In 2011, Joel Johnson stomped flat 280,000 aluminum cans.
“I know because I mashed each one with my foot and put them in a cotton wagon,” he said Friday.
In case you’re wondering, that’s 6,020 pounds of aluminum. He sold the cans to a scrapyard in Grenada for 78 cents a pound.
I met Johnson, 70, during the lunch hour after a friend spotted him policing Highway 82 near Mayhew. He was working the north side of the road near the bridge over Catalpa Creek, about a mile west of the airport exit.
Moving with an economy of motion that comes from years of repetition, Johnson seemed undaunted by the blustery winter air and the roaring traffic two or three body lengths away.
He carried a trash picker-upper and a white plastic five-gallon bucket and was wearing a lime-green T-shirt with reflective striping, a vestige of his 11 years as a street department worker for the city of Eupora. To the back of the shirt, someone has added in red letters, “The Can Man.”
When I asked if we could talk for a newspaper column, he said sure and climbed in my truck, seemingly grateful for the respite.
Johnson, who lives in Eupora, said he started picking up cans on the side of the road after triple-bypass heart surgery 13 years ago.
His doctor told him he needed to walk two miles a day, something he admits he doesn’t always do.
“But, some days I walk 15 to 20 miles,” he said.
Johnson credits Kaitlin Burton, one of his 19 grandchildren, for his can collecting regimen. Kaitlin’s elementary school was collecting pop tops for St. Jude’s, and she asked her grandfather to help her pick up cans. Kaitlin is now in her third year at Mississippi State University.
Johnson said he patrols Highway 82 from Gordo, Alabama, to Greenwood, 45 Alternate from Macon to Tupelo and State Highway 8 from Lexington to Batesville.
On Thursday he collected 52 five-gallon buckets of cans between Grenada and Calhoun City.
“Highway No. 8 is kind of dirty,” he said.
The same could be said for the section of 82 he was working Friday. Even with the removal of the aluminum cans, the roadside remained cluttered with trash.
When the price is right, Johnson sells the cans. He aims for 60 or 70 cents a pound. Right now they’re bringing 51 cents. He’s got 5,000 pounds of cans at home waiting on a price spike.
But money’s hardly the point. “This doesn’t cost me anything, and it gives me exercise,” he said. “If I had to sit at home, I’d be dead in two years.”
Occasionally he gets a tip. Not long ago he found three one-hundred dollar bills. He won’t say where.
“I find 20s, 10s and 5s all the time. You name it, it’s out here on this road.”
“I’ve always been active; I can’t be still,” Johnson said. “I cut cemeteries on the side.”
After our interview, Johnson agreed to pose for a couple of photographs. By then, it was obvious he was anxious to get back to work. When done, I thanked him; by the time I got my camera back in its bag, the Can Man was 50 yards away, back on the job.
Birney Imes is the publisher of The Dispatch. Email him at [email protected].
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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