With the Wind(Todd Latchford Jr.) With the Wind

I have always been the kind of person who loves helping others. Over the years, I have grown tremendously from experiences I have been through, and the people I have encountered along the way. At sixteen I learned one of the most valuable lessons of my life while visiting relatives in a little town called Callao, Missouri. I realized that being at the right place at the right time can change a life, and that people from different backgrounds and lifestyles really aren’t that different after all.

I shut the screen door of our relative’s ranch home and walked down the old wooden steps to the front lawn. I wore basketball shorts with a white tank top, far different from the blue jeans and cotton button-down that my uncle had on. It was very hot, but I wasn’t sweating; no humidity in Callao, Missouri. “Hop in,” said Bruce, with a sinister expression on his face. Getting into my uncle’s white ’95 Dodge pickup was always a risky matter. As I jumped up into the cab of the pickup, I also unconsciously signed away any innocence that a kid from Long Island might have had. I was at the mercy of the country now. My father hopped in, taking shotgun which forced me to squeeze in between him and the driver’s seat. As I looked at the two men on either side, I concluded that they were not all that different from each other. Both of them had distinguishing mustaches. Bruce’s though was the stereotypical Midwestern mustache, not so groomed. My father seemed to emulate Bruce’s 95 degree attire, as he also sported a pair of jeans. I didn’t feel particularly comfortable sandwiched between these two. Sure my father would never let anything bad happen to me. Still, there is something about three men and a pickup truck on backcountry Missouri roads that screams dangerous adventure. I reached for my seatbelt. As my hand groped for it, I found nothing but a patch of air. I had forgotten my placement in the vehicle. Hopefully, we wouldn’t have any random collisions today. I peered at my uncle who was now tossing a downed Pepsi bottle out the window. Bruce had neglected his seatbelt altogether. I wasn’t that surprised.

As we drove away from my uncle’s property, my eyes wandered left and right taking in everything I saw. The thing was, there wasn’t much to see in this neighborhood. To my left was a run-down shack that looked as though a tornado had just hit it. The grass around the property had been neglected long enough for milkweed and dandelions to start sprouting up. Something like this at home would have never been allowed for long without the complaint of a neighbor or two. Down the old gravel road, I could spot a few shaggy looking horses enclosed in an area by a rusty metal fence. Flies constantly swarmed around the horses, and strands of hay could be seen floating atop the water trough. I glanced to my right and figured that the owner of the horses must have been the old man I saw rocking back and forth on a decrepit front stoop. The man, whose hair had long been replaced by layers of wrinkles, waved at us enthusiastically as we drove by. “That’s Ed,” said Bruce, flicking a two fingered gesture in reply to the man. “He used to be the Mayor of Callao, until he handed it over to me last January.” “Oh cool!” I replied. So that’ll be Bruce one day?

Callao was a very down to Earth town with not much going for it except for a small white-washed building that had a wooden sign with “Diner” painted across. The three of us got out of the truck and headed inside. The first thing I saw when we entered the restaurant was an old, grimy looking gumball machine with a faded advertisement that was peeling off the side of the glass. Above the gumball machine, on the wall, was a board of all different pictures. Images of men holding fish were pinned to the board, as well as sale signs for used boats and other equipment. We walked into the main room of the diner. To our left were a few small tables, complimented by booths along a row of windows near the back. Two old ceiling fans were slowly oscillating above the tables. To the right was a bar area surrounded by a raised platform where stools were attached for patrons to sit. Typical diner setup. Not the worst place we’ve ever been in. The hardwood floor creaked as my Uncle showed us to a booth. Bruce was greeted by a large woman, probably in her 50’s. She wore a white apron and had long, greasy, brown hair. “We got relatives all the way from Long Island, New York here today Jody. Todd and Todd Junior,” said Bruce. The woman gave my father and me the check down, her eyes scanning over my basketball shorts as she got ready to speak. “Well would you looky here,” said Jody. “We ain’t had nobody from that far-a-distance in our restaurant before. Welcome, welcome, please make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back with some pop.” Jody headed off in the direction of the kitchen as I turned to Bruce. “Uh, what’s pop?” I asked. Bruce began chuckling uncontrollably as we sat down. “Soda boy! Coca Cola-like products, that’s what they’re called ‘round here.” I slouched into the booth in embarrassment. Why not just call it soda then? Bruce reassured me that I would get used to “Missouri speak” with time. Jody came back with our beverages and started a conversation with Bruce again. “So y’all from New York and such so everything’s always real noisy-like in the city right? A lot different out here, ain’t it? I’d never be able to sleep in one of them apartments with all the beepin’ and the sirens and such.” Jody continued to ramble until my father finally interjected. “Well actually,” my father paused. “Actually we don’t live in New York City. We live about an hour outside the city on Long Island. A lot of the land is still undeveloped and it’s really not loud at all.” Jody had a look of confusion spread upon her wrinkly face. “You mean you’re sayin’ that New York ain’t all just a big city, bright lights,'n taxis?” She asked. “No not at all,” said my dad with an offended tone. “New York is a very big state! Only New York City is like that. The rest of the state is very different. In fact, the second largest wilderness area in the United States is in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. Only Alaska has a bigger area.”

My father was very proud of his knowledge and of his passion for the great outdoors. Taken aback, Jody ran her fingers past her ear to clear the greasy hair from her face. “Well I’ll be damned!” She exclaimed. “And to think all these years we all been thinkin’ about New York as such a loud city place. What, with everything you see on the television these days, I had no idea!” With that, Bruce chimed in to the conversation as I sat back and watched the entire scene unravel. “Well, Todd here’s been a New York City Police Sergeant for 20 years, so he knows a thing or two about all that!” He exclaimed. At that moment Jody let out a deep and very low chuckle which was very irritating to the ears. “I’ll be damned, I’ll be damned,” she said. Jody took our orders and walked back to the kitchen laughing uncontrollably. I looked at my father, who had a look that silently seemed to be saying, why do you have to announce this to everyone we come in contact with? Bruce didn’t seem to notice as he took a drink of his pop. I sat in the booth in silence, staring at my phone. The lady’s ignorance about New York had annoyed me. After a few minutes went by, Jody came back to serve us our food. She then walked towards the exit of the diner and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from under her apron. Once she was outside, I leaned to my father and whispered my disgust into his ear. Even with this turn-off, my meal was better than I had expected it to be.

Once we were finished eating, the three of us got up from the booth and said our farewells to Jody. Bruce kindly paid for our share of the meal. We walked outside and hopped back into the pickup. Back on the road.

The diesel engine of the old truck roared as we pulled away from the diner. We turned off the dusty gravel road that ran through the center of town and got onto Highway 23 as I saw a strange sight in the sky. I squinted through the front windshield as I covered my forehead with my hand, blocking the sunlight. I soon realized that it was a hot air balloon, and pointed it out to the other two. Bruce looked up in amazement. The balloon had red and blue stripes that produced an optical illusion that made it seem as if it was twirling. A huge wicker basket hung from below the distinct orange glow of the balloon’s flame. Intrigued by the sight, we followed the balloon for a few miles on the highway until we came to a lake. Bruce pulled over onto a small dirt parking area next to the lake. The balloon descended to a low altitude and seemed to hover just a few feet above the water. My dad took out his camera and got some pictures. I was amazed not only by the balloons size, but by the skill it must take to maneuver such a craft so precisely. Finally, something cool I can tell my friends about when I get back home. It was obvious the wind was picking up because all of a sudden the balloon was back on its way, across the lake. As it headed further away from the highway, Bruce got a sinister expression on his face again.

I slid to the right, up against my father, as Bruce made a sharp u-turn with the pickup. We got back on the highway and cranked it up to 75mph in the blink of an eye. Every now and then I would peer out the passenger window, and each time the hot air balloon would get smaller and smaller. We drove for a few more miles without seeing a single vehicle on the road. Bruce grabbed onto the steering wheel with two hands and suddenly jerked the truck off the highway onto a dirt road. I glanced back as we sped down this country path and could see a cloud of sand and dust spraying from behind. It hadn’t rained in weeks. Bruce was familiar with this road that apparently ran adjacent to the lake. As he asked me to pass him a new Pepsi out of the back, he had a determined look upon his face. “We’re going to follow that balloon and see where it’s headed,” he said. I suddenly found myself enjoying the scenario as my body jerked in all directions. It seemed as if Bruce was trying to hit every bump and hole in the road just for the hell of it. It was awesome. A jolt of rejuvenated blood, filled with adventurousness, seemed to flow through me at this moment. I hollered “woo” as we sped down the dirt road. The balloon was getting closer again, and I could make out those distinct colorful stripes.

