Undercover Underwear?

Teamster Wife took care of Daddy well, you could say, to a T. When he would go on grievance committee trips she would iron and press his clothes and underwear and pack his suitcase without fail. How many men these days have that going for them?

One year for Valentine's Day - T-Wife gave Teamster Daddy a pair of boxer shorts adorned with hearts sporting the word "Love". She proudly packed them in his suitcase and off T-Daddy went to the grievance committee meeting. When he returned from Biloxi they were MIA. Upon questioning by T-Wife his reply was "I guess the maid took them." Naively, she bought it.

Two months later the underwear showed up again in his suitcase. He was busted.

Teamster Wife told Teamster Daddy: "Those are really powerful underwear to disappear for two months and to show back up on their own again."

Black Betty, whom would soon be identified as a bit(ch) player in Teamster Daddy's life, had unknowingly washed them and sent them back home with him. The underwear uncovered the affair he was having and it turned our lives upside down.

I’ll never forget the day that Elvis died.

I was ten years old and lying down in the front seat of my Teamster Daddy’s black 1976 Lincoln Continental on the way to a grievance committee meeting in Biloxi, Mississippi. It was a hot August day, but cool inside the car with the air conditioner on full blast and my face against the plush red seats. The radio announcer broke into the song that was playing and announced that Elvis was dead. We were just south of Jackson and I sat up right immediately and said “Mother is going to be so upset!”

Teamster Daddy pulled off the road to find a pay phone to call her. He bought me a coke to drink. I remember crying and T-Daddy stroking my head and telling me everything would be all right. I was only ten, but I knew that something big had happened. Most people remember where they were when President Kennedy was shot and I remember where I was when I first learned the Challenger had exploded, but I can remember the moment and the different shades of green that lined the miles of Mississippi interstate flying by as I sat there and thought about Elvis and how much my mom and her friends loved him.

Does every girl born in the 50s / 60s think her father reminds her of Elvis? These Teamster Daughters do. There is something about the vulnerability of T-Daddy's childhood - losing his father and brother when he was just a boy and having his teenage years taken away to be replaced with responsibility of his mother and three sisters that reminds of Elvis. There's also the southern boy hitting the big time with his swagger, charm and good looks that to me puts Teamster Daddy and Elvis in the same category. Then there's the southern drawl they both possessed and just their overall coolness. T-Daddy had a sweet innocent baby face as a boy which grew into handsomeness. Men either wanted to be T-Daddy's best friend and were in awe of him or they were jealous of him and they hated him. Like Elvis, T-Daddy had his posse of friends who would do his bidding and crazy life-loving hijinks or then there were those that would sling mud at him.

Like Elvis, Teamster Daddy always did things in a big, big way, was generous with his friends and family and loved to do everything with big fanfare. Of course the Elvis inspired fashion trends engulfed T-Daddy big lapels, chest hair showing, flair legs, white shiny loafers for men, gold chains. If Elvis were still alive in the world of celebrity brand fashion - he would have a label and T-Daddy would be sporting his threads.

When Elvis would come to town to perform, Teamster Daddy would treat Teamster Wife and her friends to front row seats at his concert. He would give her the use of the Town Car and give them money to go out to an elaborate steak dinner. Teamster Wife was the envy of the neighborhood, she and her friends would be dressed up in sexy pant suits, hot pants, their hair teased to kingdom come. They looked hot! They did not look the moms who schlepped us to the pool and grocery store each day, these were women going to have a good time - leaving their kids and cares behind. We would wait up until they got home, the party atmosphere at the Teamster Ranch was just as exciting, because after all both Kings were in town - Elvis and Teamster Daddy.

Teamster Wife did not disappoint. Her eyes were always dancing when she got home. She would play the songs he sang on the stereo, what he wore, what color his scarves were and told us how the Municipal Auditorium was vibrating so hard when the Elvis Intro Song started playing, and how the thousands of women were throwing bras and panties on the stage (not Teamster Wife). One of the most impressive things that happened to Mom and the Teamster Neighbors was that one of our next door neighbors got scratched up in a fight over one of Elvis' scarves. She gave as good as she got. Teamster Daddy was impressed and I could never look at her the same way - she had gotten in a fight over Elvis!

Once after receiving an anonymous tip from someone who knew Elvis' driver, Teamster Wife learned that the King would be arriving from Memphis at a local municipal airport at a certain time to come to town to record some music for his album. Well, one innocent whisper to a member of her bowling team led to another leak and when Teamster Family arrived at the airport the entire bowling league was there with their children acting nonchalantly as if they all were there to see someone off or wait on their husband to arrive. It was the best dressed contigent in Nashville. After waiting forever, his small jet arrived, the women and children flocked to the fence and Elvis' came over and took the time to shake hands with the frenzied and screaming crowd before being swept into the car by Col. Tom and his bodyguards. He seemed tickled at his reception and I'm sure the driver was sheepfaced somewhere.

When he left we were still buzzing from the momentary brush with greatness. He left us with a smile and a wave and instantly reminded me of the brief moments we got to spend with Teamster Daddy - he was always on his way to important gig, but when he made time for us we felt like we were the most important Teamster Girls in the room. When Teamster Daddy or Elvis left the building there was always excitement in their wake.

Question: What does a bottle of Jack Daniels and a garden hose have in common? Answer: A 1976 Lincoln Continental

If it seems like Teamster Daddy's T-ride seems to be getting a lot of notariety here that's because it was the centerpiece of many T-family episodes.

When T-daddy would go out of town on official Union business, he would often leave his Town Car in the driveway for Teamster Wife to drive around town. She could drive it to the grocery or to go wardrobe shopping. She could go anywhere she wanted to go and do anything she wanted to do because when Teamster Dads were out of town (or out of the house) Teamster wives were the boss. (And as quickly as Teamster dads were 'called away on Teamster business T-dads could reappear on short notice as well. So you'd better behave.)

If Teamster Daughters #1 & #2 weren't in trouble for anything they'd done (like chewing non-union bubble gum or perhaps partaking in "Bunny Bread"at someone elses home and if they asked special permission to use the batman-esque limo, they were allowed to drive it to school or to their part time jobs. If they were sure that T-mom wouldn't catch them, they'd push their luck and go on a joy ride or two. (Note: this nearly always failed, as T-mom could spot the T-ride from miles away pulling into the local McDonalds drive thru.)

TD#2 loved driving the sleek omnipotent car so much that she often volunteered to wash it by hand while T-Daddy was away. There's nothing better than a shiny black cruiser to get everyone's attention when you're cruisin' at the local "Big Boy". And there's nothing worse than a dusty ride when you're trying to impress.

Which leads to the lead-in...What does a bottle of Jack Daniels and a Garden Hose have in Common? TD#2 found out the hard way.



It started out as a perfect Saturday morning in summer. The wind was blowing through her hair, the leaves of the big maple tree were shading the driveway where the Town Car was parked, the birds were singing and the bees were buzzing. The water flowed swiftly from the green garden hose and it was ice cold. The soap bucket had been filled and refilled numerous times with Joy dishwashing detergent. (Hopefully a union-made product- because heaven forbid if it wasn't and it touched the Union car.) It's black was getting blacker and the dust was dead and gone.

Then TD#2 had a fantastic idea! She'd shampoo the plush, burgundy shag carpet while she was at it and maybe T-Daddy would give her some extra allowance for being such a hardworking union girl.

The front floor boards were no problem, although this new project was taking longer than she'd imagined and while it would have been easier to skip the back seat, no job was too big for the Daughter of a Teamster. She persevered and realized in order to do a thorough job she'd have to move the automatic seat forward to get to the back seat of the car and to reach all of the floor boards.

That's when it happened! One push of the button and the seat moved forward and .....

