Roll Me Away

Virgil Waters was laid to rest that Saturday in the Oakwood Cemetery outside Denton, Texas. It was a beautiful day for such a somber event. The sun shone brightly, and the humidity level was near bearable; one could almost say pleasant. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the Mexican white oaks and the ancient sandstone markers with faded, time-weathered engravings.

Having arrived early before the church services, I got a chance to read the history etched in stone at the entrance. Established in 1857 on 320 acres of ground donated by Hiram Cisco, its first denizen had been Mrs. Wilson, who died during childbirth in a covered wagon on the way through the area. Sadly, her newborn daughter joined her just a few days later.

Of a somewhat sardonic note in the serene cemetery are the grave markers of brothers George and Andrew Brown of Missouri, buried not far from where they would be planting poor Virgil. It seemed that the two had been convicted of the murder of Doc McClain and had been hanged in Denton in 1879. Their tombstones forever would bear the ignominious inscription 'executed.'

Standing in the cemetery during the services, I had the eerie feeling that Mrs. Wilson, baby at her bosom, and the Brown brothers were all standing alongside their grave markers watching the proceedings. I looked around during the service, oblivious to the words being said by the overweight and aging Baptist minister. It felt as if more of the long-departed souls were also in attendance, propped up on their tombstones in the attire of their day, watching us and relieved for something to do on such a gorgeous afternoon.

At the suggestion of Mr. Saxon and over slight objections of Virgil’s parents, Tom and Charlene Waters, Bonnie Jo held off until late on a Saturday afternoon to have her husband buried. The reason was that more Saxon drivers had a chance to return off the road to attend the funeral.

JD, Raul, and I were pallbearers, along with various odd members of the Waters family. Virgil certainly had some peculiar people as relatives, although I am one that probably shouldn't be talking much.

John Saxon was unusually quiet as if going through the motions. JD looked out of place in a newly purchased gray suit that bulged from the big man's bulk. He seemed to be choking from the necktie too. He probably should have invested in some shoes, as the snakeskin cowboy boots looked out of place, even to this westerner's way of thinking.

As usual, John Saxon, debonair in attire and manner. He was steamed though. While it seemed a good idea at the time, as with most well-meaning intentions, the plan to delay the funeral had backfired. John Saxon was bitterly disappointed by the fact that he had convinced the young widow to put off the funeral, further upsetting Virgil's parents in the process, and yet only a handful of drivers, a couple of mechanics, and a few of the office staff from Saxon's attended the funeral of his most senior driver.

He should have known better, men and women who spent weeks on the road had better things to do with their short and precious time at home on weekends than attend the funerals of people they were not related. It still bothered him that he worked hard to create and cultivate a family-type atmosphere in his company, and the thought was not always reciprocated.

'Hell, the operations manager, Gary, had not even bothered to show up, for Christ's sake,”Saxon would say later. And he knew the excuse most of them would use for not being there—“Oh, I just can't handle funerals—they're just too depressing for me. Like the rest of us enjoy the fuckin' things,”he'd fume.

He had heard it before and should have known better. He made a mental note to apologize to Tom Waters.

I kept stealing glances at Bonnie Jo and their son, VJ. Bonnie seemed to be weathering the tragedy with the resolute demeanor of a trucker's wife. Somewhere in their subconscious, truckers' spouses knew there was always that chance their wife or husband might not make it back from the road.

Bonnie was not pretty, but you couldn't call her unattractive either. Just like her late husband, nothing was particularly attractive or remarkable about her. She was built rather plainly, but always kept herself well-groomed. She was neither tall nor short, somewhere around 5'5 or 5'6. Her auburn hair was never in any of the styles of the day, yet always in place. Her make-up was usually minimal, and today was no exception. She wore black slacks and a light, simple black sweater over a white blouse. Handsome might have been a more apt word to describe the now forty-year-old widow.

Poor VJ looked lost. He had tried to be as stoic as his mother but wasn't up to it. His eyes were bloodshot and red-ringed from tears. His nose was running. Adding to his heartbreaking appearance was that he looked younger than his eighteen years; skinny, scrawny, with a blonde buzz cut and a childish face indiscriminately marked by acne spots. His black suit, recently purchased, seemed too big for him, and the bolo tie he had chosen seemed out of place, even here in Texas.

The boy had confided to JD that it had never occurred to him that anything could happen to his dad. His father was a rock, the guiding force behind this small family. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his dad had been murdered. How could anyone have wanted to kill his father when his dad had done nothing wrong?

JD had tried to console the young man but felt sure his efforts had been useless. He couldn't explain it any better than anyone else, and if the truth were known, he felt sure he had probably made things worse. He had confessed to me that he carried the weight that if only he hadn't stopped to eat; if he had gone on with Virgil, he kept telling himself repeatedly, things would have been different. He was sensitive to this fact and wondered if Bonnie or Virgil Jr. was thinking it too. I guess I couldn't blame him. He kept saying he had to make this right with them.

As they lowered Virgil Waters' casket into the ground, JD looked at me with a resolve that I thought he would make this up to the man's family or would die trying.