Speaker 1: Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves.
Speaker 1: From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
Speaker 1: I want you to stay a while as I share
Speaker 1: my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented
Speaker 1: by Case Knives on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
Speaker 1: the best outdoor podcast the airwaves have to offer. All right, friends,
Speaker 1: grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some
Speaker 1: stories to share. Riding the school bus. Riding the school
Speaker 1: bus was both a pleasure and a pain, a service
Speaker 1: provided by the school district to allow every kid the
Speaker 1: opportunity to get an education. Some of the best lessons
Speaker 1: learned happen right there while the wheels go round and round.
Speaker 1: I'm going to tell you all about some of them.
Speaker 1: But first I'm going to tell you a story. My
Speaker 1: brother Tim was almost seventeen when the school superintendent tapped
Speaker 1: him on the shoulder in the lunch room and told
Speaker 1: him to come to his office. Tim, being a highly
Speaker 1: decorated veteran of Shenanigan's buffoonery, assumed the worse and followed
Speaker 1: mister Tarkington to the office. Unsure as to what he'd
Speaker 1: been caught at, he said he kept his mouth shut
Speaker 1: and didn't say a word and would just wait until
Speaker 1: he knew what he'd been accused of before he started
Speaker 1: his defense or accepted his fate. He didn't want to
Speaker 1: fess up to something that they didn't know about yet.
Speaker 1: That was a rookie mistake, and a rookie he wasn't. Tim,
Speaker 1: I want you to drive a school bus for me.
Speaker 1: Can you do that? Tim was a little surprised. He said, well,
Speaker 1: I can drive it, but I have football practice. Superintendent said, well,
Speaker 1: it won't be every day. Just when I need a substance.
Speaker 1: I'll talk to Coach Johnson. That'll be fine. If you
Speaker 1: want to do it. I'll pay it, just like I
Speaker 1: pay everyone else that drives one. Yes, sir, I'll do it.
Speaker 1: Tim said he had no idea why he picked him
Speaker 1: out of the cafeteria that was filled with students, but
Speaker 1: picked him he did, and now he had a job
Speaker 1: that would put cash in his pocket. Tim Reeves, sixteen
Speaker 1: year old Warren School District substitute bus driver. Times were
Speaker 1: different in nineteen seventy four. Tim's certification consisted of a
Speaker 1: driving test that started at the bus lot located on
Speaker 1: the north end of what was then actually filled where
Speaker 1: the Mighty Lumberjacks squared up against anyone brave enough to
Speaker 1: show up on Friday nights in the fall of the year.
Speaker 1: Just across the fence from the north end zone that
Speaker 1: separated the football field was the bus lot at the
Speaker 1: corner of Seminary and Bryant Street. It's still there today.
Speaker 1: On the appoint Tim met Arkansas State Trooper Jody Roper.
Speaker 1: He was there for his test that consisted of him
Speaker 1: driving out of the bus lot and making one particularly
Speaker 1: difficult turn at the intersection a short distance from the lot.
Speaker 1: Once completed, he gave up his seat to other would
Speaker 1: be substitute drivers who were all adults, and they performed
Speaker 1: the same task. That was it. That was the test.
Speaker 1: Trooper Roper signed off on Tim's license and made it official.
Speaker 1: Times were different in nineteen seventy four. Now. Tim showed
Speaker 1: up at the bus lot one afternoon for one of
Speaker 1: his first assignments after learning that he was needed to
Speaker 1: fill in for a driver who had gone home sick.
Speaker 1: When he got there, the bus supervisor assigned him to
Speaker 1: a bus that he'd never driven before on a route
Speaker 1: he'd never driven before, and told him before he left
Speaker 1: that remember the gas pedal had a tendency to stick
Speaker 1: in the down position. He followed that up with grab
Speaker 1: a young and that lives the furthest from school, and
Speaker 1: they'll tell you where to turn, where to go, and
Speaker 1: you will make all your stops. I'll wait for you here.
