The Big Wheel

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 manage to leave $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 whomever
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 that had been Converted 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 bi! lls 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. These 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 I hurried to! the
car. I was hoping the kids wouldn’t wake up before I managed to get home and get the
presents from the basement and place them under the tree. (We had cut down a small cedar
tree by the side of the road down by the dump.)

It was still dark and I couldn’t see much, but there appeared to be some dark shadows in the
car-or was that just a trick of the night? Something certainly looked different, but it was
hard to tell what. When I reached the car I peered warily into one of the side windows. Then
my jaw dropped in 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, scrambled 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 2-19! 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 a whole bag of
laundry supplies and cleaning items. And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little


As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on 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.

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