Herald & Review

ARTHUR -- They appear to be quite a contradiction. he Amish have their creed of simplicity, plain-colored clothes and a peaceful countryside where horses pull black buggies down gravel roads.

And then there's 54-year-old Roger Burgess, an admitted chain-smoker decked out in fancy cowboy boots and a Carolina Panthers jacket, yakking nonstop behind the wheel of a formidable, 15-seat, gray Ford Club Wagon.

In the seat behind him, an Amish mother wearing a black bonnet and long subdued dress sits, hands folded, chuckling every so often at one of his nonstop stories.

``A lot of people think the Amish don't have a sense of humor, but that's just not true,'' Burgess said.

Burgess is a non-Amish native of Arthur who says he understands the Amish and enjoys their company. Arthur is the town at the heart of the Central Illinois Amish community.

Most members of the Old Order Amish Faith live without electricity or automobiles. So over the past five years, Burgess has racked up about 300,000 miles driving the Amish to doctor appointments, weddings, funerals, horse sales and other Amish communities.

The Amish do not deny the existence of modern conveniences, which means they can ride in a horseless carriage -- but not own or operate one.

Burgess retired 13 years ago after spending 20 years in the Navy and then running a photography studio in North Carolina. He returned to Arthur to take care of his father, who has since passed away.

``My son says, `Dad, you have a college education -- and you haul Amish,' '' said Burgess, who is a single father of 18-year-old Kelly, a senior at Arthur High School.
``But I like people and I grew up with the Amish, so I get along real well with them.''

Burgess drives about 50 families on a regular basis. Most call drivers -- there are several in the area -- from tiny telephone booth-like buildings shared by several families. A list of van drivers is posted in most of the booths, in order of preference.

``I'm at the top of the list of many, and at the bottom of others,'' said Burgess, who admits his one vice -- smoking -- keeps some Amish away.

How the Amish feel about a driver spreads quickly, by word-of-mouth.

``Telegram, telegraph, tell-an-Amish,'' Burgess joked.

Burgess changes the message on his answering machine several times a day so the Amish can locate him. They can also reach him on his car phone.

``But I'll get asked, `Can you take me to Atwood?' No. `Why not?' Because I'm in Iowa.''

Burgess, who often travels across the country, said he's one of a handful of drivers who's attempting to make a living at it.

He charges 50 cents a mile and racks up about 1,000 miles a week. His Amish passengers also pay for tolls and hotel costs if he has to stay overnight. He advertises in the ``Echo,'' a local Amish newsletter.

``The last two months are the first two I've ever made a profit,'' Burgess said. ``Last year I lost $6,000.''

But Burgess continues filling up the gasoline tank and taking his vans in for repairs. He used to own two -- each had racked up 240,000 miles. Last December he sold one of the vans and bought the Ford Club Wagon, which has 143,000 miles.

On a recent workday, Burgess toted Dena Yoder and her 12-year-old daughter Rosemary from their Arthur home to an optometrist in Villa Grove. After the hour appointment, Yoder asked Burgess to stop at the Dollar General Store in town.

The Yoders spent about a half-hour shopping. The total trip: three hours. The charge: $25.

Most trips usually result in additional stops, so Burgess plans on at least one additional hour.

During the holidays, he tacks on even more time.

``I'm used to `in-and-out,' '' he said. ``It's not unusual for the Amish to be in Wal-Mart six or seven hours.''

While he waits -- and waits and waits -- Burgess reads newspapers, does crosswords, leans the seat back and sleeps or works on a book he's writing about his great-great-great-grandfather's involvement in the Civil War.

Burgess, continuously joking, said he's been thinking about buying a spaceship to earn more money.

``I heard they're putting a chiropractor and an Aldi on the moon,'' he teased. ``You can't stop an Amish person from stopping at Aldi, and they go all over the country to chiropractors.''

ALTHOUGH HE PREFERS longer trips, the shorter jaunts pay off in the long run.

"You don't make as much money, but they remember you for the longer trips,'' he said.

His first trip ever was to an Amish settlement in Lancaster County, Pa., one of the most famous of the nation's 228 Amish communities. His longest venture was a 1,130-mile trek to an Amish community near Sarasota, Fla.

One of his worst trips came last January. Driving a family home from a funeral in Indiana, Burgess faced blizzard-like conditions. The 250-mile return trip, which usually takes 4 1/2 hours, took 9 1/2 hours.

``After we got off the interstate in Arcola, they closed it,'' Burgess said. ``We were lucky.''

In five years, Burgess's vehicle has only broken down twice -- once about 50 miles south of Atlanta when an alternator busted, and another time near Pittsfield, Ill., when a chunk of rubber blew out from a tire.

HIS ONLY OTHER complaints: a trip when 14 Amish opened their hymnals and sang -- for several hours -- in German, and another when an Amish man's manure-covered boots emitted a foul stench throughout the van.

But where simplicity is valued over progress, and road signs warn of buggies ahead, Roger

Burgess has his place among them.

``I enjoy offering the Amish a service,'' he said. ``I wouldn't want to be doing anything else.''