You kind of have to read the first part of the title as Jimmy Stewart's character in 'It's A Wonderful Life' ("Hello you old five-and-dime..."). The second part of the title you may recognize as one of the late Jim Croce's fabulous hits from the early 1970s.
This is a story, though, about a sleeping bag. The one pictured above in the garbage can, to be precise.
I started pumping ethyl (otherwise known as gasoline) in the mid-late-70s at a tiny station perched at exit 45 of Interstate 80 in the northern part of Illinois. For those who lived during this period, you likely remember when things were so much different than today... ...
Anyway, I'm working at this gas station - probably the 8 am to 10 pm shift, or some such thing - on what I recall as a typically fine Midwestern summer day. When I arrived at my isolated outpost, I noticed someone sleeping out back of the gas station. I didn't think much of it. Again, it was the 70s (or probably early 80s), and there were often hitchhikers or stranded motorists who would do such things (this is what we did without cell phones?!?).
I went about my day, opening the business... and I use "business" very loosely... because we didn't do much of it. Eventually a long-haired scrawny dude in a hat clamors inside and asks to use the restroom. We then shot the breeze for awhile. In my youthful astuteness I had already surmised he was the gent sleeping behind the station. At any rate, we had a nice chat that turned into an entire day!
I often had my guitar with me when I went to work, and that may have been a trigger. I was also a long-haired scraggly dude at this point in life as well. Somehow it came into the conversation that he had been a drummer for Jim Croce. Of course, I was skeptical at first (and this was before the internets, so I had no way of knowing). Yet he seemed fairly legit. He also had good weed and whatnot... so... you know... who cared. Though, years later, I did check into it and it seemed believable.
As I was saying though... he somehow spent the entire day with me there at the gas station. It kind of seems we may have even gone to the bar after work for a few drinks (I think so).
But back to the sleeping bag. The next day when I arrived at work, perfectly placed in front of the entrance, was his sleeping bag (and I think a pot pipe). There was also a note... I believe it had his name and California address... in case I was ever in the neighborhood... I had an invite. He also thanked me for my hospitality.
I have had that sleeping bag ever since. Until today. For years we kept it in the trunk of our car. You know, you never know when you need a blanket to hang out on the grass, or to sit on at an outdoor concert, or whatever. However, this memory seems to have served its time well. It is now nothing more than a bundle of loose thread held together by some mold. So, I decided it was time to put it in the bottle, so to speak... or to rest.
Memories are good things. I need to recall more of them. And story them. We all should.
So long, sleeping bag. Rest in peace, Jim Croce. And the drummer... whoever he was. I pray I never forget... most of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment