Long before we had cell phones, we had CB (Citizens Band) radios. Our family had one in every vehicle. The units were small and fit under the dash of the car or pickup. The boys did some farming when they were in high school, and they had one in the cab of the combine. The boys also had a base unit in their bedroom. Our daughter remembers that the call letters were KVE8936. These letters, or signs, were issued during the seventies.
Users had nicknames and a lingo of their own. Our oldest son was Cadillac Cowboy and his brother was Wildfire. Our daughter was Goldilocks until she started college. Then she became Little Miss Priss. These nicknames were your “handle.”
A dear friend brought her son and daughter for a visit in the mid seventies. We planned a day trip from Georgetown to Johnson City and the LBJ Ranch. Our two sons were working. This meant that we would be taking two girls and one boy. The boy was one unhappy guy. He was actually downright angry. He refused to go with all of those females. He really had no choice in the matter, but we did not want him sulking all day. We promised that he could sit between us in the front seat and have total use of the CB. He chose a handle, and we were off for the day. He actually enjoyed talking to the truckers.
The return trip started with him talking immediately. On a whim, his mom said, “Let me talk a while.” She took the microphone, and in a low, sultry voice said, “Breaker, Breaker.” (I want to talk.) A trucker immediately asked her handle. She drawled, “Peaches.” He asked where she was going. She told him to “that Capitol City.” (Austin) The conversation was on. She asked him his 10-20 (location). When he asked her for her 10-20, she gave a location behind him. He asked what she was driving, and she asked the same. He was driving a Bulldog (Mack truck).
The girls in the back seat suddenly straightened up, looked at her, and then at each other with surprised expressions. Her daughter mouthed, “Oh my gosh, she is talking to a trucker.” She definitely had their attention. Her son meanwhile, was about to have a convulsion trying to keep from laughing out loud.
The trucker definitely wanted to meet her, and he told her where he would stop. She said it sounded good to her. We were not very far behind him. When we got to the designated stop, there was the big Mack truck with the driver sauntering around it. We whizzed right on by. We will never know how long he waited for Peaches to arrive.
This gave Peaches confidence using the CB. Some time later, she went to San Marcos for a concert. On the return trip to her home in Houston, her headlights suddenly went out. She was about two hours from home. She got on the CB and two truckers answered. They put her car in the “rocking chair” between their trucks and made sure she got to her exit safely. She was thankful for truckers and a CB radio that night.