Open Highways, Empty Checkbooks
A Trucker in the Silverdocs Film 'Big Rig' Talks About Life Over the Long Haul

By Desson Thomson
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, June 14, 2007

The romantic image of the smiling trucker -- gamely sounding his horn in response to kids pumping their fists -- has been replaced by a worker who feels increasingly hobbled by rising gas prices, overwhelming overhead, inflexible safety regulations and a general sense that America has forgotten who really brings the food to its tables.

At least that's what a new documentary reveals, and a recent stopover at a Baltimore truck stop bears out. The misery index is writ large in the lined face and ironic laughter of Jessie Blaine -- a genial, 47-year-old trucker who sits in a smoky, short-order purgatory at the Buckhorn family restaurant, waiting for his next freight order. It's a Thursday afternoon and it's already three hours since he pulled into Baltimore, where he offloaded cargo from West Virginia. So far he's heard nothing from his company. He joins the other drivers huddled at the counter, faces over their coffee cups, ashtrays and laptops.

"It's not just a truck-driving job," says Blaine, in a cadence that comes from Ethel, Miss. "This is a way of life. It's one that suits me. It ain't for everybody. But the politics in it will drive you crazy. If I was in this job for the money, I'd be done quit."

Blaine is one of 13 truckers interviewed in "Big Rig," a documentary that screens tonight, Friday and Sunday at Silverdocs, the documentary film festival at the AFI Silver Theatre and Cultural Center. Directed by Doug Pray, the movie brings viewers up close and personal with truckers of every shape, size and hue, including an African American driver in a cowboy hat who speaks of a near-death experience on the road, a woman who took to the open roads to escape an abusive relationship, and a Native American who crisscrosses the country his people used to claim as their own. Most of them bemoan an increasingly difficult job.

Pray says he was drawn to the subject as a DJ in college: "I idolized the image of the great American truck driver through those old-time trucker songs." So Pray and producer Brad Blondheim -- the duo previously made a highly acclaimed doc about hip-hop DJing -- followed truckers all around the country for 40 days, starting in early June 2005.

"I thought I was making a film about a cool American subculture, with trucking music and all those images of the chrome and the convoy," Pray recalls. But soon he realized "truckers, being the frontline of America's economy, are really facing hard times. And the film took a turn from a campy, fun 'BJ and the Bear' kind of movie to something like 'The Grapes of Wrath' or something Woody Guthrie might be more comfortable writing about."

The film's darker theme is echoed at the Baltimore truck stop. "Guys out here, they're not happy," Blaine says, pointing to the score of other drivers around the counter. "But trucking's all they know."

Cindy Gallant, 41, wearing a "Don't Mess With Texas" T-shirt, leans over and starts talking about the new crop of drivers.

"It used to be people went into trucking because they wanted to ride a truck," she says. "Now they do it because they need a job. They're 23 years old. Still don't have their act together."

The old ways are gone, agrees Bob Carr, 44, a clean-cut driver who resembles a young Kenny Rogers.

"I learned the trade from an old-timer," he says. "First thing he told you, 'I'm going to teach you courtesy. If you don't learn courtesy, you're not driving.' Nowadays, it's all about money. There's no courtesy no more."

Blaine pulls out a notebook to show his take-home pay versus expenses for the previous week. The grand total: $583. He has to split that profit with Tammy Aquilina, a 36-year-old co-driver and single mother who occasionally spells him driving relief. A trucker of 12 years, she has been spending more time at home with three teenage daughters in Michigan. But when Blaine -- a platonic friend -- swings through her state, she often hops aboard for a little extra money.

"That's $8.32 an hour," says Aquilina, after tapping into a pocket calculator. "So we're each making $4.16 an hour." "I might as well get a job at McDonald's," Blaine says with a raspy laugh.

"You'd look cute in their uniforms," Aquilina jokes.

Blaine leases a truck from J.B. Hunt, a major trucking company, until he's able to buy the truck outright -- about 20 more months, he says. Then he'll be an independent trucker again (Blaine sold his last truck to pay health expenses when he learned he had Graves' disease). And though he's a company driver now, he must pay his own expenses on the road: food, gas, lodging, etc.

Eventually, Thursday evening becomes Thursday night. Blaine and Aquilina are up early Friday, but the new day proves fruitless as well. There is no word from J.B. Hunt.

"You know you didn't build a company up with 14,000 trucks and not have freight," Blaine says. "So why am I sitting here, one truck, and they're telling me there's no freight? No one ahead of me now all morning. And they can't find one load of freight in this area?"

While Aquilina gets on the phone with her family, Blaine, 47, sits at the same counter as the day before, drinking coffee and smoking. A black-and-white TV is broadcasting "The Maury Povich Show." Today's topic: "Make My Wife Look Like a Celebrity"; a woman with a big bush of hair and a wide mouth wants to look like Angelina Jolie.

"It's Friday," says a 30ish waitress, trying to console Blaine.

"That don't mean nothing in my world," Blaine says.

"Me either," admits the waitress.

At 10 a.m., Blaine gets the call he wants. Indiana someplace. That's more than 800 miles. A decent run. He doesn't know the details yet, but it's time to get going.

"Where's Iowa?" Aquilina asks, looking at the road map.

"On the other side of Illinois," Blaine says.

"When am I gonna go home?"

"If you hush I'll tell you."

Blaine and Aquilina are ready to hit the open roads. But when Blaine checks in again -- it's now 11:15 -- there's bad news.

"Now they're telling me nobody knows nothing about this damn load," Blaine says. "They don't even know there was one."

They sit in silence in the truck. At 12:40, there's another job. It means driving to Staten Island. Blaine rejects it. He doesn't want to sit for hours on the George Washington Bridge, burning gas, for such a short trip. He'd lose money, he says.

They return to the Buckhorn for lunch.

Blaine's back in the truck at 3:05 p.m., checking his e-mail.

Nothing.

Blaine talks about his home, a trailer in Ethel, Miss. He has five children, all grown. One just returned from Iraq. He's going back again soon. Volunteered for more. Blaine has had two marriages but trucking and marriage didn't mix in the end, he admits.

"The public isn't aware of what we face, of what we go through," he says. "We have the same problems out here that you have at home, only we can't deal with ours till we get home."

He gets home about once every six months.

Blaine's much-anticipated call finally comes on Saturday night -- after a 48-hour wait. He's bound for Minneapolis.

"I'm happy now," he says. What comes after Minneapolis?

"I can't think about that now," he says. "I'm on the road. That's all I'm thinking about right now."