God Bless Rednecks!

[ItsanSKS]

While this may seem a bit off topic, I feel it necessary to spread the word about my experiences over the past week...

If I have missed an email or phone call over the last week, this post should explain why.

God Bless Rednecks!
The term "redneck" has evolved in this country to denote someone who doesn't quite fit in to the 'mainstream'; usually a derogatory remark, it is often intended to brand someone as unintelligent, slovenly in appearance and generally poor. Depicted as beer-swilling, tobacco-chewing Neanderthals, rednecks have gotten a bad rap. In fact, were it not for the generosity and kindness of a few rednecks in south Tennessee, the author might still be stuck in that state.

I am here to testify to the fact that these 'rednecks' are some of the best people this nation has to offer. Many of our fellow citizens could learn a thing or two from them. Read on, and you, too, might find that your (mis)understanding of rednecks has been changed.

On Saturday, January 7 2012, Joseph Swazey, the authors Grandfather, passed away; having suffered for months, his passing is regarded by the author as a blessing. No one should endure the things that Grandpa Joe had to.

'Grandpa Joe' meant a lot to those who knew him. Always willing to lend a helping hand, he made many friends over his lifetime, and never failed to leave a lasting impression. Even though I live over a thousand miles away, and have been unemployed for over a year, I was compelled to attend his funeral, come Hell or high water.

Anyone who has ever tried to get last-minute plane tickets to attend a funeral knows that the airlines deserve a special place in hell. Quickly determining that finding affordable plane tickets was an exercise in futility, it was decided that we (my mother, my cousin and myself) would attempt the trip in my motor home - a 1984 Explorer 221; converted by the factory from a 1-ton Dodge B-350, this motor home was top of the line in its day, but at nearly 30 years old, with 130,000 miles on it, we knew we would be tempting fate to undertake such a journey, but tempt fate we did!

Miraculously, our trip from Florida to mid-Michigan was relatively uneventful. Yeah, the old 360 cubic inch motor burned some oil, and the transmission leaked some fluid, but these things are expected from a vehicle as old as this one.

Surrounded by family and friends, we paid our final respects to Grandpa Joe on Thursday, January 12th, in a lovely ceremony. Many people spoke about their fond memories of Grandpa Joe- how he loved fishing, enjoyed a cheap cigar, and more often than not, could be found in his garage tinkering on some old jalopy that 'just had to run', because the owner couldn't afford to replace it. Grandpa Joe spent his 'retired' years fixing up the vehicles that came his way, and I know he helped me out more than a few times. I don't know that he ever got paid for the work he did, don't think he ever expected it- he was content knowing that he had helped someone in their time of need; he was, truly, a member of our Greatest Generation.

Following the ceremony, family and friends began making their journeys back to whence they had come. We stayed on for another night, planning to leave late Friday afternoon, after everyone had gotten a good nights' sleep.

Perhaps portending the tribulations to come, the weather in Mid-Michigan changed overnight, from a relatively balmy mid-40's to sub-30's and snow. As the road conditions worsened, we made our final preparations to head back to sunny Florida, where the temps were expected to be in the mid-70's.

Filling up the gas tank, checking all the fluids, and making sure the tires were sufficiently inflated, we began our journey southward at approximately 6:00pm.
Fighting snow and near blizzard conditions on the roads, we slowly began making our way down I-75. Traffic wasn't too bad, and despite the poor conditions on the road, we made good time, only stopping for gas and potty breaks as needed.
Having driven straight through from Michigan to South Tennessee, I finally gave up the drivers seat once the roads became less treacherous. Almost instantly, things began to go south.

My cousin Carrie, unused to driving such a large vehicle, attempted to turn too sharply, and spilled her brand-new cup of coffee onto the floorboards, the first spill of the whole trip. Intent on getting back to the Sunshine State ASAP, she pressed on, merging our behemoth back onto the interstate.

Content that she had things well in hand, I decided to get some shut-eye, taking advantage of one of the two beds that were available in the motor home. No sooner had my head hit the pillow, and my eyes closed, than did I hear a loud "BANG", followed by a strange "whooshing" noise. Almost in unison, all three of us shouted out "what was that?!". Concerned that neither the driver nor passenger had any idea of what we had hit, or what had happened, I instructed my cousin to take the next exit, and pull over at a gas station. Little did I know that we would be stuck in Chattanooga TN for the next 13 hours, or that my hopes of getting any sleep at all were in vain...

