Early Morning Fog on Route 83

There’s a very specific kind of silence that only exists in a gravel yard at 4:30 in the morning. Before the coffee pot in the trailer has even finished its first cycle, the air is thick with the smell of diesel exhaust and damp Illinois grass. On August 17, 1978, the fog off Route 83 was sitting heavy enough that you couldn't see the fence line ten yards past the gate.

Most people were still wrapped up in blankets, waiting for the sun to burn off the mist before starting their day. But for Dad, that morning fog wasn't a signal to slow down—it was just another day at the office.

He didn't wait around for visibility to clear up. He climbed up into the cab of that Ford dump truck, pulled the choke, and let that big engine rumble to life, shaking the gravel beneath the duals. That sound was the unofficial alarm clock for the whole stretch of Mundelein, signaling that All Ways Trucking was open for business long before the rest of the county rubbed the sleep from its eyes.

Pulling out onto Route 83 in a loaded rig when the visibility is restricted takes a steady hand and an intimate knowledge of every curve, shoulder dip, and intersection on the route. Long before GPS or digital maps existed, Dad navigated by pure instinct and local memory. He had to stay two steps ahead of the clock. If you didn't clear the local stretches before 6:00 AM, you'd find yourself caught dead in the middle of the early commuter rush—boxed in by passenger cars and delayed trying to make your first pit run of the morning.

Double-clutching smoothly through the early gears, he kept the RPMs steady as the Ford fought through the heavy, damp air. By the time the sun finally cut through the grey haze and hit the windshield, the truck was already rolling into the job site, swinging the tail, and dumping the load right on schedule. That was the standard he set every single day: no excuses, no shortcuts, just honest work.