CRASH! POP! WHAM! POW-Y! ZOOM! CRACKLE then GLUG, GLUG, GLUG...and the smell of Jack Daniels Tennessee Sipping Whiskey permeated the air of the freshly shampoo'd 1976 Lincoln Town Car.

It seeped the deep shag carpet, it soaked through the floor mats to the underside of the car...and no matter what she did to try to prevent any more from leaking, the glass from the half gallon bottle was far beneath the seat. She looked at the whiskey soaked car and cried.

After what seemed like hours to her of trying to scrub and deodorize and mask the scent of Jack, nothing worked. NOTHING! But she kept trying the next day to no avail.

Regular daughters may have been upset that perhaps they'd miss their allowance that week. Some would have been put out by the work that had been wasted by an accident. But not a Teamster Daughter. Her only worry was about wasting that much Jack Daniels in one car and what T-daddy would do when he found out.

Days went by and the smell of Jack subsided only slightly. But when the day came that T-Daddy arrived back home, TD#2 was ready for the punishment. She'd decided to admit up her sins up front because it would be a dead giveaway when he got into the car for the first time and took one whiff.

T-Daddy proved his T-daddy love for a daughter that day. When she made her confession, T-Daddy burst out laughing and said, 'Honey, it was my own damned fault for leaving it there. That's the price you pay when you're gonna play.' Honesty's the best policy. I'd say he was impressed.

Next, T-daddy whipped out his wallet, unrolled a couple of twenties, pushed them into TD#2's hand and said 'Thanks for washing my car sweetheart. That was a lot of hard work. You don't have to do so much the next time!"

That was all it took for Teamster Daughter #2 to be impressed.

But she never washed another car again in her life. And the smell of Jack? It never really went away...and she can smell it to this day.

Teamster Daddy was the ultimate protector.

On our annual Gulf Coast vacation T-Daddy would take his T-Daughters out in the ocean and swing us around on floats - he loved to play and have fun but he said this was to protect us from sharks. We believed him. I can totally picture him punching a shark in the nose. The shark would have been very, very afraid. My T-Sister remarked that his beachside protection brought a whole new meaning to the term swimming with sharks. There are sharks in the world. He told us so and some of them we have had to fearfully discover on our own.

Teamster Daddy could have coined the phrase "I've got your back". Notorius for his "Fight Club" skills, Teamster Daughters truly cringe to think of the many fights he actually participated in. Not that this is anything to brag about, but a true statement. He may have had an altercation or two that resulted in broken leg or arm, a few scratches, but Teamster Daddy never lost a fight.

One thing to make clear - no one messed with T-Daddy - no one messed with the IBT Brothers on his watch - no one messed with his sisters, wife and NO ONE messed with Teamster Daughters. Period. End of Story.

Kids in the burb who lived down the street, rode the bus, went to school, pool, would be a fool to mess with us. And they pretty much knew this. Teamster Daddy would kick some A if he thought his T-Daughters were being messed with. He made his intentions known to many a T-Daughter suitor that tried to court us - they were half in awe of him and half scared to death of having a relationship with us.

He has stared down many a school principal. Some kids had called me - TD#3 - names on the first day of school - I got off the bus crying. Teamster Family was waiting outside to greet me and saw my tears. T-Daddy picked me up and brought me to his eye level and told me "don't worry about a thing, I'll take care of this problem immediately."

True to his word he drove me to school the next morning parking his T-Ride - the Lincoln Continental - right outside the principal's office for pure intimidation inducing effect. He walked me into school, all 6'2 of him, sat me in the seat next to the school secretary, gave her a wink and opened the door of the principal's office, with a cigarette in one hand, coffee cup in the other, he took a long drag off of the cig before pushing the door closed and I could hear him say "Mr. Principal, we have a problem."

Beyond that I don't know what he said - I just heard my dad talking in the same tone of voice he did in important Teamster phone calls. The principal emerged pasty white and walked down the hall quickly and came right back. My classroom assignment changed as of that moment and no one ever called me Sabrina the Teenage Witch again ever for the rest of of my public school career. The first time someone stands up for you has a profound effect on your life. He was forever sealed in that moment as my personal hero.

