It was the fall of 1971. I was a junior at Roberts Wesleyan College. Debbie was living at the farm again and working. Consequently, I made lots of trips home to see her (and my parents).
I worked till 2:30 AM at UPS, then picked up a friend who lived in Pittsburgh to give him a ride home for the weekend.
We arrived at my house quite early. He was going to call his family to come and get him. I had my hand on the back door, when I made a snap decision: I told him to get back in the car and I'd go ahead and drive him home.
Within an hour, I dropped him at his home and got on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to return to my house. The toll of work and driving all night caught up to me. I nodded off.
I awoke when I hit the guardrails on the right. Then careened across both lanes to hit the rails on the left. Then fishtailed violently to the right again where I finally came to a stop - 300 yards from the first hit.
I bounced back and forth in the front seat violently (pre-seatbelt era) and put my head through the windshield at the final stop.
With blood blinding me, I tried to get out of the car. Gentle hands pushed me back inside and told me that help had been called in by a trucker. This man comforted me and gave me something to hold against my shredded forehead.
[NOTE: I never met this Good Samaritan, but was able to send him a thank-you note much later.]
Ambulance. North Hills Hospital. 375 stitches in my forehead! The doctor on-call that morning - just happened to be a plastic surgeon! Hmmm...
I spent a couple weeks of convalescing before returning to school. My '63 Chevy went to its final resting place after that ride!
No comments:
Post a Comment