Yi,
Thanks for keeping us in your prayers. If there are those out there who do not fear the wrath of God for their misdeeds, then they can fear me, especially when their misdeeds directly affect me and my fellow cabdrivers.
I am not going to rely solely on divine intervention to improve our lot.
-Mike Foulks
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In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.
Their father was gone.
The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.
Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.
Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.
He did man! age to l eave $15 a week to buy groceries.
Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.
If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.
I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.
The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town.
No luck.
The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.
Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in t hat ha! d been c onverted to a truck stop.
It was called the Big Wheel.
An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.
She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.
She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.
I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.
I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.
She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep
This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.
That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.
When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.
As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.
The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.
One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!
There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.
Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.
I made a deal with the local service station.
In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.
I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.
I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.
Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids.
I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.
Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.
On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.
A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.
The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.
When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.
I quickly opened the driver's side door, ! crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.
Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.
Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!
I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.
Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.
And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.
As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.
And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.
Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop....
THE POWER OF PRAYER. I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:
1. "Yes!"
2. "Not yet."
3. "I have something better in mind."
God still sits on the throne, the devil is a liar.
You maybe going through a tough time right now but God is getting ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.
My instructions were to pick four people that I wanted God to bless,
and I picked you.
Please pass this to at least four people you want to be blessed and a copy back to me.
This prayer is powerful, and prayer is one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards
Let's continue to pray for one another. Here is the prayer:....
Father, I ask You to bless my friends, relatives and email buddies reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of Your love and power.
Amen.
I know I picked more than four, so can you
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Mr. Nathan,
There are good guys, bad guys, and tough guys. I can be any of the three.
You don't look 72 years old to me.
My declared enemies are those who neglect or abuse cabdrivers. Don't join them.
You don't want to fight me in a civil action any more than you can sustain the amount of pain I can gently apply to your body which can cause you to agree to anything. The courts can be a cause of blood running in the streets.
I put no value on your legal analysis, and urge others to do the same. Even 'low-life's like me are entitled to free expression. I'm not here to impress you or the other alumni of the UFW.
I don't need you permission to do anything, regardless of my intentions. I don't hate you, but I must admit that I have prejudices against every ethnic group, including my own. At least I don't pretend not to have them (or are in denial like so many).
I am also not afraid to discuss them or the basis for the hate or prejudice, so that all may understand it. You seem to be a Jew (3/8ths) who is quick to label others as Jew-haters, (or Nazis, or fascists, brownshirts, etc.) however you choose to apply it. Your sole basis for this defamation is my use of the word schmuck. If you want to relate the 3/8ths part, then let me upgrade you to 5/8ths schmuck and you can leave your Jewish ancestry out of it. I never meant to insult your ethnicity. It is your intelligence I intended to insult. Too bad you're too stupid to get it. Do you get it now, moron?
You are also not clever enough to play the Jew-hater card. Wasn't it you who used the word 'shibboleth' in an e-mail? I guess that establishes who introduced their Jewishness (3/8ths) as somehow relevant.
I can't use the word 'schmuck' without being a bigot?
Your insinuation that I've now committed some trangression that 'a few other drivers from various minorities will see through' again reflects your ignorance as to the political reality inside the 'cabdriver community'. I'm the minority, however you describe me, unless you describe me as a thoughtful, caring brother. You are a long-lost great-uncle who should stay as lost as you are now among us.
Telling lies about me to cabdrivers I may or may not know will at best bring a smirk to their face and at worst a punch in your nose. I recommend you call me names from the relative safety in front of your keyboard, but I sincerely ask you to stick to the truth. Better yet...
SHOO, FLY!
-Mike Foulks
P.S. Happy Hanukkah
P.P.S. Why don't you help FAMM bring their loved ones home for the Holidays a little sooner than scheduled? Try not to **** that up.
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Mr. Foulks:
You sure are a tough guy - I'm easily double your age. You pick your enemies the same way Mussolini did. Don't forget - the Ethiopians almost beat him.
At this point in life, the only alley where I'd join you in a fight is in a civil action. The courts are designed to keep blood from running in the streets, and I prefer civilized fisticuffs where I have the clear advantage. I hung up my stars and bars forty years ago and haven't done a security job since my wife made me retire from such activities over thirty years ago.
Gee willikers, by my guess, you couldn't be much more than 30 given your recitation of your illustrious history licking the boots of Gerry Spence while sleeping under forspacious skies of Wyoming without a roof over your head.
But alas, there's nothing for us to litigate. You dislike me, and I don't give a diddly **** about you one way or the other. That's sure not enough to ground a cause of action. You have done me no civil wrong other than to say in print some things that only a low-life might say. I have said little of any substance about you other than for the fact that your veneers don't impress me or many others who have attended the University of Four Wheels.
Bottom line - you can go back to whatever makes you happy with my full respect and encouragement as long as you do it with the goal of making life better for my brothers and sisters behind the wheel. You can hate my 3/8 or whatever anyone as small as you would; it makes me no diffference what ethnic group you dislike. But I'll bet a few other drivers from various minorities will see through your bravado and recognize you for what you are - it won't win you support to be a hater of any ethnic group in a town like Chicago, not even 3/8.
When you try to insult a man for his ethnicity in Chicago, it just gets you dirty doing it.
I don't need capital letters for that messaage.
Replying to:
Well, at least you're keeping score, but in the future it would be nice if you included the original message so others could judge for themselves. Or, you could post your identity 'cause 'The Analyst' carries no weight of credibility. (Not yet, anyhow.)
Mr. Nathan is all over the place...I'm just following and confronting him until he finds himself in a dark alley.
I hope this is EDU-TAINING!
-Mike Foulks
Right on, Diane.
Truth has a way of winnowing out - in spite of the efforts of those who bellow out against it.
Keep in mind that those who organize fight together and win results. Those who don't just have to beg. Drivers united are heard. Those divided are the same as the homeless at the end of the freeway ramps.
That's the lesson from New York - their victory outweigh their defeats, and they command attention because of their numbers. The efforts of a few good men - and women like you - here in Chicago will win the ear of the Transportation Committee sooner rather than never.
You don't have to be an "insider" to know which way the wind is blowing. But you sure are an "insider", and your posting is one that needs to be noted by the bellowing enemies.
