 Welder Billy Miller can't hold down a full-time job and is often forced to collect cans along the highway for gas money. (SUN MEDIA/Thane Burnett)
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ALONG US-321 IN TENNESSEE — Billy Miller is cleaning up his corner of America.
These hard days, it's the only way he can afford to stay on the road. Or even get to the doctor.
Now, he says, as we're searching for empty cans along this corkscrew highway in Tennessee's Appalachian Mountains — transport trucks speeding by so close, gravel sprays our boots - if only U.S. voters would tidy
things up.
Weirdly philosophical, he's one part mountain man with a helping of political Yoda. Or maybe it's more Mr. Miyagi with a gun.
Either way, he's had a lot of time to think out here.
"One man doing a job doesn't make much difference," Billy preaches,
pitching another can in his bag. "But you add 10 fellas, and suddenly
things are getting done."
He continues: "Same when it comes to the government. If we got bad leaders, we only got ourselves to blame.
"Everyone get up off the chair, stop looking at the television and get something done for yourself."
Billy, a 53-year-old welder, can't hold a steady job after suffering two heart attacks. So he's out trolling for pop and beer cans to sell as
scrap. He does this whenever he needs to put gas in his truck.
He has a doctor's appointment soon, so today he'll look to earn about $6 or $7 for needed fuel.
He'd be out trolling these mountain passes anyway, he points out — might as well do some good.
During next week's Super Tuesday, Tennessee will be one of 22 states to cast ballots in the U.S. presidential primaries. In a state with 5.3% unemployment, the economy is driving the election here. It's the reason why Republican Mike Huckabee, along with Democrat Hillary Clinton, lead in polls.
Though don't mention Hillary's name out loud, warns 46-year-old Tina Stout, who's manning a paint shop on the edge of Mountain City, a town cradled in a quiet Tennessee valley.
"Even in the election line, you don't mention Democrats," she shudders — even though that's where her vote will go.
Sometimes it's best to not even mention the election.
At the other end of Mountain City, Maynard Jenkin builds a bar in a friend's trailer. With factories closed, and a slowdown at the nearby cotton plant, everyone is on edge about the economy.
As he speaks, his pal Larry trudges past.
"Want my opinion?" he asks. "I don't give a f--- about any politician."
A slammed screen door ends that debate.
Robert Farthing, chopping firewood at the edge of his mountain property, allows more time before lamenting what America needs now is another Ronald Reagan - whose shoes all the republican contenders say they fill.
"The economy...needs to be turned around," 70-year-old Farthing says, cheeks red from the mountain cold.
"But I don't see any candidate to get (excited) about."
Back out on the highway, Billy and I are now walking up the opposite side of the road.
Without much concern, he reaches over the slippery sides of the drop-offs, using a mechanical claw to reach pay dirt. A step in one direction means he gets flattened by a semi. A bit too much the other way has him lost in the notches of the Eastern Continental Divide.
One of eight children, he was born and raised only a short trek from here. He has two sons and they have three kids.
"Mean as rattlesnakes," he beams with pride of the grandkids. "Don't think I didn't have something to do with that."
Despite the boast, Billy is friendly and welcomes the unusual company of a Canadian.
Hoping for more employment, lower gas prices and action on health care for the poor, Billy doubts any president will help his kind.
"We're small people. They don't pay attention to us."
But believing in the force of many, he dreams of mass boycotts of gas companies and holding politicians accountable.
"Our country was founded by people who stood up for what's right," he says. "Today, we don't stand up for nothing. We fall for anything, as long as it's easy.
"I say we all have to work together to clean it all up."