As Carrie skillfully navigated her way off the interstate, I began to intently watch the gauges on the dash- Oil pressure seemed good, battery was showing good voltage, coolant temp seemed a little low, but otherwise nothing to be too concerned about, or so I thought.

As we approached the nearest gas station, that old engine decided that it had taken enough abuse, and started rattling ominously in protest. Less than 50 feet from the gas station drive way, it quit, forcing us to coast into the service station under sheer inertia. Unfortunately, getting a 5,000lb vehicle to coast uphill takes a tremendous amount of momentum, certainly more than we had. By sheer luck, we were able to get the van out of traffic, but not fully into the gas station.

Almost as soon as the van came to a stop, I began to take stock of our situation. The surrounding neighborhood seemed fairly well-to-do, with most vehicles being considerably newer than our own, and in good repair. Everyone seemed well-dressed, and moving with a purpose- they had important things to do, but helping us certainly wasn't a listing in their day planner.

Getting out of the van and giving it a once over, I quickly determined that we were in grave trouble. The 30 year old radiator had given up the ghost, spilling its contents all over the freeway. With no coolant, the engine had overheated to the point that its moving parts were too hot to continue moving. Engine seized, radiator blown to smithereens, we were in a tight spot indeed.

Almost instantly, people intending to enter the gas station began to honk and shout- apparently they found it highly inconvenient that we had chosen to partially block the entrance. All these people with their nice cars, nice hairdo's, and perfect teeth showed us how ugly they really were. After nearly an hour of near constant haranguing by passerby, our first would-be savior came up.

Dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt, with a long pony tail, sporting a very disheveled look, "Hippy" as he referred to himself, drove up and offered to assist- the very first person to offer us anything but criticism.

After explaining our situation, Hippy helped get the van started again and out of the driveway.

It was at this time that I turned to my mother and said "you know, all these people that have come by here, giving us a what-for, and the first person to stop and ask if we needed any help was a redneck. God Bless Rednecks!"

Hippy offered to stay on and help out any way he could, but I had already called AAA roadside assistance, located a nearby parts store that assured me they had the appropriate radiator IN STOCK, and had a tow truck on the way to get me there. As we parted ways, I thanked him profusely and got his number, just in case. He offered to bring by any tools that I would need and didn't have on hand, and made his way to wherever he was headed.

At this time, I should digress a bit and explain a little bit about myself. Back when I first entered the workforce, my dad gave me the following advice: "Boy, (he still refers to me as "Boy") there are at least three things a Man should know how to do, and do well, otherwise he'll spend a fortune getting other people to do them for him: He should know how to cook, should know how to fix his own vehicles, and he should be able to fix things around the house."

I can honestly say that I've taken his advice to heart, having learned how to cook in a restaurant, becoming a state-certified auto mechanic, and having now earned my Journeymans License as an electrician.

The biggest part of being able to take care of your own vehicles is having the right tools. Having learned the hard way about taking a long road trip without bringing tools, I entered this trip prepared- full socket set, a complete wrench set, a 3-ton jack and a pair of coveralls. In short, I could fix just about anything that went wrong with the vehicle, aside from replacing the transmission or engine.

Learning that the tow truck would be at least an hour before arriving, I set to work removing the old radiator in the gas station parking lot. A few busted knuckles and about an hour later, and the radiator was out, ready to be replaced.

In the midst of pulling my radiator, a sharply dressed woman approached, and with either an Indian or Pakistani accent said something that blew me away: "I want to help". Not quite sure I had heard correctly, I asked her to repeat herself, and in that same broken English, she said it again, but this time pointed to her own vehicle, which was parked right behind mine. Taking one look at the car, I could see exactly what was wrong- her passenger side front tire had lost its air, and her poor car was riding on the rim! Inspecting the tire for problems, (aside from lack of air) I couldn't find anything that would explain its present condition. We attempted to put air into it from the service stations' air compressor, but either the compressor was bad, or I had missed something, because that tire just wouldn't take any air. Determined to get this woman back on her way, I discovered a spare tire in her trunk and had it mounted in short order. I advised her to take the deflated tire to a local tire shop so that it could be inspected, and sent her on her merry way.

Enter Redneck #2.

