Tractor Man


| November/December 1994



Box 13, Big Fork, Montana 59911

I am married to Tractor Man, an otherwise normal husband who at first glance seems reasonably respectable and regular, but lives a double-life.

I realize most of you are probably stunned to learn that my quiet unassuming predictable meat and potatoes kind a guy has a second, more daring persona as 'Tractor Man!' It was years before I stumbled upon this shocking revelation, myself. But I should have known.

When I look back I see undeniable, tell-tale hints of his dual identity: Take our marriage vows. I should have paid attention right then and there on the altar, but I was not willing to let one strange disclosure interfere with landing a husband. It should have been a tip-off when he promised to love, honor and drool over heavy equipment. (Anyway, I figured we were even when I promised to love, honor, and change him every chance I got.)

There were other clues: The bib overalls (stripes, no less!) tucked away in his closet, the collection of caps with needlepoint names of manure spreading machines or pig feed producers. Or the steady arrival of strange catalogues that sell lubrication injecting syringes and front end chassis clutch bearing booklets. An unmistakable give-away.

But I will never forget the day I found out. It started as a simple day, a nice day; a back-roads ride into town kind of day. We were engaged in pleasant conversation, if I remember right, when suddenly (I kid you not) his face began to glow, his voice raised a pitch and he smashed the steering wheel to smithereens with his pinky!