INDIANOLA — I was talking to a young man who has had some longstanding mental difficulties that have left him living in group homes. I’ve never known exactly what his issue is; he doesn’t have any major physical problems, just seems a little odd.
When I asked him how he was doing, he beamed and said, “I got me a truck.”
Life officially complete.
That short statement said so much more than just that he had a vehicle in which to move from place to place and perhaps possessing some extra utility for hauling large items.
It expressed freedom, power and — I don’t think I’m exaggerating this — the essence of Southern manhood. Getting a truck made a person who had been held back from living the life so many of his peers do feel like he was somebody.
I was happy for him.
And the situation made me think about a subject that has long been a fascinating one for me — the place of the truck in Southern culture. One of our fine institutions of higher learning needs to deputize a social science professor to study this in-depth. While waiting on that more academic approach, I’m offering my unlearned observations.
In other parts of the country, people expect certain professions to drive trucks: farmers, construction workers, lumberjacks, junkmen, etc.
Not so in Mississippi.
After taking off his green eyeshade and closing his ledger, your accountant probably hops up into a big half-ton to head home.
You can hear a male nurse, after completing a 12-hour shift at the hospital, rumbling from a mile away in his diesel.
Educators, office managers, preachers and countless other professions that you would think would never require a truck for their vocation drive them nonetheless.
I challenge you to go to any restaurant in Mississippi at lunch time and find trucks making up less than 75 percent of the vehicles in the parking lot.
Why exactly is that?
I must admit that I approach this conversation as someone who drives a 12-year-old Toyota Corolla with 202,000 miles. My car before that was also a Toyota Corolla, a 1993 model that never gave me the first sign of trouble before an uninsured driver pulled out in front of me.
My car-buying strategy is the opposite of most people, who finance a new (or newish) car: I like to pay cash for a Toyota between eight and 10 years old. That’s the point where the price has gone down to a level I’m willing to pay, but the car still has lots of life left in it.
I realize widespread adoption of that approach would cause our consumer-driven economy to collapse, leaving all of us bankrupt. So please don’t steal it.
But I mention it to show that I’m an outsider of sorts to the Southern truck issue and thus can analyze from an unbiased perspective.
So here’s my take on the attraction of the truck in our culture: It’s part history, part salesmanship, part keeping up with the Joneses.
History in that Southern culture in generations past was almost completely rural; nearly every man truly did need a truck when there were so many small farmers. That tradition has been carried out because it’s just always been the case that men have trucks.
Salesmanship in that truck manufacturers are masters at selling the idea that you can buy manhood and toughness with a new truck. Think “Built Ford Tough” or “Like a Rock.” They’re selling the sizzle — the owner subconsciously thinks of himself as being tough or rock-like — not the steak — the actual truck.
And finally keeping up with the Joneses: What kind of loser wants to be that lone chump pulling up to get a burger in an imported sedan?