Speaker 1: I see you back about five five pm. May sound
Speaker 1: like pretty late, but you've got to remember how rural
Speaker 1: Southeast Arkansas is, and even more so was then. There
Speaker 1: were a lot of kids to take home, and they
Speaker 1: were stretched miles from town all over the county. Tim
Speaker 1: picked a kid up out of the group who said
Speaker 1: he knew all the stops at the first school he
Speaker 1: went to. He agreed to be his guide and would
Speaker 1: pass off the duty to another kid he pointed out
Speaker 1: to Tim, who would help him finish the few stops
Speaker 1: that would remain on his route once he got off
Speaker 1: the bus across the river. Tim's route from school to
Speaker 1: school across town was like clockwork, all the kids piling
Speaker 1: on him, grabbing a seat, his guide giving him updates
Speaker 1: as he made his stops. When kids started getting off
Speaker 1: through the edge of town, down narrow streets and obscure neighborhoods,
Speaker 1: a guy telling him three will get off at the
Speaker 1: next stop, and they did. Two will get off here
Speaker 1: and they did. Keep going. You don't have to stop
Speaker 1: at this one. They ain't on the bus. He said.
Speaker 1: It was like having the first GPS. The kid remembered everything.
Speaker 1: He said. He was right on time and almost done
Speaker 1: with the town portion of the route, and there were
Speaker 1: about twenty kids on the bus with one stop left
Speaker 1: to make before leaving the city limits. His guide said,
Speaker 1: three will get off at the next stop, but they
Speaker 1: won't get off until you turn right on that side street.
Speaker 1: Then you can back up and turn around and we'll
Speaker 1: head out of town. Tim said he was knee deep
Speaker 1: in third gear leaving that last stop, headed for the
Speaker 1: next one when he took his right foot off the gas,
Speaker 1: only to realize it had stayed on the floor. It
Speaker 1: wasn't like he was painting the road red blazing down
Speaker 1: the street, but he could see the intersection where he
Speaker 1: needed to stop and turn for his next stop, and
Speaker 1: the fear in the eyes of the three kids who
Speaker 1: were seated across from him, who were supposed to get
Speaker 1: off at the spot they were approaching with ever increasing velocity.
Speaker 1: Now in hindsight, Tim said, all I had to do
Speaker 1: was mash in the clutch and turn on my flashers, stop,
Speaker 1: reach down and pull the pedal free and go on.
Speaker 1: But that's not what I did, he said. In the
Speaker 1: heat of the moment, he could see there was no
Speaker 1: oncoming traffic in front or falling behind, So he bent over,
Speaker 1: grabbed a pedal, and with all the strength he could muster,
Speaker 1: he pulled it free from its locked position. It took
Speaker 1: longer than he'd anticipated. When he sat upright, he saw
Speaker 1: that while he'd done an excellent job of staying properly
Speaker 1: aligned in the street, he was a lot closer to
Speaker 1: that stop sign and turned that he needed to make
Speaker 1: for his final st up in town. He said, it
Speaker 1: was actually a thing of beauty. Oh. He whooped that
Speaker 1: thing so sharply onto the side street, maneuvering that bus
Speaker 1: like a seasoned veteran stunt driver and stopping at the
Speaker 1: exact place his guide had told him to aim for.
