8 Weeks of Memories- Part 6

Divine Intervention?

“The Lord is your guardian; the Lord is your shade;

He is beside you at your right hand.”

Psalms 120:3:5

    There have been stories we’ve all heard of someone who was about to die, or suffer great harm who swears the hand of God prevented it at the last moment. The cop who’s badge stopped a bullet, the car teetering off a bridge, well you get the idea. Call it what you will, because while I believe everything happens for a reason, I also believe god helps those who help themselves. I’ve spent many years going up and down on the roller coaster of faith, but now I feel I'm more like a man on a lazy river ride. Slow and steady, relaxed, trying to enjoy the view.

    The birth of my children helped reaffirm some of my thinking, but one situation in particular had caused me to reach a little deeper.

    Some years ago, I was having trouble sleeping quite a bit. At least three to four nights a week, I was losing precious sleep due to nightmares and sleep apnea. It got so bad I was falling asleep at the wheel, micro sleep, that is, not only while in my car, but in my rig as well. It was scary, and while I tried to push through it, because I was scared of losing my livelihood, I also constantly thought about how I would cope with hurting someone, should I fall asleep in my truck.

    Some time in spring of 2003, I was heading South on US-1 in Port St. John, which is just north of the Kennedy Space Center. I was driving my truck, delivering for Sysco Foods, and the route was my regular run. I’ve driven US-1 a million times, and could do it with my eyes closed, but on this day, they really did close. I don’t recall the mile or so up to the traffic signal, but at one point, while traveling about 50 mph, I noticed the light was red, and in a microsecond, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop. Simultaneously I reached for the air horn, and shit myself, while I realized I was about to kill someone. Opposite me, northbound, was a car in the turn lane to turn west in front of me, and to my right, eastbound, was a car ready to turn left north bound across my lane of travel. This all took place in a fraction of a second, but I looked at the car straight ahead, and she was leaning all the way over looking on her passenger floorboard, and the car to my right had a full sized newspaper, fully opened, reading away.

   My light was red. One of those people had a green. Why were they each, at that very moment, preoccupied, so as to not notice 60000 pounds of stupidity barreling at either of them? They didn’t even flinch. If I was in my car behind either of them, I’d be on the horn screaming at them to ‘wake up’.

Did the hand of God help them that day? Or did he help me? I told Patty about what had happened, and I recall her saying something to the effect of it was God’s will that nothing happened. Look on youtube…search car/truck accident videos. Car drivers get killed even when the truck was going slower than I was.

    Divine intervention. I believe it happened that day. After I made it through the intersection, and breathed a sigh of relief, and I pulled into the parking area for the Banana River Shuttle Viewing site. I pulled the air brakes, folded my arms on the steering wheel, and put my head down for a moment and almost broke down crying. I was just saved from a disaster of epic proportions. I’ve thought about those two people, a woman and a man, who both appeared to be middle aged, and I wonder if they have kids. Are they happy? What do they do for a living? What were they doing that day? The woman was turning into a residential neighborhood. Did she go home and hug her kids, oblivious that she might have been killed a few minutes earlier?

The man on the right was reading a newspaper. Was he checking the times for a movie? Was it date night with his lovely wife? Was he going to CVS to get medicine for a sick child? Wherever they were going, they made it there safely that day, I assume. One moment in time. That’s all it takes.

I made it a point to get more rest. My schedule was hectic, and I went to work and asked to be removed from the 3 am Disney route I did on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could get more sleep. They were very understanding at work. Even today, I try to get as much sleep as I can, and although I'm driving a smaller truck now, I still have a commercial license, and still have to adhere to the hours of service regulations.

In November 2005 I crashed my car on the way home from work. I fell asleep at the wheel of my car, and plowed into a guard rail at 65 mph, breaking my right knee cap. It was 3 years after this incident, and was the last time I dozed off at the wheel. In my eyes it was isolated to that day, a fluke. I was tired. I closed my eyes, for maybe 2 seconds. That’s all it took. It’s my only accident, ever. Thank God it was a guard rail, and not someone going home to hug a kid. To this day, I am over a half million miles accident free in a commercial vehicle. It could have been very different.

Divine Intervention? Absolutely.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 5

Too Close For Comfort

“The robberies of the wicked shall be their downfall,

Because they would not do judgment.”

Proverbs 21:7

One warm summer night while driving my taxi, I came upon the unfortunate instance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I drove a cab for a few years without incident. It’s not like I was in NYC or Chicago and 99% of the time I worked the tourist areas. This one night I remember was particularly slow, so I hit the street calls on the dispatch computer. There’s usually enough to go around in the attractions, but that night was quiet.

