On the Road to Gencon, Interstate 57, Dave Trampier and 25 Years

We left Little Rock in the late morning in a truck loaded with books, racks, luggage, a cooler of Dr. Pepper, and all the other sundries one takes on the road. We crossed the Upper Delta of Arkansas, those flat lands of rice fields and soy beans, first on 40 and then hanging a left onto 55 and on up to the show me state. Crossing into Missouri somewhere after noon we headed on to Sikeston. The weather was amazing. Blue skies as far as one can see, dotted by clouds here and there, only interrupted by Dakota’s rambling observations about this, that, and the other.

Dodging out of Sikeston, we hit 57 north and in short order crossed the Mississippi River. I only took a glance at the muddy waters, as my mind was lost in the trip I took on that same highway quite a few years ago, when I was looking for Dave Trampier.

For those who don’t know Dave, you should look him up. He is a bit of a legend in the old world. The writer and artist of Wormy, a smart talking, pool playing dragon, that appeared in the old Dragon magazines. Really good stuff. Dave had a falling out with the industry back in the woebegone days of the early 80s and vanished. No one knew where he was.

It was the early oughts, ‘03 or ‘04 I can’t remember now, and TLG was still very young and looking for what, we still didn’t know. Mac Golden, one time partner in TLG and longtime friend of me and the Trolls, was a huge fan – we all were/are – and he suggested, since we were working with Gary Gygax that I try to find Dave. That’s an idea I thought! I set about to see what I could turn up. We were working with quite a few of the old TSR people in those days so I thought surely someone would know something. After some polite questions, I got wind that he had gone down to Cairo, Illinois where he was driving a taxi for the Yellow Cab company.

I don’t rightly remember which convention I was going to, I was alone, so it probably wasn’t Gencon, it was probably the Alliance Open House or more likely a convention up in Fort Wayne Indiana called Pentacon or some such. Be that as it may, it took me up 57, right past Cairo. Right over the river, I detoured and cut down the ramp into Cairo hoping I could run into Dave.

I quickly found the shell of the Yellow Cab Company, it was either out of business or closed (out of business I think) so I took it on myself to poke around and see if I could find some rumor of him. I ate lunch at a small diner and asked about him. No one had heard of him of course. I drove around a bit to see if something might turn up. Cairo has seen better days for sure. I drove down an empty main street, old brick buildings standing stark under a lonely, calm, too-quiet sky. They must have been beautiful in their day, something to behold. I stopped for a long while and just looked at these old brick facades. The failed attempts to bring them back to life. The hoped for renaissance that all small towns enjoy, where hope forever flourishes.

I’m rather fond of buildings.

After musing for a bit, I fired up old blue (my truck) and set to leave town. As I rolled up the street I noticed an old dusty shop with huge store front windows. In it, looking out at me, was a large cut-out of a weird looking troll. I stopped and stared at it. There was no one else it could have been but Dave. His work that is. Pulling over, I jumped out to get a closer look. Pressing my face against the dirty window I could see no one had been in the building in a forever of Sundays. There was junk here and there. Maybe an old flea market, that last dying gasp of hope of many a small-town building.

There was no sign of anyone. No sign of occupancy on that day or for a host of days preceding it. It was Dave, of that I had no doubt, he had been there. Once. For certain.

I drove around a bit, asked a few people who owned the shop, I could turn up nothing on the brief search. Time was pressing and I had a show to get to, so reluctantly headed back to 57. I knew he had been there. Once. I took off, hitting 57 north.

On the same road Dakota and I were on. As I left my reverie the Big Muddy was long behind us and we were well on the road to our return to Gencon.

We drove on through the afternoon, stopping for gas and some eats a few times. The skies opened as we crossed into Indiana in the early evening, dumping water in sheets. At last, a few miles south of town, we pulled into a La Quinta Inn for some rest and lodging.

Another journey in the long list of 25 years of such journeys. Also looking for something or someone I suppose. This one our return to Gencon.

I should note that I eventually found Dave Trampier. He was living in Carbondale Illinois, driving a cab. I talked to him briefly, sent him several letters, trying to engage him in bringing back Wormy or something similar. He politely asked me, in a beautifully written letter, to stop contacting him. I did of course. He’s crossed over now, passed some years ago, like many an old brick building in every town you’ve ever been in.