Speaker 1: The only negative was the physics experiment. The remaining kids
Speaker 1: were all unwitting participants of that rattled them around like
Speaker 1: beans in a coffee can. School Books and younguins were
Speaker 1: scattered all around inside the bus. Nobody was crying, and
Speaker 1: a quick look in the mirror had everyone up and
Speaker 1: moving around, gathering up books in each other. No one
Speaker 1: said anything, He said it was rather proud of how
Speaker 1: he'd handled the situation, even though it had scared him
Speaker 1: pretty good. He was lost in thoughts, staring straight down
Speaker 1: the side street in front of him, patting himself on
Speaker 1: the back, and very thankful nothing worse had happened. Now
Speaker 1: he had to back up. It would need his guide
Speaker 1: to help him watch cars. He still had an hour
Speaker 1: or so driving left to deliver the country kids, the
Speaker 1: biggest portion of his route home. He looked up in
Speaker 1: the mirror and he was the only one left on
Speaker 1: the bus. He looked across and down the street, and
Speaker 1: the dozen or so kids that were left took the
Speaker 1: opportunity to get off the bus right there. Even his
Speaker 1: guide had abandoned him. He said, I don't know how
Speaker 1: they all got home that day. All I know is
Speaker 1: they didn't ride with me, And according to my brother
Speaker 1: tem that's just how that happened. Riding the school bus
Speaker 1: for me was an eleven year pilgrimage to and from
Speaker 1: school with my friends and some of my enemies. Why
Speaker 1: only eleven years and not twelve, because I worked like
Speaker 1: a man possessed during the summer time haul and hay,
Speaker 1: and every Saturday that I wasn't hunting, I was at
Speaker 1: the local sail barn, pushing cows and other livestock through
Speaker 1: the cell All winter I was trapping and selling fur.
Speaker 1: And I saved my money to buy a truck that
Speaker 1: would deliver me back and forth to school and away
Speaker 1: from that bus sized germ filled petri dish of pandemonium.
Speaker 1: Every day was a battle between the forces of good
Speaker 1: and evil, and depending on what grade you were in,
Speaker 1: the amount of joy or pain you endured from the
Speaker 1: time you stepped on until you either walked off triumphantly
Speaker 1: or jumped off in fear for your life. Since eighteen
Speaker 1: ninety two, when the first school car was built up
Speaker 1: in Indiana, parents have been entrusting the welfare of their
Speaker 1: tax deductions to complete strangers who only had to possess
Speaker 1: a good enough sense of direction to find their driveway
Speaker 1: in the schoolhouse. Twice a day. The school car, which
Speaker 1: was a wooden wagon with benches at the youngun sat
Speaker 1: in while staring at the exhaust pipe of a horse,
Speaker 1: ferried the little hoosiers two and from school one step
Speaker 1: at a time. I bet that made for an early
Speaker 1: morning in a long afternoon. It reminds me of being
Speaker 1: in a summertime kindergarten like program in Rising, Arkansas and
Speaker 1: riding the bus home after a long and arduous day
Speaker 1: of learning my numbers and letters, learning how to share
Speaker 1: a space with folks I'd only just met, and the
Speaker 1: grace and how to conduct yourself when your classmates are
Speaker 1: losing teeth left and right and accidentally pooping the breeches
Speaker 1: in recess that and tire young and out to the
Speaker 1: point of mental physical exhaustion. We lived several miles out
Speaker 1: of town into a five year old human of bus
Speaker 1: seats substituted nicely for a bed on a thirty minute commute.
Speaker 1: We were the last stop on the route at that
Speaker 1: location where we lived in so there was plenty of
Speaker 1: time to catch a few z's before we got there.
Speaker 1: Every day, mister Michael Lemmons, a teacher, and our bus
Speaker 1: driver had to get up and find the sea that
Speaker 1: I was snoozing in and wake me up to get
Speaker 1: off the bus. That was in nineteen seventy one, advancing
Speaker 1: ahead a couple of years and in the fall during
Speaker 1: the regular school year. My brother Tim and the rest
Speaker 1: of us waited at the end of the driveway for
Speaker 1: the school bus, just like we did every other day,
Speaker 1: with one exception. Tim was holding a shotgun and wearing
Speaker 1: a shell vest he'd hidden in the covert at the
Speaker 1: end of our drive the night before. That's right, I said,
Speaker 1: the shell vest and shotgun. The bus pulled up as
Speaker 1: if nothing was out of the ordinary, because really it wasn't.
