it his throne for the day. He proceeded to start drinking peach brandy in the morning and allowed the rest of us to drive the truck while he howled at the good folks in town.
Thank you, Mr. Wilson, for the job and the lessons learned. Thank you, East Point, for a great place to grow up. Thank you, Dad, for making that phone call. Thanks, Bennett, for being my partner in crime.
To the City of Dallas, if you need some help, we can round up the crew from '71. I've got a big bag of rotting peaches ready for the reunion.
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