I was working the Kissimmee area east of Disney, a big lower middle class region south of Orlando. As I was heading south on John Young Parkway, I took a flag down at a shopping center. He appeared normal at first glance. Jeans, blue and yellow windbreaker, and clean shaven. I was so used to families at Disney sometimes needing to use the front seat too that it didn’t occur to me to lock the front passenger door while I worked the streets. In hindsight of the situation that was about to occur, I’m glad he was up front.

He entered the cab and sat next to me. He asked me to bring him to Vine and Hoagland, which was about 4 miles away. I was about to ask him how his evening was going when he pulled a knife, pushing it against my right side, grabbing my collar and telling me to hand over my money. I tried to stay as calm as I could, and at first was reasoning with him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He yelled to me to “shut up” and had me turn right on Carroll Street a dark 3 mile long 2 lane road lined with cattle farms. In his eyes it was a perfect spot to rob me. At no time did I ever think I was going to die, but I was frightened. But I wasn’t scared enough to not try to keep him from hurting me. As we drove further down Carroll Street he told me to give him my wallet. The whole time he had his knife pressed into my side. I said “OK” and slowly retrieved my wallet. All my earnings were in my front right pocket, so I thought it was now or never. I decided to try and stop him.

His first mistake is when I went to hand him the wallet, he kept his left hand on my collar, but took the knife away from my side to grab my wallet. When he reached up, I slammed on the breaks hard and fast, throwing him into the dash board and windshield. He of course neglected to put on his seat belt when he got in, intending to rob me and make a quick getaway.

As the car slowed down we started fighting. We were grappling at each other, and all I cared about was avoiding getting stabbed. For a moment he got his right hand loose and swatted at my stomach with his knife. It wasn’t very sharp, but it did tear my shirt and scratch my stomach. I elbowed him hard in the face with my right arm, and at that moment he decided maybe he bit off more than he could chew. I mean, I was like twice his size. I give him credit for trying, but I wasn’t getting robbed that night. He opened the door while I was punching him with the back of my fist repeatedly. He quickly got out and ran fast west on Carroll into the night. For a split second I thought I could follow him while calling 911 but I decided to just stay there. I immediately called dispatch on the radio. They asked if I was hurt, I said not really, just shaken up. They sent the police and Fire rescue anyway, for a police report to be taken. It was standard procedure for the cab company, and even though this scumbag didn’t get my wallet or money, I did want to see him get caught. I had a lot of friends in the cab business, some I still keep in touch with even now, years later, and I’d hate to see this happen to them.

The cops put out a BOLO on this guy, and right before, they left the scene they told me another unit picked up a guy matching the description. I rode in the cruiser to their location to ID the guy, but it wasn’t him. They took me back to my cab and we wrapped it up. The fire department had left after they checked me out, but a cop stayed at the scene waiting for me to return from the attempted ID. Before I left, a K-9 unit showed up, caught the guys trail for about a half mile and then lost it.

I had my wallet, my cab, and my life. As I said, I never really feared for my life, but it did piss me off. I went home that night with my pride and my hard earned $80, still in my front pocket. I also had my .38 on an ankle holster, but I never had a chance to pull it. Looking back, it was a dumb place to carry while driving, and I was just too busy trying to fight him off. I can’t say for sure if I would’ve fired had I grabbed it, but considering his cowardly demeanor, I might not have needed to shoot him.

When I got home, Patty gave me a big hug and kiss and shook her head, tongue in cheek, as if to remind me what a disaster I was. I know she was glad I was OK. And so was I.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 4

Too Close For Comfort

“The robberies of the wicked shall be their downfall,

Because they would not do judgment.”

Proverbs 21:7

One warm summer night while driving my taxi, I came upon the unfortunate instance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I drove a cab for a few years without incident. It’s not like I was in NYC or Chicago and 99% of the time I worked the tourist areas. This one night I remember was particularly slow, so I hit the street calls on the dispatch computer. There’s usually enough to go around in the attractions, but that night was quiet.

I was working the Kissimmee area east of Disney, a big lower middle class region south of Orlando. As I was heading south on John Young Parkway, I took a flag down at a shopping center. He appeared normal at first glance. Jeans, blue and yellow windbreaker, and clean shaven. I was so used to families at Disney sometimes needing to use the front seat too that it didn’t occur to me to lock the front passenger door while I worked the streets. In hindsight of the situation that was about to occur, I’m glad he was up front.

He entered the cab and sat next to me. He asked me to bring him to Vine and Hoagland, which was about 4 miles away. I was about to ask him how his evening was going when he pulled a knife, pushing it against my right side, grabbing my collar and telling me to hand over my money. I tried to stay as calm as I could, and at first was reasoning with him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He yelled to me to “shut up” and had me turn right on Carroll Street a dark 3 mile long 2 lane road lined with cattle farms. In his eyes it was a perfect spot to rob me. At no time did I ever think I was going to die, but I was frightened. But I wasn’t scared enough to not try to keep him from hurting me. As we drove further down Carroll Street he told me to give him my wallet. The whole time he had his knife pressed into my side. I said “OK” and slowly retrieved my wallet. All my earnings were in my front right pocket, so I thought it was now or never. I decided to try and stop him.