Speaker 1: Tim and his friend Rusty Ramick, who lived back toward town,
Speaker 1: had conspired to go duck hunting instead of school, an
Speaker 1: elaborate scheme that hinged on one thing. Mister Lemmon's buying
Speaker 1: Tim's story. He'd been rehearsing all morning long. The bus
Speaker 1: slowed to a stop and the doors opened up to
Speaker 1: Tim reciting his lines to perfection. Mister Lemmon's mama said,
Speaker 1: my grades were so good that I could skip school
Speaker 1: today and go duck hunting with Rusty. Can you let
Speaker 1: me off at his house? Mister Lemmons looked at Tim.
Speaker 1: He never changed his expression, and he said, Tim, as
Speaker 1: your shotgunloaded, No, sir, all right, sit here behind me,
Speaker 1: so me Our middle brother, Chuck and heavily armed Tim
Speaker 1: filed onto the bus, taking our regular seats, and Tim
Speaker 1: sliding into his spot behind the driver's seat, grinning like
Speaker 1: a possum chewing on a wire brush. A few miles later,
Speaker 1: he stepped off the bus at Rusty's House and into
Speaker 1: the school skipping Hall of Fame. Two fourteen years year
Speaker 1: old boys had just hacked the school system into being
Speaker 1: there accomplice for a day of duck under on the
Speaker 1: Saline River. No one ever squealed and Mama never found
Speaker 1: out what happened on the bus. Stayed on the bus.
Speaker 1: But riding the bus was a privilege, not a right.
Speaker 1: There was a decorum to be followed in penalties for
Speaker 1: when you didn't. My buddy Michael Roseman and his sister Stephanie,
Speaker 1: the dynamic duo behind the sun spot hunting lights, told
Speaker 1: me once they were riding the bus when a fight
Speaker 1: broke out in the back. The bus driver was famous
Speaker 1: for hollering at the kids to get your head back
Speaker 1: in the window, but the fight was started by a
Speaker 1: bully who terrorized everyone on the bus for so long
Speaker 1: that finally someone had taking a stand. The bullet started
Speaker 1: losing not only the fight but his reign of fear
Speaker 1: over the rest of the students went miraculously. The emergency
Speaker 1: exit door opened when the bus stopped at a stop sign,
Speaker 1: and the bully fell or was pushed out onto the street.
Speaker 1: Seeing everything from the driver's seat in the big mirror
Speaker 1: that tells all, the bus driver drove away, leaving the
Speaker 1: bullet standing there, defeated in no other recourse but to
Speaker 1: walk the rest of the way home. Bullies usually get
Speaker 1: their due if they run a foul long enough. It
Speaker 1: is the course of justice and the way of the bus.
Speaker 1: I remember another time we'd moved from Rising and started
Speaker 1: going to school in Warren. It was Tim's junior year
Speaker 1: and I was eight. We were riding the bus Number five,
Speaker 1: driven by one of the best men I've ever had
Speaker 1: the pleasure to meet, mister Moses Williams, known to everyone
Speaker 1: as mister Mobs. He went to work in the school
Speaker 1: districts of Bradley County, Arkansas as a bus driver and
Speaker 1: mechanic in nineteen forty eight, and for the next fifty
Speaker 1: seven years, mister Mose piloted a yellow school bus, retiring
Speaker 1: in two thousand and five after driving what I estimated
Speaker 1: to be to the moon and back. Several times over
Speaker 1: and not once having an accident, not once. He wore
Speaker 1: navy blue Dickies work pants and a matching shirt and
Speaker 1: tucked neatly inside. His pants were always ironed and always clean.
Speaker 1: A faded red shop rag hung from his back pocket,
Speaker 1: ready when needed. Time of year dictated whether his shirts
Speaker 1: were long and short sleeve. A black leather belt, polished
Speaker 1: black leather shoes, and a brown cap with small red
Speaker 1: and yellow stripes that followed the seams of worthy panels
Speaker 1: were sewn together. It was what he wore every day.
