The red wagon

 He was a lanky man, quick to smile at everyone he met. In his prime during the 1930s, he dreamed big, always chasing get-rich-quick schemes. Often, it was the bottle talking as he sat at the table, his mother glowing as he described his next big score.

He tried several jobs, but most were terminated for sleeping in the night before and arriving late to work. He tried selling insurance and new and used cars, but all ended up taking a back seat to his priority: the drink.

He came from a circus family and quickly grew to love it, a chip off the old block, as his dad was a circus band leader and his mom walked the tightrope. They traveled from town to town, setting up in vacant fields, where he was tasked with setting up and taking down the big tent. Nobody knew exactly how many days of work he missed, but he was often found sleeping it off under a circus wagon, which led to him being fired, again.

He wandered aimlessly across the states, always with a smile and a promise to do a good job, but the booze ruled his life, and before he died of a bad liver, he went back home to live with his mother and memories of his dad. It was then that he came across a 1930s food truck abandoned in a field. Immediately, he knew what he wanted to do. All he needed was someone to believe in his dream as he did, and his mom agreed to lend him the money if he promised her he would stop drinking.

He was a guy who worked with his hands and his vision, fixing what he could and figuring out the rest through trial and error. He painted the truck bright red and painted the name on both sides. When it came time to outfit the inside, his skills shone as much as the stainless sinks and countertops he designed himself. He went to auctions and bought a cotton candy machine, a peanut roaster, and a hot-dog-and-burger grill. He found a soda fountain at the curb and took it home, where he fixed it like new. He searched for the elusive candy apple machine without any luck until he visited the county fair and played poker with the workers. When everybody cashed out, it was just him and the candy apple vendor.

He probably cheated, but he didn't much care, as he talked the vendor into putting up the candy apple machine, which the vendor reluctantly did, and then lost. With that secure in the truck, he was ready to hit the road and live his dream. He traveled with carnivals and fairs, doing great business, and for the first time in a long time, he was sober and making money. But like many things in life, he fell off the wagon and often found himself alone in his truck after the fairs closed down and left him behind.

Years later, the little red wagon, faded red with vines growing in the wooden-spoked wheels, came to rest next to his mother's house, where it remained until a passerby noticed it and its potential. He sold it to that passerby for pennies on the dollar, enough to keep him in whiskey for a few months, when he developed liver cancer and passed away at 44 years old.

To this day, you'll still see the little red wagon at county fairs and carnivals across the land, the smell of hot dogs and burgers cooking, and the smiles on children's faces as they bite into a candy apple.I like to think he's looking down at his vision, proud of what he did and sorry for what he didn't.

Mike 2026