The Hitch Hiker

It was in 1968, I was in the Navy hitch hiking from Chicago to my parent’s home in Rhode Island, when a big powerful looking man picked me up somewhere in New York State. The ride started pleasantly enough; Him talking about the weather, my status in the service, the war in Vietnam etc. 1

Untill I asked him about himself. 2

His big hands began to shake on the steering wheel as he started to reply,  
“I’m an officer in a prison nearby.” He says with a strange lack of pride in his voice.
“I help troubled young boys find their path.” He continues a bit angrily. I don’t understand why his hands are shaking and he looks ready to cry. Until, trembling visably, he chokes out his next words,
“My son was just arrested for drug possession!
My wife left me and he was the only thing I had left!
He is in my prison!
My life is in ruins!
Why is this happening to me?” he asks with out expecting an answer as he begins to cry openly. The speed of the car has increased from 60 to 80 miles per hour. I listen with growing fear and aprehension as he states with certainty,
“I have nothing left to live for!” 3

I think furiously not knowing what to do, listening to his words very carefully, trying to stay cool, while the big car speeds on barely under control... We are now doing close to 100 miles per hour, the car is beginning to sway precariously, tears rain freely down his sad, heartbroken face. 4

Then I, only 17 years old, ask him,
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes?” he says, with a question and a small spark of interest in his voice. 5

I pause long enough for him to turn and look at me. I can tell he sees me for the first time since I have been in his car, as he says,  
“I’m sorry, what is your name?“
I look into his tear-streaked eyes and answer calmly,
“Dennis.” 6

The car begins to slow as he continues,
“I have prayed and prayed but he doesn’t seem to hear. I don’t think he even cares.” I don't dare continue that dialog. So I ignore it and just ask,
“What is it you do to help the kids at the prison?” 7

He replies, starting with short hesitant sentences,
“I act as a coach in their ball games, I teach some to read, I listen to their concerns and offer suggestions I can only hope will someday improve their lives. I spent so much of myself at the prison that I didn’t spend enough with my wife and son, I guess. I felt these kids needed me more and my wife.. well, she just wouldn’t understand, know this. I just can’t take anymore." 8

Finally, I get an idea..
“Who will replace you at the prison and care for your son should you die?” 9

He starts to mention a few names then quickly comes to realize that no one can. That he is unique to the prison system here. His eyes are already begining to dry as he begins to smile, then laughs kind-heartedly and says,
“I guess just me.”
I can tell his mind is filling with ideas and new hope. 10

As he lets me off at the end of my ride, I turn and mention. “Don’t give up praying my friend. He does listen. Thanks for the ride.” 11

I grab my duffle bag from the back seat, as he looks at me with a warm and understanding smile and says “Thank you, Dennis. I won’t forget what you've done for me.” 12

I get out of the car and watch him as he waves and drives away. 13

After a moment of relaxing from a rather harrowing experiance, I smile, stick my thumb out, and await my next ride. 14