The word was out - don't mess with the Teamster's kids.

There were other important times in our lives that he was not there for us, TD#2's high school graduation, dance recitals and he did a no-show at my wedding. Hard to bear and extremely painful, we learned to adapt to this - the union probably needed him more, he had forgotten because he was with his girlfriend, he was being selfish or he simply couldn't face us.

But then there would be other times in the midst of these important missed milestones and we would need him and we would pick up the phone and call him, maybe we were in tears and his little Teamster Girls again and T- Daddy would rise to the occasion and had our back when we needed him.

I miss him now as I find myself in an isolating situation with someone still trying to exert unfounded control over me. With Daddy still in this world, I wonder if it would be happening and it makes me lonely for him. Before he would pass the word down from TD#1 that he's "aware of the situation" and it would be taken care of. However in his absence, the Teamster Daughter in me is coming through and I'm finding my inner T-Daddy toughness, I want to kick someone's ass who is trying to hurt me, but really would love for T-Daddy to do it for me - "Fight Club" style. One of those fights that he enjoyed so much he would unabashedly laugh afterwards. I need him now. I wish he was here, it's a problem only Teamster Daddy could give me comfort and make me feel protected from. He would know exactly how to turn these tables and solve the problem - Teamster Style.

Teamster Top Shelf

The suburban home that our Teamster Family lived in was located approximately 2 miles away from the local union where our dad held the VP position.

The 3 bed, 1 bath, brick ranch located on a corner lot had been tricked out as previously mentioned with extra phone lines, escape routes in the garage, hidden storage and cubby holes built into the attic, storage unit above the laundry and tapping contraption under the house and only God and T-Daddy knows what and where else.

The coolest feature, however, was when he retrofitted a bar above and around the space that held the hot water heater. It sounds totally red, but it wasn't at all, it was very tastefully designed and there was nothing red about it, more like blue.

Teamster Daughters were NOT allowed to open the sliding door to the "bar". EVER. Only Teamster Daddy could access it. It was hard to reach given its height but everything was ergonomically fitted to accommodate his long arms and legs. When the bar was open we tried to find a reason to occupy a space on the den couch so we sneak a peek inside. The track lighting and mirrors he installed caused a sparkling effect from the shot glasses, brandy snifters, highball glasses, hurricanes, old-fashioned glasses and top shelf bottles of alcohol and wine that lined the blue velvet shelves. It was like a tiny navy blue sky lined with twinkling lights and mysterious bartending tools that he expertly used.

Teamster Daddy and Wife would have friends over for a cookout or drinks before a show and they would congregate around the bar. He would turn on the lights and start mixing drinks. Not just your basic drinks either like Rum and Coke. He would make Grasshoppers for the ladies and the men had their choice of only the finest Tennessee and Kentucky Whiskeys. If we were lucky we got picked to fill up the ice bucket and crush the ice in a special crusher for him.

Sometimes he would bring friends home long after our bedtime and we could hear them screaming with laughter down in the den. Or sometimes the mood would be more sober and you could hear the ice tongs rattling in the bucket among the muffled, but serious conversation before the den door was shut.

As a kid I couldn't believe that my friends had never heard of George Dickel and didn't know what Old No. 7 and Old Charter meant. Oh boo, they had an ordinary hot water heater in their garage? Did their parents never entertain? How sad for them.

Now, not even in our teen years when Daddy's time at our home had come and gone did we break into the bar and enjoy it's contents. We were too afraid of disappointing T-Daddy and breaking his rules of the house. TD#1 and #3 (so named by T-Daddy because of birth order) would not even crack the door to impress our friends, but rebel TD#2 boldly rolled the shelves back once to show her star pitcher of the baseball team boyfriend, but they didn't imbibe. When Teamster Daddy got home and poured himself a Jack and Coke, he waited until he was on his second round until he asked Teamster Wife had anyone opened the bar when he wasn't around. I froze immediately and could only relax when Teamster Wife innocently answered "no" and the moment passed and TD#2 was safe. That sealed my fate of ever looking at the bar when he wasn't around.

