Earl accused James of being reckless, arrogant, and foolish, of believing salesmen and bankers, instead of listening to someone who’d actually survived hard times. It ended with James storming out, shouting that the tractors were coming whether Earl liked it or not, and Earl shouting back, “Not on my land, they’re not.
” Which brings us back to that Tuesday morning in April when the delivery truck rolled down County Road 14 with $85,000 worth of shiny new iron on the trailer. James wasn’t home. He’d gone into town for parts, assuming the tractors would be delivered and unloaded by the time he got back. But Earl had been watching.
When he saw that truck turn onto the drive, he walked out and stood in the middle of the gravelroad and he stopped it. The truck driver, a guy named Mike Sorenson, who’d been hauling equipment for 15 years, climbed down from the cab. Mr. Patterson, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just doing my job. Your son ordered these tractors.
They’re paid for, well, finance, and I’m supposed to deliver them. Earl shook his head. I understand you’re doing your job, son, but this is my property. Those tractors were ordered without my permission, and they’re not staying here. You need to turn around and take them back to the dealership. Mike looked genuinely distressed.
Sir, I can’t do that. I’ve got delivery papers signed by James Patterson. If I don’t deliver these, I’ll lose my job. Earl’s expression softened slightly. I’m not trying to get you fired, but I’m not letting those tractors onto this land. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to call your dispatcher. Your dispatcher is going to call Rick Holloway at the dealership and Rick is going to call my son and then we’ll see what happens.