Our tow-truck driver showed up right on time, and quickly got our behemoth of a van loaded up onto his flat-bed truck. As he began to pull into traffic, he asked why we wanted to be towed to a parts store. I explained our situation, and then he made us a very generous offer: instead of leaving us at a parts store, he could tow us to his wrecking yard, and have a new radiator delivered, at his cost- which was nearly $40 cheaper than what the parts store wanted for theirs! I quickly took him up on his offer.

Delivered to the wrecking yard, awaiting the delivery of a new radiator, we began to discuss the day's events. We quickly came to the conclusion that of all the people in the world to be surrounded by, rednecks were the best...

After sitting idly for about an hour in the parking lot of the wrecking yard, the delivery guy dropped off a brand new radiator, to the tune of about $200. Intent on getting us back on the road, I quickly installed the new radiator. I accomplished this feat in record time, not 35 minutes from delivery to completion. Unfortunately, upon pouring new radiator fluid in, I discovered that I had not been as careful as I should have been, for there was fresh coolant pouring out of a hole in the back side of the brand new radiator. Having inspected the new radiator upon receipt, and sure that there was no holes in it when I got it, in my haste to reinstall, something poked a hole in it. I began to grow despondent, sure that I was doomed to spend the rest of my weekend in south Tennessee.

Enter redneck #3.

As I was installing the radiator back into the van, a mechanic named Chris pulled into the wrecking yard, to work on his own vehicle. Seems he needed to do some basic maintenance on his car, like replacing the fuel filter, an oil change, etc. It was an easy job, sure to take less than an hour; just the thing to do on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

As I determined that my own negligence was to blame for my predicament, my ego thoroughly bruised, I walked up to Chris, who was at that time elbow deep into the engine of his own car, and asked him the following question: "You know of any way of fixing a hole in a brand new radiator?".

As I explained my predicament, I could see the gears turning in Chris' head. He wrapped up what he was doing with his own car, and joined me on my quest to get the van back to a road worthy state. Neither of us had any inkling of the task we were about to undertake.

Chris generously offered to drive me around to get the parts needed to take care of the van, and even offered to have my mom and cousin stay with his wife, at his home. Though they declined his offer, they were both thoroughly impressed with his generosity, and told him as much. It is not every day that a complete stranger will invite you into their home.

Phone calls were made, and a new radiator located. As the sun began to go down, so too did the temperatures drop. Working through the cold, with only flashlights for light, we quickly got the (second) new radiator installed, this time taking great care to ensure its survival of the process.

Congratulating ourselves on a job well done, we filled the radiator, checked all the hoses for leaks and started up the van. Almost immediately, it began making strange noises, and started to overheat.

Shutting the van down, Chris and myself began brainstorming on the possible causes for this problem. Did the engine blow a head gasket? Was the water pump broken? Maybe the thermostat was bad...

Having already spent more than I could afford on two radiators, I determined to try the cheapest repair first- replacing the thermostat. Any person who has ever worked on a van knows that there is precious little room in the engine bay of most vans, and mine is certainly no exception. I could *see* the thermostat housing from the engine bay, but getting to it was a different story altogether.

In most vans, there is what is known as a "dog house" which covers the engine and insulates the interior of the van from the noise and heat of the engine. In order to do any work on the engine itself, this dog house must be removed. Two bolts and a few snap straps, and its out; no big deal, right? WRONG. In order to remove the dog house from this van, the passenger seat needed to be removed first.

Seat removed, dog house pulled out, finally we were able to put our hands on the thermostat housing. We pulled the old thermostat and went on our second trip to the parts store, hoping that they had a replacement.

Upon inspection of the replacement part, we were amazed at the difference. You see, the old thermostat had indeed failed, and it had done so in a way that neither we mechanics, nor the parts guys at the store had ever seen. I have saved this old thermostat for posterity, as I'm sure it is now a one-of-a-kind.

Thermostat replaced, fluids topped off, everything buttoned up like it should be, we were ready, for the second time this evening, to start up the van and be on our way. Starting up the van, everything seemed good- the temperature was holding steady, oil pressure seemed good, and the engine sounded good. Ready to go? Nope. Seems that upon installing the new thermostat, I had neglected to properly tighten the upper radiator hose, and as soon as the engine warmed up, it decided to leak, spilling precious engine coolant all over the engine, ultimately ending up on the shop floor.