Later in life, the hot water heater burst in the Teamster Ranch and the soggy carpets in the den were rolled back to reveal the tile floor underneath. Upon seeing the old floor I had immediate flashbacks and peered into the darkened hot water heater closet trying to remember its glory days. The Blue Velvet was faded, the lights dim and the top shelf empty. On my 21st birthday to celebrate being of legal age, I raised my glass of Jack and Coke in a nod to Teamster Daddy who taught us that drinking is a privilege and best enjoyed when in the company of friends.

Teamster Dog

It didn't take long for Teamster Daughters to notice that the first dog in their growing T-family was an 85 pound German Shepherd named Frosty. Known for their unyielding 'guard dog' abilities, Teamster Dog's name was actually quite tame compared to his disposition and size. I can't remember if T-Daddy let us name the dog or if he was strategically identified as a snowman in order to thwart unwanted visitors who might decide to make a house call or file a grievance.

Nevertheless, Frosty was the best Teamster Dog money could buy. He was also a little Teamster girl's best friend. Trained to attack, he did due diligence in the deputy department. Frosty had a reputation of loving the ladies, but couldn't tolerate too much maleness other than his own and T-Daddy's. Our yard was known as a place men feared to tread as well as little boys when they came over to play with Daddy's little Teamster girls.

One neighbor boy thought he'd try his luck and sneak in the back gate when Frosty was busy keeping guard out front (looking for unmarked cars carrying management I presume.) But Frosty had ears like Rin Tin Tin and came barrelling back to catch the intruder who had already started climbing over the redwood fence to escape. The neighbor made off with everything but his tennis shoes.

Other small creatures were not so lucky and never lived to tell their Frosty tales. There once was a chihauhau who lost its head over Frosty, but I will spare you the macabre details of that literal not figurative story. Suffice it to say, Frosty lived up to his "Beware of the Dog" sign hanging in full view on the gate. (Years later when Frosty died, rumor has it that the sign was replaced with a new one: "Forget the Dog, Beware of the Teamster.") I shudder at the vernacular but if the shoe fits...

When we got older, we figured out why Frosty was really there. You never knew when you'd need him to sniff out a bomb threat that was phoned into your surburban home and you answered the call. Or when he'd be needed at a picket line, in case someone decided to cross. For general body guard purposes in any situation, Frosty could do the job and make a Teamster proud.

But no matter what his rough exterior projected, Frosty was a teddy bear with us. He'd let us ride on his back like he was a pony as long as we wanted or tug on his hair or give him a bath. To us, he was just a big ole baby who happened to have a lot of T-dog responsibilities.

In true Teamster form, Frosty was a bit of a lady's man with the female dogs in the neighborhood. From dachshunds to All-Americans, they'd all come around for visits in the afternoon. That was until Frosty met his match and T-daddy brought home a companion for the elder Teamster Dog. She was a young female German Shepherd named Honey and their's was a long and happy relationship. Five litters and approximately 40 pups later, Honey got drunk on Jack Daniels (T-daddy left a bottle out and Honey found it and drank it) and she officially howled herself into good standing and became T-dog of the familiy when Frosty went to T-dog heaven.

Yes, it's true. Dogs really are 'Man's Best Friend'. But Frosty...he was a Teamster's too.

(Blog to come: Teamster, The German Shepherd) (Yes, there really was one.)

Teamster Daddy could easily agree with the marketing campaign "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas". And we Teamster Daughters have to agree. We wouldn't want to know what really happened when he traveled to the Teamster mecca in the western desert because it probably would ruin the mystique that Vegas and Daddy's "meetings" has held for us since were Teamster Little Girls.

We would run to help Teamster Wife unpack his suitcase upon T-Daddy's return. Playing cards, ashtrays, empty little Jack Daniels bottles (that are served on airplanes), Delta wings and Silver dollars would be flying into our hands that he had brought home as souvenirs.

