HARD TIMES ON THE HORIZON Gene Dammon 4/20/06 The mechanical brakes on the old truck squealed loudly, and finally managed to stop the vehicle a few feet from the armed men standing in the road. Inside the truck, the little boy riding in the front seat stared wide-eyed at the strangers, and the driver, sensing his fear said quietly, “It’s OK. I know these men.” The driver gave them a nod of recognition and turned the engine off. He was not afraid, but he knew the truck would leave when the men said they could leave. Not before. It was a delay that he had anticipated, but hoped they could avoid. After all, he was delivering ice, and it was hot summertime. There were three of them, dressed in worn overalls, and each one was carrying a shotgun and wearing a grim _expression. It was 1936, and although there were no jobs to be found, they were working, doing the only thing they knew to do that would put a little cash in their pocket or bartered groceries on the table. Out here in the forests and foothills of central Louisiana, as it was in so many places in the depression-era South, a whiskey “still” was all that stood between the families of these men and starvation. One of the armed men walked to the back of the truck. Pete, the young boy in the cab of the truck, twisted around and watched the lean, tan, man lift the canvas and nod approvingly at the blocks of ice stacked there. As he lowered the canvas, he caught Pete’s eye through the back glass of the truck cab and winked at him. “I reckon y’all better be on your way, Emmett, afore you have to deliver yore ice in a bucket!” All the men chuckled, and the driver, Emmett, my Dad, smiled, stepped on the starter and ground the old engine to life. One of the men produced a Mason Jar with a few inches of clear liquid in it, stepped to the window, and held it out to Dad. “This here’s real good stuff, friend. Have a sip for the road.” Emmett made a sideways nod at the boy beside him and said, “Naw, thanks, maybe some other time. Better get up the road. I think Mrs. Holloway has a chicken for us.” Many of Dad’s customers paid their bill with eggs, garden vegetables, or an occasional chicken. It was all they had. They all laughed, and Dad eased the clutch out. The old truck shuddered and began to creep forward. For the next few miles, Pete would pepper him with questions about the men on the road. Dad explained that they were just on the watch for the law, but it was difficult for a child to understand that they weren’t “bad men,” even though what they were doing was against the law. Times were hard, and people did what they had to do. Despair was common among the people of America. There is a touch of despair in the voices of some of our fellow citizens these days. We have become dependent upon energy, lots of energy; you might even say that we are addicted to energy, and the cost of our favorite flavor of energy is going through the roof. While people feel the pinch most acutely right now at the gasoline pump, the true effect of high energy cost is pervasive and cumulative. How hot will it get this summer? If current temperatures are any indication, it will be a scorcher. Perhaps for you and I, the question is this: how much are you willing to pay to cool your living space and work area? But for some people, the question is different: how can a person stay cool enough to survive when the daytime temperature reaches 100 degrees Fahrenheit? Whatever your situation, it will be uncomfortable for many people this summer. Is it the beginning of hard times? If you could go back in time to 1935 and speak with the average working man or woman, you might have a credibility problem. If you told them, for example, that in your future world, nearly everyone in the U.S. works a 40-hour week, has television, telephones, air conditioning, at least one automobile, and could eat three meals a day, they might not believe you. If you then told them that people were panicked because the price of gasoline and other energy was so high that they were afraid they might not be able to drive as much, or stay as cool, they would know you were crazy! They would probably say something naïve, like, “Well, why don’t they just park their cars and turn off their air conditioners?”