His first mistake is when I went to hand him the wallet, he kept his left hand on my collar, but took the knife away from my side to grab my wallet. When he reached up, I slammed on the breaks hard and fast, throwing him into the dash board and windshield. He of course neglected to put on his seat belt when he got in, intending to rob me and make a quick getaway.

As the car slowed down we started fighting. We were grappling at each other, and all I cared about was avoiding getting stabbed. For a moment he got his right hand loose and swatted at my stomach with his knife. It wasn’t very sharp, but it did tear my shirt and scratch my stomach. I elbowed him hard in the face with my right arm, and at that moment he decided maybe he bit off more than he could chew. I mean, I was like twice his size. I give him credit for trying, but I wasn’t getting robbed that night. He opened the door while I was punching him with the back of my fist repeatedly. He quickly got out and ran fast west on Carroll into the night. For a split second I thought I could follow him while calling 911 but I decided to just stay there. I immediately called dispatch on the radio. They asked if I was hurt, I said not really, just shaken up. They sent the police and Fire rescue anyway, for a police report to be taken. It was standard procedure for the cab company, and even though this scumbag didn’t get my wallet or money, I did want to see him get caught. I had a lot of friends in the cab business, some I still keep in touch with even now, years later, and I’d hate to see this happen to them.

The cops put out a BOLO on this guy, and right before, they left the scene they told me another unit picked up a guy matching the description. I rode in the cruiser to their location to ID the guy, but it wasn’t him. They took me back to my cab and we wrapped it up. The fire department had left after they checked me out, but a cop stayed at the scene waiting for me to return from the attempted ID. Before I left, a K-9 unit showed up, caught the guys trail for about a half mile and then lost it.

I had my wallet, my cab, and my life. As I said, I never really feared for my life, but it did piss me off. I went home that night with my pride and my hard earned $80, still in my front pocket. I also had my .38 on an ankle holster, but I never had a chance to pull it. Looking back, it was a dumb place to carry while driving, and I was just too busy trying to fight him off. I can’t say for sure if I would’ve fired had I grabbed it, but considering his cowardly demeanor, I might not have needed to shoot him.

8 Weeks of Memories- Part 3

An Unexpected Savior

“Let thy heart apply itself to instruction:

And thy ears to words of knowledge”

Proverbs 23:12

As newlyweds in November 1996, Patty and I were as equally excited about our honeymoon as we were about starting our lives together. The first and only place either of us thought about to go to was the one and only Ireland. We just celebrated our 15^th anniversary, and I can tell you I remember the trip as if it were my yesterday. Unparalleled hospitality, eye feasting landscapes, the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed, and awe inspiring views of history thousands of years old.

The Irish embrace history, and they relish in their artifacts and ruins, like an antique collector whose shop is the entire island. Even today I remember the feeling in my gut as I stood at the gates of a cemetery with headstones dating to the 900’s. Towering castles, so solid in construction, they shall outlive them people who pass them.

The grass truly is the greenest I’ve seen, and by far Ireland has the most heartwarming people I’ve ever met. So when our trip started suffering a series of small funny happenings, we laughed and joked about it. While driving near Kilkenny one day we had to stop on a narrow country road for a herd or cattle being moved by their keeper. They surrounded our car as they passed us, bumping and shaking us in our seats. One of them tore off the driver’s side mirror.

At one bed and breakfast, we caught the homeowner by surprise one evening, and while she let us in to stay the night, she was somewhat less than cordial in the morning. We woke around 7 am and came downstairs to eat, not realizing that in the off season, some B&B’s are ill prepared, or more appropriately, ill-willing to show us a kind meal and fare-thee-well. As we sat at the table sort of waiting for her to show up, we contemplated just leaving to find breakfast elsewhere. That’s when our real host, 4 year old Noel, came down and engaged us in good old fashioned Irish conversation. He showed us some toys, talked about finding the “Santy Claus” clothes (hidden Christmas gifts), and asked us our names at least three times. I have to admit, he was the cutest kid we’d ever seen. He told us mommy was sleeping, but since he was hungry too, he’d go get her. We could hear them talking, waa waa waa “Peanuts Teacher” style upstairs, and after Noel returned 10 minutes later, his mother finally came down. She appeared quite disheveled and annoyed at our presence, and yet she pushed through her angst to serve us.

She came in first and slammed down 2 coffee cups. There were no menus, but we sort of looked at each other like, “we’ll just take what we can get”, and frustrated, we dealt with it. Noel kept us quite amused as we listened to his mother bang around the pots and pans in the kitchen, surely cursing us under her breath.

