Okie From Muskogee by Merle Haggard

Chapter 17: Passage

We rolled down east through Angel Fire, south to Guadalupita and on to Las Vegas, New Mexico. From there we headed to I-40. No one was talking much. Everyone was hung-over but Dennis; and he was busy driving with Wanda asking why she couldn’t go to Jamaica with us.    Dennis tried to explain that it wasn’t going to be easy and that she might end up stranded in Miami.
I was concerned that Wanda might get belligerent when she started off with the business of racism. Stan tried to cut her bitching off, “Hey, I had to leave Debby and Leah behind.”

Wanda was quiet for a few miles before she began putting down Debby and Leah, “What, Debby wasn’t your woman… neither was Leah. They were fucking everyone last night.”

Stan wasn’t going to let her get by with slurring Debby and Leah. “Look, what we did last night was a going away party. We will probably never see each other again. I thought it was damned cool that they put out for everyone.”

“Yeh,” Dennis added, “Lighten up Wanda. We can’t take you with us and we really can’t all stay crammed in this car any further than Amarillo. You agreed a week ago that you wanted to go back there where you have family.”

That was how it went all the way to Amarillo.
There would be silence for a while and then she’d start in again. I figured that Dennis could handle her but it seemed touch and go at times. Finally, when we arrived in Amarillo, I gave her twenty bucks for bus fare, or whatever, and she had Dennis drop her off at a bar. That made a little more room in the car and a rotation system was developed. Jamie didn’t know how to drive a stick shift… or probably any car at all, so he was exempt from driving. 
I had some rest, nursed a raging hangover and slept most of the way by the time we got to Amarillo. But I did look forward to getting behind the wheel just for the sake of stretching my legs a bit. Besides, I loved long distance driving. I hadn’t paid much attention to the landscape after passing Las Vegas, because I was sleeping or pretending to sleep most of the time. But once I got behind the wheel I loved the rolling hills and arid prairie along the way. I pictured herds of buffalo covering the landscape from horizon to horizon and horsemen following the herds for the hunt; a way of life that came to an abrupt end a mere century before. Comanche, Kiowa, and Sioux… all across these plains: the majesty of the land dictated a humility and even pride in being a part of the drama of the wide open spaces.

I drove on through the panhandle of Texas onto and through the prairies of Oklahoma. A sea of grass and winter wheat as far as the eye could see stretched out, interrupted only by an occasional gully or wash. I envisioned the dust bowl era of Okies packing their belongings on their trucks and cars heading for greener pastures in California a mere generation before. 
The land had a sadness about its quiet dignity and the tragedies played out on these plains. Stan took the wheel before Oklahoma City; I moved back to the rear seat and slept some more sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jamie and Steve. Dennis rode shotgun when he wasn’t driving… it was a tacit agreement as it was, after all, his car.
I didn’t mind sleeping sitting up, drifting in and out of consciousness. Dust devils seemed to follow along side of the road as we made our way eastward on route I-40. Then, by a spontaneous and unanimous decision, we made a turn north at Checotah to Muskogee. After all, the song was an anthem enjoyed by both rednecks and hippies alike for completely opposite reasons.

Muskogee had the look of Everytown, USA. It could have been in Springfield Illinois or Grand Island Nebraska, Topeka Kansas or any other plains town. It too had a street called Broadway and a Main Street. It had hardware stores, drug stores, auto dealers and diagonal parking along the streets in front of the shops. We stopped at a greasy spoon to sit at a booth and order a cheeseburger and shake. No one gave us any trouble. In fact, I figured, it was a friendly place where people treated everyone civil until proven unworthy. 
The middle aged waitress even called us honey. “Sure, Honey. Would you like French fries or country fries?”

I had no idea what a country fry was so I answered, “Oh yes, country fries.”

A couple of older men in coveralls in the next booth watched us order and one of them asked, “Where you boys from?”

Oh, oh, I thought, here goes… “We’re from New Mexico… we just had to see Muskogee. We’re on our way to Florida.”

“Was it because of Merle Haggard’s song?”

“Yeh, ya gotta love that song.” Dennis acknowledged.

“I’m Hank and this here is my brother Jimbo…”

So they went around the table introducing themselves and feeling welcomed. It was no big deal. These people were authentically friendly. Here were the town folks of the most anti-hippy anthem of the era sitting next to us swapping friendly noises like old friends… Just goes to show ya how wrong popular images can be, I mused as I enjoyed the setting and the whole scene.

Muskogee sits in the middle of the country where three rivers; The Arkansas, the Grand and the Verdigris meander and converge. Something about all that water energized me. Id missed the green of the Northwest where I’d grown up although I’d learned to love the high chaparral of New Mexico. I felt as though Muskogee wasn’t such a bad place to settle down. 
We fondly bid the old-timers in the café adieu as our motley little group piled into the Hillman and headed back down south to the I-40.