Volume 46 - No. 43
October 27, 2016
© 1992 by Kent Ballard
I met Mike about six months ago. I didn’t know he was a volunteer fireman until just last week. We found ourselves with some time to kill and we began to talk. Somehow, the conversation turned towards auto accidents. He said that although he’d been on many emergency runs to car wrecks, he’d never been in a serious one himself. I told him I had, and that he wasn’t missing anything. It was a bad joke.
Mike continued. At last count, he had been on the scene of thirty-seven fatal accidents. I stopped and let that soak in for a while. It explained a few things about the fellow, one being his utter hatred for anyone who would dare drink and drive. I could see how nearly forty fatal accidents would make a guy that way. He told me about things he’d seen personally that would give me nightmares for years. I’ve happened across a few accidents, some involving cars, some not. I always tried to help if I could, and managed to concentrate long enough to make a difference of a couple of times. But I always got the jitters later. I marvel at the men and women who can do this all the time, knowing when the next call comes in they’ll have to go out and experience it all again. I’m thankful that there are people like that, but I’m not one of them. He described several of the terrible accidents, and explained the techniques that professionals use to extract accident victims and start immediate medical care. The “Golden Hour” starts at the moment of impact, and every second counts. Mike spoke with well-deserved pride about his crew and the equipment, training, and dedication that they bring to bear in the fight against death itself. Surprisingly often, they win— The Paper - 760.747.7119
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but other times nothing within the power of human beings is nearly enough.
As he spoke, I could tell that one part of the job haunted him despite his best efforts to hide it. He was a father of three. His oldest son was driving now, and when he’d mention a wreck involving kids—he’d seen a few—a dark look crossed his face. I quietly told him that my boys were just starting to drive too. Like all teenagers, they think they’re invincible. He look up sharply, “Let me tell you, they’re not.”
He’d loaded enough of them onto back boards, crying for their parents, to know better. He paused for quite a while, then blinked a few times. “You know, you do a job like this and you think you’ve seen it all. You can’t think of it as anything but a job, otherwise it’d eat you alive. You just have to let it roll off, man. But there was this one wreck we were called to… this one wreck…” …and his voice and expression both changed. I’m quite sure that he wasn’t aware of it. Part of him was already somewhere else—another place, another very bad day. Obituaries Memorials Area Services Page 12
•••••• Two families were leaving a house, all of them going to a social event at the local high school. The parents and kids from both families were all long-time friends. Just so they could continue their conversations, it was decided that the parents would all go in one car, the kids in another. A seventeen year old boy was driving the younger folks. Everyone in the little rural community where they lived knew the boy. He was a good kid, all agreed. Had a good head on his shoulders. The other parents were confident in his driving. The two cars left the driveway and the teenager took the lead. His parents and his friend’s parents fell in behind them on the highway. They had a few miles to go before they got to the school. The weather was good. The roads were dry.
About four miles south of the small town where the school was located, there was what was known locally as a “bad hill.” You can find a deadly spot like this in almost every county in the nation. It’s where a combi-
The Blind Hill Continued on Page 2
nation of hills, curves, or poor road design all come together to make driving suddenly, unexpectedly hazardous. They’re easy to spot by the multiple skid marks in the asphalt.
The kids were northbound, approaching the hill. The parents were a couple of blocks behind. No cars were in between them on the lonely stretch of highway. Some said later that the boy might have been going a little too fast. Some said he wasn’t. It was never proven either way. From behind, the father driving the second car saw his boy top the hill. As soon as the teenager reached the peak, his dad saw his brake lights come on suddenly. Then the car dipped over the other side of the hill and was lost from view.
At the bottom of the steep hill was a crossroads. A sixty-five foot semi-tractor trailer had stopped at the intersection. The driver carefully looked both ways and, seeing nothing, dropped into low and began to pull out onto the highway. He was blocking both sides of the road when the kid topped the