Memorial Day Weekend Incident--1969

In early 1969, my Uncle Bill, who lived in Lakeland, Florida, had a bad heart attack and moved back to Middle Georgia. I had to take a pickup and move all his household goods back up here. His wife and son were following in their car, pulling a boat. Around Valdosta, Georgia a woman spun out in the southbound lane, crossed the median, and collided with me in the pickup. I had actually slowed almost to a stop on the on-ramp in order to hook my seat belt after gassing up a few minutes before, or I would probably have been a goner. As it was, I saw everything in what seemed like slow motion. I saw the impact with the big Chrysler, then spun 3/4 around, and watched in my side mirror as my aunt crashed into me. I wound up with a scratched arm, and a small cut on my back.

This was on I-75, and troopers were soon at the scene. I helped get my aunt and cousin out of their car and into an ambulance.  Aunt Marlene was bleeding a little from a cut on her face, and the passenger in the other car was cut up pretty bad.  Steve was shaken up, but OK.   As I was standing with the trooper, a truck driver who had stopped for some reason came up to the trooper. "This man passed me twenty miles back, and he must have been going 90," he told the trooper. I called him a lying son-of-a-(gun) and started for him. The trooper grabbed my arm and told the trucker to get in his truck and go.

At the hospital, the trooper became very exasperated with the woman who was driving the car. Her tires were slick, and she had lost control and spun out when it started raining a little.  She was more concerned with a little lap dog than she was with her husband, who was beat up pretty badly and unconscious.  The trooper had some choice words for her. My aunt and cousin were bruised up a little, but they were released from the hospital. I had called home, and my Daddy had told me to get a motel room until some of them could get down there. The trooper took us to a motel, then offered to take me to the towing yard to get clothes for us out of our vehicles. At the yard, it dawned on me that I had a 1911A1 Colt Pistol under the seat. I was only 20 years old, and I'm not sure if the old Georgia "Pistol Toters License" was issued to 18 year olds and up. I think I had a license, because I remember telling the trooper that I had a .45, and did he want to see my license. "No," he replied. "Just don't shoot me."

I had been responsible for those folks (Aunt Marlene and Steve) for several hours, dealing with the trooper, the hospital, the motel, and the lying truck driver. My kinfolks were very upset in the motel room and I finally got them calmed down. I remember when Sandy and Jeri showed up at the door of the motel room a few hours later. To my surprise, I almost cried when I saw them. Somebody else could take charge now. I remember later, my aunt bragging on me and telling everyone how I had taken charge and how I took care of them. It was the first time in my life that I was faced with something like that. I was just ashamed of the way I had almost lost it when help finally arrived.