She served us runny eggs, undercooked bacon, and burned toast, and we never even got the coffee. Upon slapping the plates in front of us, she retired upstairs never to be seen again. We ate what we could and left, bidding our “host” Noel a fond farewell. Patty told him to make sure mommy doesn’t know he saw the Christmas gifts, and to be a good boy. We held hands as we walked to the car and just smiled at each other, because we were happy we were there, despite our less than usual stay. To this day, it’s my favorite part of the trip. Noel should be about 18 now, and all I can say is I hope he’s doing well as a young adult in Ireland. By the way, this woman was the only person we met there who was less than cordial, but we were totally fine with it. We were newlyweds. Our greater interest was in each other. We do thank her for taking us in. Even the Irish can have bad days.

Speaking of bad days, all our little strange happenings were started on the first day actually, not long after we arrived. We left NY at 6pm, and arrived in Dublin at 6 am, locally, but to us it was midnight. The money exchange counter at the airport was closed, but we had our rental car and lodging vouchers so we headed out to find our first place to stay. I found driving on the opposite side of the road quite easy, and using our trusty map, we headed south through County Wicklow towards Glendalough. It was a windy bumpy mountain road, and although we were tired, we were quite enjoying the new landscape. As the elevations increased, the width of the road decreased, and we suddenly realized we must have hit a stone or something because we noticed a tire going flat. Luckily this happened only a few hundred feet from a well hidden mountain hotel, with beautiful architecture, and the ruins of a 1000 year old cemetery and church behind hit. We slowly parked the car in the empty lot, and got out into the chilly air to indeed find a flat tire. After searching fruitlessly for a jack , we did notice a spare in the trunk. But clearly we were in a dilemma, having no way to change the tire. We went inside the hotel, which wasn’t really open this time of year, but there were a few people there. We hadn’t exchanged any money yet, as it was barely 730 am, and nothing was open at the airport. After talking to a man inside who couldn’t help us, we went back to the car to try and find a phone number of the rental company, so maybe we could call a wrecker to change the tire. The rental agreement didn’t even have a local number on it.

We stood outside, quietly contemplating what to do, when out of nowhere, our hero arrived. A young kid, about 20 years old came out of the hotel, dressed as a waiter or bellhop, and walked up to us.

“I heard you have a flat. Maybe I can help you.” We immediately noticed his “accent”. His name was Tim, and he was an exchange student from of all places, Minneapolis. An American!! Wow!! We chatted it up a bit and found out immediately he had extensive knowledge of European autos. When we told him there was no jack he said, and I quote, “did you check the engine compartment?” Was he serious? The engine compartment? He told us some smaller cars have the jacks bolted to the firewall near the master cylinder. He wasn’t kidding. We opened the hood, and there it was. Not a single person in America experiencing a flat tire would ever look under the hood, because, well, that’s NOT where the jack is.

Half an hour later we were on our way. Our tire was changed, and we thanked our “mechanic” friend Tim from Minneapolis. We learned that day two things; older isn’t always smarter, and help comes when you least expect it. Thank you, Tim.

Uncommon Common Courtesy

You're trying to merge on a highway, and you get boxed out and have to fall back. You hold a door open for someone, and not only do you not get a thank you, but their cell phone conversation keeps them from even making eye contact, and at the very least, a smile. You're number 4 out of 5 on line to pay for something, and a new register opens. The moron behind you jumps ahead of the people who were actually waiting longer in front of you.
   The list goes on. The technology age and the world of social networking has taken away from us a most common trait: courtesy. We no longer have to interact like we used to. Smart phones make some dumb people. Everyone is so engrossed in texting(while walking, while shopping, while DRIVING) that they have no consideration for the people around them. We're raising a generation of socially detached "Rudies" who get no interaction from Mom and Dad, if they're even lucky enough to have 2 parents, because they're abbreviating on a keypad to their equally disinterested friends, and absolutely NO ONE can spell anymore. Grammar, punctuation, and discretion have taken a back seat to seclusion, distraction and ignorance.
   I can remember not many years ago when I held a door open for someone, I got a 'thank you'. How difficult is it to take .7 seconds out of your day to acknowledge a complete stranger who just made your day a little easier? People have forgotten what it's like to just be nice. To say please and thank you. To not be so out of the realm of courteous actions that some actually go out of their way to not be nice? What the hell is going on? I don't make any claims to the following- being a perfect parent; not letting someones bad day affect me; never getting frustrated at the idiocy around me. But i will claim this: I raised my kids to say please and thank you, to not be rude to others, to not judge, to not always put themselves first, and to pay attention. My kids don't have cell phones yet, but when they do, there will be boundaries and rules. I will stay involved in their lives to the extent that my parenting will dictate, I will not ignore them, and I will love them unconditionally. They will grow up to help, be nice to, and love their fellow man. It's not that hard at all. We can change this pattern of Uncommon common courtesy.......