I love characters. Every now and again you run across someone you just have to get to know better. There’s something about them that draws you in and makes you want to know more. I also love things with character, particularly cars. When you run across an interesting person with an interesting car, you’ve just got to get their story.
Such is the case with Jesse Woodby. Aside from having a sexy first name, Jesse is one of those people you want to be friends with. I’ve only known him for a year and a half. Half that time we didn’t know each other well. But we became fast friends commiserating over old trucks. Since then, we’ve become like brothers.
Jesse cuts hair on the quaint town square in Athens, Alabama. Having no time for a cut the past few weeks (and my hairdo beginning to resemble Albert Einstein’s), I decided to drive down to his shop this past Saturday. I walked in to his shop, King’s Corner, where he greeted me like a long lost friend.
“Wazzup, J! You lookin’ shaggy, dude. C’mon, have a seat. I’m-a take care of you.” His speech is a fine mixture of country twang and hip-hop artist.
Jesse gives the author a much-needed cut. Taken on Canon Rebel T7i.
In addition to being a barber, he’s also a gospel preacher, but for my money there’s not a heck of a lot of difference between the two. While he cut my hair, a friend of his, named Brandon, walked into the shop. Jesse greeted him with the same enthusiasm and rapper twang. Brandon had a look about him like he’d seen some things. He happened to be passing through, and he wanted to say hi to Jesse, and update him on a tough family situation he was dealing with. I could tell he and Jesse talked regularly about it. As I said, there’s not much difference between being a barber and a preacher.
But Jesse’s seen some things, himself. His dad was an alcoholic that beat him and his mom. His father had kidnapped a police officer and done time in prison. His mother remained faithful to him the whole time he was locked up. He was released early on good behavior. One cold Ohio night, his dad came home particularly drunk and knocked his mom senseless, then passed out on the couch. Later that night, his mom grabbed up some clothes for her and little Jesse and whispered, “Come on, Jesse. We’re leaving.”
They spent that cold night in a battered women’s shelter. Jesse was ten years old.
He and his mother made their way to Alabama, where his grandparents lived. At one point, his father found out where they were and came down to take Jesse away, but his grandparents went and got the sheriff. That was the last time his father bothered them.
Backing out. Taken on Canon Rebel T7i.
Life went on for a while. The Woodbys settled into Athens. But an emptiness grew inside Jesse that went unchecked all those years. A grief. Jesse turned to pills to fill the emptiness. He told me it was nothing for him to take an entire pack of Lortab 10 in a day.
His skin turned yellow. He went to the doctor, who said, “Son, if you don’t quit doing what you’re doing, you’ll be dead in a year.”
That night, Jesse sat down with his mom and confessed everything. He’d kept his addiction from her until then, but she’d known something wasn’t right. She sat wordlessly as he told her the whole story. When he was finished, she didn’t chastise him. She didn’t shame him. She prayed over him.
Something changed right then and there. “I know some of us church folks don’t like to talk about feelings,” he said, “but I felt something happen to me. I felt a transition. It was powerful, man.”
By the grace of God, he’s been clean for eight years now. He became a father of four overnight when he married his wife Holly and her three kids, and has one of his own with Holly now. He’s a great dad. He wouldn’t admit it, but I’ve seen it, myself. He makes voices and farting sounds and everything that growing kids need.
Jesse’s truck, “Rosie”. Photo courtesy of Jesse Woodby.
Jesse drives a 1985 Ford F-150 named Rosie. He’s quick to point out it’s the same year Back to the Future takes place. He has trouble finding flux capacitors at Advance Auto Parts. He was helping a friend move out of his house when he noticed the old truck just sitting in a field on the property.
“What are you gonna do with that old truck?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said his friend. “Probably scrap it.”
“Oh no you ain’t! What do you want for it?”
“Want for it? I’ll give it to you!”
Rosie was in bad shape. She had been T-boned and left to rot in that field years ago. The engine was dry of all oil. The tires were flat. The gas line had been nibbled through by feral squirrels looking to wet their whistles on the good stuff. Yes, Rosie was rough.
Behind the wheel. Taken on Canon Rebel T7i.
Jesse had her towed to his house where the rehab began. He slowly nursed her back to health, one piece at a time. He repaired the gas line with some fuel-resistant J.B. Weld. He got new tires put on. He got the engine running. Now he’s working on the body. His love for Rosie is something special. They have a bond, and he never gives up on the old girl. You can tell there’s a lot of him poured into her.
Rosie has a bench seat and a column shifter. She’s a long-bed. No four-wheel-drive. No frills. She’s just an honest old truck with a pokey V-8. Driving her is an experience that takes you back in time. It takes you back to a time when you had to pay attention to the gauges, because your engine might overheat, and you might have to end your photoshoot early. Yes, Rosie has character.
There’s something there, Jesse rehabbing old Rosie after all he’s been through. But I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.