Speaker 1: He smelled of aftershave with a hen of diesel lava soap.
Speaker 1: Sitting next to him made me feel like a king.
Speaker 1: I sat beside him both days on the flat spot
Speaker 1: of the console that housed all the rocker switches for
Speaker 1: the bus number five that controlled the lights beside the
Speaker 1: driver's side window. That was not a seat, not by
Speaker 1: any means was it intended for a child to sit on.
Speaker 1: But what it was was a place of honor for
Speaker 1: the boys that acted good and were respectful with the
Speaker 1: actions and manners. That was a lot of things, young
Speaker 1: and mischievous and somewhat feral at times, but at no
Speaker 1: time was not ever disrespectful, especially to mister Mose. There
Speaker 1: were others, however, who were We're gonna call him Billy,
Speaker 1: and Billy was a year younger than Tim, but several
Speaker 1: grades behind him. Billy was a veteran bus rider of
Speaker 1: mister Moses' bus, and we were more or less the
Speaker 1: new kids. And while I had earned somewhat of a
Speaker 1: lofty position getting the set next to mister Mose and
Speaker 1: turn on and off the bus lights, Tim and Chuck
Speaker 1: sat close to the back, which seemed to be universally
Speaker 1: where the older and the cool kids sat. Junior high
Speaker 1: and elementary students filled the gaps in between the high
Speaker 1: schoolers in the front of the bus, where I concentrated
Speaker 1: on when I was going to get to light up
Speaker 1: the blinking lights at the next stop. I wasn't concerned
Speaker 1: with what happened behind me. Mister Moles was. I can
Speaker 1: see him now, a small framed, lean man. You could
Speaker 1: see the muscles and the veins in his arms as
Speaker 1: he man handled the school bus down the road with
Speaker 1: no more piasteering than a stick horse. Driving down the
Speaker 1: road and watching on coming traffic while glancing in the
Speaker 1: mirror that revealed what buffoonery Billy was up to, which
Speaker 1: was usually picking on someone smaller than him. Mister Mose
Speaker 1: was famous for saying, y'all tightened up, back there, tighten
Speaker 1: up now. It was as animated as he got it,
Speaker 1: but he didn't have to raise his voice much. It
Speaker 1: worked on the rest of us, like your grandpa getting
Speaker 1: on to you. Nobody wanted mister mos upset with him,
Speaker 1: except Billy. He didn't care. You could see the frustration
Speaker 1: of mister Moses's face any time he had to get
Speaker 1: on to anyone. Why can't you just ride the bus
Speaker 1: and be good to your neighbor. Like mister Mose, he
Speaker 1: was the standard for which manners could have been taught.
Speaker 1: We all followed his lead, except Billy. He didn't care.
Speaker 1: The day of the incident started out as any other.
Speaker 1: We'd all been on the bus for several stops on
Speaker 1: the way to school that morning, when on one of
Speaker 1: the last stops before kids started getting dropped off at
Speaker 1: the appropriate school, Billy got on with the rest of
Speaker 1: the kids at his spot. The bullying began immediately before
Speaker 1: Billy had gotten into his seat. He was picking on
Speaker 1: a smaller kid who was a regular target of Billy's
Speaker 1: and no doubt dreading the next few minutes of terror
Speaker 1: before he could escape the confines of the bus Number five,
Speaker 1: and Billy's hour had apparently anticipated what was coming on,
Speaker 1: because he'd already setting out one y'all tightened up back
Speaker 1: there before Billy had sat down, with no more lights
Speaker 1: to turn off, since the next door was for me
Speaker 1: to get off the bus. I looked back, and I
Speaker 1: watched Billy as he antagonized a kid who was in
Speaker 1: my grave, thumping him on the head and taking his
Speaker 1: books away from him. Billy laughing, his unkept, greasy hair
Speaker 1: swaying back and forth as he laughed his evil, tormenting
Speaker 1: laugh like a mad scientist on my classmate, coward of
Speaker 1: deceit in the fetal position. And I saw my brother
Speaker 1: Tim stand up as soon mister Moles saw it too.