He did not win the silver dollars at the slots, because in his eyes "slots are for sissies" - he only sat at the high stakes tables. Teamster Wife, however, did hit the Jackpot once with lady luck and returned home with $100 in bicentennial silver dollars.

Teamster Wife would come home after accompanying him onto these trips and go into vivid, light filled detail about her experiences - what she saw, who she saw and what they were wearing. One year in particular, the anticipation leading up this trip was unmistakable. Teamster Wife shopped for evening wear, exotic swimwear, pantsuits, new shoes, new purses for weeks preceding take off at BNA. When she returned from the beauty shop the day before the trip her bouffant was so huge, it could almost touch both sides of the door. We were impressed. We watched her pack and wanted to jump in the suitcase and go with her and Teamster Daddy as we had accompanied them on many "grievance committee" trips to the sandy beaches of Biloxi and beyond. We couldn't wait for her to come home and unpack to hear the stories she would tell us about what seemed to us to be the Teamster World Convention.

Teamster Parents were staying at the Stardust, the bomb in the Vegas hey-days, before it faded into high rolling memories and replaced by the Venetian, Bellagio, Ritz-Carlton, Hard Rock and Treasure Island. The King of Rock n Roll himself was the main headliner, Celine was a mere child then and Elton was just coming into or out of his own, they had not yet moved to town. Vegas was being driven by an entirely different life force. Teamsters knew how to party long before the second coming of the self-proclaimed Rat Pack.

As an aside, this Teamster Daughter must interject that Teamster Wife was in no way considered a Teamster Mom because she was Teamster Wife first and foremost in her devotion to Teamster Daddy and took care of her Teamster Family so he could take care of his Teamster Brothers.

Teamster Wife knocked the socks off the Teamster Brass in Vegas. The blonde high school valedictorian, captain of the cheerleaders, Beta Club President and newspaper editor sporting her well-spoken southern drawl attracted plenty of attention to rising star (T-Daddy) from the SEC. She was the definition of a Teamster "trophy wife" and put the Teamster "other women (harlots i.e... mistresses)" to shame. She was invited to a dinner that Jo Hoffa would be attending. Teamster Wife had done well, it was an "honor" Teamster Daddy said, to be invited.

Teamster Wife said that when Jo Hoffa's car arrived, everyone got quiet and applauded her when she entered the room - it was like a God had descended she said. The place started buzzing and the party began. The lavish meal was easily $200 a plate, only the best for the Teamsters, desserts dished out by showgirls.

Doesn't everyone's parents have stories like this? When the ad company was batting around their brilliant idea for the Las Vegas' slogan they probably had Teamster Daddies like ours in mind. If they only knew!

Teamster Fashionistas

Whoever said Teamsters were bad dressers didn't look closely enough.

Every teamster I knew, including and especially T-Daddy, had the latest Teamster Fashion in their closets, not to mention, on their person. Teamster trends came in many size, shapes and colors. But none were more fashionable than the all-weather, any event- Official Teamster Jacket with official Teamster logo in silk. Black silk.

On chilly Tennessee nights, or windy Biloxi nights (if you happened to be at a Southern Conference meeting with Teamster Daddy,) he would always be a southern gentleman and take off his extra large jacket and let one of his Teamster daughters wear the coveted garment. That jacket was always warm and full of heat from his strong T-Daddy body and smelled like English Leather cologne. We looked so confused in our Bobbi Brooks designer dresses with the oversize T-daddy jacket hiding all the feminine details. You see, T-daughters knew he'd secretly wanted a son to carry on the Teamster family tradition, so for a few stolen moments in that jacket, we opted to be tomboys on occasion so he didn't feel too cheated. To hell with dresses. That's when I probably started wearing pants.

Often, he'd let us wear one of his Teamster ball caps when the wind was blowing our shiny, pretty hair when we'd joyride with him in the 1965 Pontiac Bonneville Convertible. No Audrey Hepburn wind scarves for Teamster Daughters. It was a Teamster cap or nothing. We looked pretty sassy wearing that oversized cap with the windows rolled down in our other vehicle, T-Daddy's Baby Blue 1966 Chevy Truck.

