“Ya look like weird foreigners. Â Where you freaks from?” Â His words slurped from his loose mouth. Â “You sure as hell ain’t from Texas.” Â He muttered the foulest swear words as he slouched against a wall. Â I felt like throwing him out the window, head first.
“Where you headed?” one of the farmers asked politely. Â He adjusted his baseball cap. Â It was covered with dust from fertilizer.
“We’re just traveling,” I said.
“Hippie, welfare-grubbin’ foreigner, lazy, good-fer-nothing’ …” the puffy-faced slob mumbled. Â Everyone heard him. Â I glanced over at Barbara to give her the sign that we’d better leave when one of the farmers, who had not said a word, walked over to the man, still swearing under his breath, and grabbed him by the arm. Â He half dragged him out of the store. Â I heard a pickup truck door open and slam. Â The pickup wove down the road. Â The silent farmer walked back inside, said, “Sorry about him.” Â The farmer looked apologetic as he said, “Ever since ol’ Wilbur’s wife died, he’s been goin’ downhill. Â Been drinkin’ from sunrise to sunrise. Â They say two fifths a day. Â Lost most of his farm and even stopped comin’ to church. Â He used to be a deacon in our church. Â Sad, ain’t it?”
Everyone agreed; one person nodded. Â “Young lady, you people ever been in Texas before?” he asked. Â He looked like a Southern Baptist preacher.
“Can’t say we ever have,” Barbara answered.
“Well, let me speak for everyone here and welcome you to the greatest state in the Union. Â Ain’t nothing like Texas.” Â Everyone agreed. Â A bunch of them smiled. Â “Fact is, friends, we’re glad you made it through Louisiana. Â Now that place don’t even come close to comparin’ with Texas. Â Ain’t no place in the world that compares with Texas. Â IF you people are lookin’ for somethin’, then you found it. Â We got everything there is to want and then some, don’t we, boys?” Â He pointing the face into the west and all of Texas. Â Any real Texan would have stood to attention.
I walked over to the refrigerator to get another Dr Pepper. Â “Did you know Dr Pepper’s from right here in Texas?” the preacher commented. Â I said no, I didn’t.
On the side of the refrigerator was a yellowed sheet of paper that had been there for many years. Â The title was A Communist Manifesto. Â It was a sort of summary of the Marx and Engels theory. Â The man who owned the place noticed me reading it and spoke up.
“Now, boy, that’s one document you need to memorize. Â You even seen it before?”
“No, I haven’t,” I said.
“Well, if you were a Texan, you’d know what that said. Â That’s how the communists plan to take over the country. Â Not one shot fired. Â They’re doin’ it, just exactly like it says on the sheet today.” Â His face was turning red with zeal.
A couple of farmers left. Â I watched one drive down he road on a big red and black Massey – Ferguson tractor.
“Those commies know that they can’t take over this country in a fight. Â They know that Texans still are ready to fight. Â Ain’t we, boys?” Â His eyes held a straight-line stare out the dirty window. Â “Boy, you read The Communist Manifesto while you’re a’travelin’…. ’cause them people ain’t gonna fire a shot, ok?”
“OK,” I said.
…………………………………………………………………
The Walk West; A Walk Across America 2; published 1981; Peter and Barbara Jenkins. Â And, of course, here we have shades of Bill Moyers in his 1970 “discovering America on the road” book.