The lake was eventually distanced from us as the road continued into a clearing. Old wooden fences were on either side of us and a few cows could be spotted off in the distance. The hot air balloon was now very close and seemed to be descending again. About a mile ahead of us, there was a truck with a trailer on the back of it. “That must be for the balloon,” my father said. The balloon fits in that? I didn’t see it at all possible for a balloon and basket the size of a small building to fit on a tiny trailer attached to the back of a jeep. We drove over to the trailer and pulled up along the driver’s side. Bruce gave a two fingered gesture greeting the man who sat in the seat. The man rolled the window down and gave us a loud “howdy.” He jumped out of the jeep, pulling up his plaid overalls. The man’s name was George, and he told us how he was waiting for his family to land the hot air balloon so he could pack it up. George pulled a handheld radio from out of his overalls and contacted the balloon. “How you doin’ up there? Ready to land’er down?” He asked. A woman’s voice came over the radio saying how they were deciding to land in a farmer’s field, just a short distance from where we were parked. Bruce and my father looked excited for the opportunity, so they offered their assistance with the endeavor. After a bit more chattering back and forth on the radio, George got back into his jeep and we followed him over to the nearby pasture. A small herd of cows grazed on dried yellow grass just on the other side of a rusty metal gate. I jumped out of the pickup and ran over to the gate, standing elevated on the second cross bar. I let the scene unfold before my eyes, the hot air balloon slowly dropping in altitude above a group of cows in wide open field. I could see for miles in all directions. I noticed that the gate had a lock on it, so I told the trailer man. “I’ll be damned, alright,” he said. It was then that it hit me; everything from the day had culminated to this moment. My thoughts of random sights and occurrences quickly turned to an understanding for the task at hand. It was strange to me how we had just been at the right place at the right time to help these folks out.

My father pointed out to George that we had failed to recognize a group of high tension wires that ran the distance of the farmer’s field. The balloon would have to carefully maneuver past these in order to land. George seemed to shrug it off; a daredevil countryman. As we eagerly awaited the descent of the balloon, I sat atop the rusty fence, not caring so much about my basketball shorts and the filth they might accumulate.

The wind was taking the balloon down faster now, as the people inside began throwing sandbags off the sides of the large wicker basket. It seemed to be coming incredibly close to the electric wires. Everything hung in the balance. A gust of wind suddenly blew across the pasture and took the hot air balloon with it. Now in range of our voices, Bruce quickly shouted “pull up, pull up!” I could see the driver reignite the balloon flame to maximum capacity as the balloon’s basket just grazed the high tension wires. “Holy shit that was close,” mouthed the driver. The other passengers didn’t seem too pleased with what had just occurred. As the balloon came within a few feet from the ground, I could make out that one girl in the basket must have been around my age. Next to her looked like her younger brother, and both parents. On the ground, the four of us grabbed onto the ropes of the sandbags and pulled the balloon down to a safe landing on the dried grass. The large basket landed with a thud. The people got out of the basket with a look of relief as they were now safely out of the air. They welcomed us with open arms with a sense of immense gratitude for assisting their friend George in task.

At this point it was time to pack up the hot air balloon, and it was getting dark in the process. Nightfall crept in as we stood around the balloon, waiting for it to slowly deflate. We waited for what seemed like an hour, until finally the colorful stripes were spread along the ground in a big, wrinkled mess. It took the whole group of us quite a while just to roll up the canvas of the giant balloon, and then detach it from the wicker basket. A large silver moon was all that gave the sky light anymore. The faint glow showered the pasture and gave everything a very nostalgic and relaxing feel. Once the balloon was put into the trailer, all that was left was the wicker basket. I went over and examined it. The intricate weaving of the basket amazed me, as well as how heavy it was. It took every bit of strength from each of us just to carry the basket over to the metal gate at the side of the field. How we got it over that locked gate is still a mystery to me. If we weren’t there that night to help them carry it over, I just don’t see how they could’ve done it themselves. In all honesty, they probably would have had to drive around looking for the farmer’s house and ask him to unlock the gate. There were no houses for miles around.

By the time the trailer was totally packed away, everyone was exhausted. The family, as well as George, showed their gratitude for what we had done for them. A culmination of dangerously navigating tension wires, as well as the brute force it took in the packing process, made us out to look like heroes. I thought to myself how life changing this was. Missouri turned out to not be so different from back home. People are people, no matter how they speak or what they look like. When someone is in need, it always seems to work out that you’re there in the right place at the right time. Two totally separate groups of people crossed paths at this very moment. Although we may never see them again, that moment taught me that being there in someone else’s time of need is one of the greatest life experiences. Now, years later, I look back on that event and see just how different I have become because of it. The memory of that balloon, as well as the expressions of thankfulness, will stay with me for the rest of my life.

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