Speaker 1: Tim had a hard backed textbook in his right hand,
Speaker 1: and in two steps he was standing beside Billy. The
Speaker 1: rest played out like a dream. Tim cockt that book
Speaker 1: back like it was a cold peacemaker. Billy turned to
Speaker 1: look at him, still laughing at the little kid, but
Speaker 1: he was terrorizing, who now slumped down in the floor
Speaker 1: in the litter and goo. That seems to be the
Speaker 1: standard for every bus I've ever ridden on. With lightning
Speaker 1: precision and speed, Tim slapped Billy into the next zip
Speaker 1: code with that book. The explosion of the blow plastered
Speaker 1: that greasy hair to the left side of his head,
Speaker 1: and the right side stuck straight out like he combed
Speaker 1: it with a fire cracker. There was an immediate silence
Speaker 1: on the bus, the echo of that blow resounding through
Speaker 1: the crowd. Tim reached and grabbed Billy by the shirt collar,
Speaker 1: and he pulled him close, speaking to him where only
Speaker 1: Billy could hear what he was saying. All the while
Speaker 1: Billy rubbed the left side of his face that was
Speaker 1: now red as a barn door and imprinted with the
Speaker 1: thread pattern of that school book. Billy listened in tently
Speaker 1: him shoved him down in his seat when he finished talking,
Speaker 1: and walked back and sat down where he'd been. Mister
Speaker 1: Moles let out one more complimentary y'all tightened up back
Speaker 1: there and never said another word, neither did Billy. As
Speaker 1: far as the Reeves Boys and Billy go, it would
Speaker 1: be twenty years later before he got another tune up.
Speaker 1: I decided Billy needed to go to jail one night
Speaker 1: for a warmth that had been issued for him, and
Speaker 1: I happened upon him during a traffic stop. Billy decided
Speaker 1: he would not go well. We settled at the old
Speaker 1: bus number five way, he got tightened up and he went.
Speaker 1: None of my kids have ever regularly ridden a bus
Speaker 1: to school. Field trips and sporting events have been their
Speaker 1: only exposure, and I feel like it been somewhat cheated.
Speaker 1: The school bus is a great place for kids to
Speaker 1: learn life lessons, just like mister Moles taught us. Good
Speaker 1: actions are rewarded and the lesson Tim taught Billy bad
Speaker 1: actions have repercussion. And then there's all the other lessons
Speaker 1: you learn on there, like how you might wind up
Speaker 1: sitting with someone that you don't know, or for one
Speaker 1: reason or another you may not like because it's the
Speaker 1: only open seat left. You're forced to coexist for a
Speaker 1: period of time someplace you'd rather not be. But in
Speaker 1: the end, your suffering or momentary discomfort didn't keep you
Speaker 1: from where you were going, which was your purpose for
Speaker 1: being there to begin with. As adults, we have to
Speaker 1: do that in our everyday lives, except we substitute the
Speaker 1: school bus our life goals and the struggles we end
Speaker 1: you're to reach them now. That's a great lesson and
Speaker 1: one that you're never too young to learn. Thank y'all
Speaker 1: so much for listening to this country Life, Bear, Greece
Speaker 1: and the Render. There's a lot of great content available
Speaker 1: from Me to Eater. Jason and Dirk do some good
Speaker 1: stuff on they're calling over at the Cutting the Distance,
Speaker 1: and Tony Peterson has some good stuff coming out on
Speaker 1: his Foundation show y'all check them out when you get
Speaker 1: a chance. Until next week, This is Brent Reeves site
Speaker 1: and off y'all be careful