But it wasn't until you put on the Official Brotherhood of Teamsters' jacket that one could feel the power. Teamster Pride and testosterone eminated from every stitch. And those pockets were a goldmine to little Teamster girls....you never knew what you'd find there; a few nuts and bolts (T-Daddy loved hardware of any kind) a hundred dollar bill, or a teamster lapel pin. As a bonus, he'd let you keep whatever loot you found there. You see, our father was generous to a fault...but that's another chapter entirely.

Armani watch out...I've been hearing rumors.Teamster fashion is on the rise...and if it isn't already...it should be. It could be called the Equistrian Look for T-daughter Wannabes.

The Biggest Teamster Daddy of Them All

FBI says Hoffa search expected to take 2 weeks

Agents in Mich. look for remains of Teamsters leader who vanished in 1975

The FBI said Thursday that a search of a horse farm for clues to Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance is expected to take at least a couple weeks and likely will involve the removal of a barn.
-- NBC News

With our Teamster Daddy dearly departed, I pause to ponder what he would think of this breaking news of the Teamster legend he simply called "Hoffa".

All the search brings to mind for me is the urgency that T-Daddy packed with when he left to go to Jackie Presser's (President of IBT from 1983 - 1988) funeral in Cleveland during the summer of 1988. I was going into my senior year of college and had finally registered the depth of T-Daddy's Teamster loyalties and all that it could possibly mean. He was working (and networking) out of a Union Hall in the SEC in the same college town I had lived in for three years. I prayed his teamster ties wouldn't be betrayed in the local newspaper. It was the first time I didn't hold the same girlhood adoration and pride for our dad, VP of the Local Teamsters Union and hero, who could beat up anyone else's dad, with one long, muscled arm tied behind his back, probably both.

Today we are three college-educated Teamster Daughters still living in our Teamster father's legend. We found our way to get through college with nothing but bragging rights provided by him. No tuition money, spending money, gas money. "Hard work never hurt anybody" he would say and "the words 'I can't' are not in your vocabulary". He was proud of us, his friends would tell us, but he could never tell us himself these words we desperately needed to hear.

College-bound Teamster Daughters and Sons should be made aware of the James R. Hoffa Memorial Scholarship Fund . It may not have been established back in the day to provide us with much needed college aid, but would have been fun to brag about (and possibly intimidate) to our friends. Long live the memory of these legendary Teamster Daddies.

When Teamster Daughters learned to drive - defensive driving was not the most important lesson that Teamster Dad taught us. However, respecting the "brothers" in the semi trucks was the No. 1 Rule of the Road. The highways and byways do belong to them after all. If you pass them, pass as fast as you can and do not stay in their blind spot. Give them a wide berth when they make a right hand turn. Do not ever get in front of them and slam on your brakes. If they are in the middle of a convoy, do not get in the middle of it! And never ever forget they ARE King of the Road!

Teamster daddies never know when they'll have to exit a building quickly. That's why installing escape doors in all major habitation areas are necessary. The first time I realized T-Daddy had an escape route in place was while visiting his office at the local union hall. I was but an innocent child then and it all seemed so James Bond-like to me. You see, I was running around acting like a wild Indian exploring every nook and cranny of his 'local' dwelling and realized that there was a red button installed on the underside of his desk. When T-Daddy wasn't looking, I pressed it. Next, I heard a lock unlatch and that was the end of his big secret, at least from me. When he returned to his office after doing some official union business, he asked what I'd been up to. I decided I could either tell a white lie and say nothing, or be a good Teamster Daughter and find out more. Also, out of plain curiosity, I wanted to know what he was hiding so I asked. In an effort to remain the consumate big shot, "Walking Tall Teamster" he proceeded to explain to me that you never knew when you were going to have to leave someplace fast...on official union business of course. He added in his best Elvis Presley voice, "Always, always leave yourself an out. You never know when you might need it."