Out comes the passenger seat and dog house *again*. A 5/16 socket to tighten the strap, and the leak went away. This time, we started the engine without replacing the dog house or seat, to be sure that if any leaks happened, we could take care of them immediately. This time, no leaks, no problems of any kind. The time was now 12:30am, nearly 13 hours since our troubles began.

Chris, who had never intended to be away from home for as long as he was, had missed dinner, didn't complete the maintenance on his own vehicle, and generously drove me around town, tracking down parts for a vehicle that wasn't his own problem. Declining my offer of buying him dinner for his trouble, I bought him a cup of coffee instead, ignoring his protests. God bless you and your family, Chris, for I know that I would have lost my mind were it not for your calm demeanor throughout everything.

On the road again!

Wanting to be in a position where I could monitor the vital signs of our resurrected van, I got behind the wheel and navigated our way back to the interstate. Crossing the border into Georgia, going up and down the various mountains there, not a problem was to be seen through the gauges on the dashboard. Content that our problems were over, I stopped at rest area to pass the keys to my mother, and promptly went to sleep.

When next I awoke, everything was eerily silent. No road noise, no bumps, no nothing. This can't be good, I said to myself.

Apparently, sometime in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowheresville, Georgia, the van decided to overheat again. Knowing that any attempt to wake me up would have been futile, my mother instead pulled the van off the interstate and parked at a gas station, then went to sleep herself.

As the sun came up, and the birds began to sing, I once again started to work on the van. I inspected everything. The only problem that I could see was that one of the heater hoses seemed like it had fresh coolant on it, while everything else under the hood was dry.

As I attempted to tighten the clamp holding the heater hose on, I rapidly discovered the problem. An old plastic T-fitting in the hose had cracked and was leaking. Thankfully, there was enough of the fitting left to reconnect the hose, and tighten the clamp. Unfortunately, there was NOT enough $ in my account to replace the expensive engine coolant that had leaked out. Pouring water in from the gas station spigot, I gave a silent prayer to God, asking for his blessing. God smiled upon us, and allowed our safe passage back home without further incident.

Were it not for the kindness and generosity of the 'rednecks' encountered on our journey, I would likely still be stuck on the side of the interstate. When all those self-important yuppies could offer nothing but insults, these rednecks offered a helping hand and much needed moral support.

God Bless Rednecks!

[SavageShootr]

So sorry for the loss of your Grandfather.

It is nice to hear that there are still people willing to lend a hand.

[TomM1Thumb]

Eric. Sorry for Your loss, But oh so glad to hear You are home safe and sound.

You maybe a little money poorer, but a little Redneck wiser, Just remember to pay it forward. Like so many have done for You!

Also You reminded Me how Blessed I am for having a Bronx Redneck living next door.

Tom

[Josey Wales]

..ItsanSKS, may Grandpa travel well... God Bless...

..I am a city slickin fourth generation native New York City sewer rat.  I love our Country only after God, Family & Guns  I have been around The States and I love Rednecks, I have no problem getting along with Rednecks. We have more in common than not, & Bluegrass music rocks..

.........To My Fellow Country Men.............Strength & Honor...............
............Join or Die....................Josey Wales...........

[The Log]

Eric --

Grandpa Joe is smiling right now. I have no doubt that he was nudging all those Rednecks in your direction.

But tell us - did you Seventh Step the Rednecks? 

And BTW, you really have a gift for telling a story. Thanks for sharing this with us.

</log>

[panhead]

Howdy

My condolences Eric. At least the festivities were on the way home...

This would have been the only time I have ever seen you miss the chance to 7th step, though

[Charles McKinley]

My condolences as well Eric.

Glad your family is safely at home.

Have you herd the Charlie Daniels song, "What this World Needs is a Few More Rednecks!"?

BTW: HICK is an acronym for Highly Intelligent Country Kind!

[Xeyed]

And who was that standing on the Lexington Green April 19th 1775?

Country Folks. Farmers etc.

Men who where working the earth to survive or carving a home out of the wilderness.

These were not pale skinned aristocrats.

These were hard working county folk.

Whose long hair couldn't cover up their Rednecks. (Shamelessly stolen from a David Allen Coe song.)

Sorry to hear about your loss.

[Roland]

I'm sorry to hear of your loss. But it is stories like this, that there are a few decent folks around, stories like this give me hope. Hope that this nation is still worth fighting for.

God Bless rednecks, and God Bless the greatest country on earth, America.

Roland