Secret doors started popping up everywhere, including the garage workshop at home. It still remains there today. I can't see anything but another lawnmower or toolbox trying to sneak in, but it's there. It wasn't until years later that we learned where the idea had spawned...on a visit to the International Brotherhood of Teamster headquarters on Louisiana Avenue across from the US Capitol. He showed us the steel doors on the apartment where Hoffa used to sleep when he'd come in to testify before Congress. And now I wonder just how many panic buttons and escape routes there are still across the street from the IBT? Hmmm.

Every good Teamster Wife, Daughter and Son knows that Teamster families are NOT allowed to purchase products that are not supported by the Union.

This includes the situation we were in that found our elementary school cafeteria only provided milk that was supplied by non-unionized dairies (gasp) - Purity. Teamster Daughters were never allowed to drink these non-union products, even at school or in the homes of our friends or neighbors.

We had to forgo milk with our school lunch and drink water or bring our lunch from home with thermos filled with milk produced by only hardworking union folks. A true act of rebellion against Teamster Daddy would be to harbor Purity ice cream in our freezer or let that milk touch our lips.

When the milk in the school cafeteria changed back to Sealtest we excitedly reported back to T-Daddy and were allowed to buy milk again at school. Same goes for bread etc....

To this day, I cannot bring myself to buy Purity Milk at the grocery store - it would be like breaking some grave moral Teamster code.

Breaker 1-9

Everyday daughters know how to communicate in lots of different mediums: cell phones, e-mails, snail mail and text messages...but Teamster Daughters 'teamster talk' in convoy code on Citizen Band radios.

On our many long road trips,Teamster Daddy taught us a new, exciting, foreign language. If we got lost, we simply picked up the microphone, pressed the button on the side and asked "What's your 10-twenty?" In a second or two, a friendly trucker would tell us what mile-marker we were approaching. Then T-Daddy would do the math. He knew mile marker mileage by heart. He'd put the peddle to the metal and move the four in the floor and before you knew it, we'd be passing our human Mapquest. Next we'd yank our arms up and down and watch him blow the air horn to say hello. Who said Blackberry Girls have more fun? I would have never traded our CB for a Razr or a Sliver. (Maybe an I-Pod, but never, ever a blue tooth headset.)

Bad reception? Teamster Daddy would merely switch frequencies and ask if anyone else was out there. Then he'd find out their handle. (Lest we forget- every CB operator had to have a handle.) And any good foreign language instructor will tell you that "What's your name?" is one of the first phrases to learn in any language. It's no exception in teamster talk. Once my handle was Hot Lips...Teamster Daddy did not approve!

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Being a Teamster Daughter gave you rights and privileges that other kids in the neighborhood didn't have, like having our own telephone line. We couldn't tie up the main line in case any important Teamster phone calls came through.

Unfortunately during strikes we also received many untraceable threatening phone calls. Once Teamster Daughter #3 answered the phone and the caller threatened to blow our house up if Teamster Dad crossed a picket line. This resulted in Teamster Dad tapping his own phone line for years to come.

We couldn't tell our friends and hoped they wouldn't say anything incriminating during our conversations.

Once Teamster Daughter #1 and #3 broke into one of Teamster Dad's safe in hopes of retrieving incriminating tape of close relative phone confessional.

Paris Hilton has nothing on us. Teamster Dad went through a phase where he started bringing home miniature poodles as pets...Gone were the days of the macho German Shepherd protectors we had previously owned. We thought it was really sweet until we discovered that Cosmo & Monte Carlo were the castoff pets of his mistress.

How many daughters do you know that drove a Town Car to get their first driver's license? Teamster daughters like us did! Ahhh....the 1976 Lincoln Continental.....Check out our ride!

Our Daddy Was a Teamster. Was yours? If not, you'll need to read about what it's like to be the daughter of a man who was committed to the International Brotherhood of Teamsters.