The Accident (1993)

The following incident happened August 26th, 1993. It doesn’t seem so long ago; but it was. This was taken from a larger chapter about the time I spent in Maryland. Noticing the date I thought it was appropriate to post it; you might even find it interesting. I know I did…

One episode which sticks out from this period is my accident in the Cactoctin Mountains outside of Camp David, Maryland. This was in the summer of 1993. (The previous posting of this story had the date incorrectly listed as 1994.) The road there is one lane in either direction and I took a curve too wide; coming face to face with a fully loaded 20 ton dump truck. I remember thinking, “Oh, shit!” Then there was a shattering of glass and a twisting of metal. The sky was turning around and around as my truck, an S-10, reacted to the collision by doing several 360 degree spins. When everything stopped there was a deathly silence.

I was passing in and out of consciousness and at one point a sheet was placed over my face. I came to with my arms flailing and yelling, “I’m not dead- I’m not dead!” The sheet was lifted and a soothing voice informed me that the sheet was to protect my face while they removed the windshield. I was pinned by the steering wheel and my right leg was impaled by some sort of rod.

At one point when I was conscious I asked Trooper Updergraff to take charge of my pistol, which was under the front seat. I did not want it to fall into the wrong hands. It was registered in my name. I recall seeing the Firemen and Troopers playing with it before I passed out again.

Using the Jaws of Life and various saws it took an hour and a half to remove me from the wreck. The mountain was closed in both directions. Being outside of Camp David had its advantages. I had 3 helicopters trying to claim the jurisdiction to fly me to the hospital in Hagerstown. The Marines from Camp David claimed me; as did the National Guard; but in the end the Maryland State Troopers won.

Sue was summoned and raced the 60 miles to the hospital. She was pulled over for speeding on the way, but after explaining the situation the Trooper let her go.

When Sue got to the hospital I had already been scanned from head to toe. I had several broken ribs and a puncture wound to my right leg. They told me the puncture wound was not serious. I disagreed and after several hours I realized that staying there was going to be a problem. They refused to debride the puncture wound!

I told Sue to grab a wheelchair- we were going home. The doctors and nurses were furious and had lots of papers for me to sign about leaving against medical advice. I signed them all as Sue wheeled me out.

The next day I went to see Doctor Shaffer, my personal Physician. He agreed about the puncture wound and debrided it. You could hear my screams way out in the waiting area.

On Sunday I woke up and the wound was bad- it was going toward gangrene. I called Dr. Shaffer and he came to the house after church. He arrived without his bag and had to debride the wound again using a knife from my kitchen, which we sterilized with boiling water and alcohol. All in all I was lucky to be alive and was back on my feet in a week or so.

Now, back to the gun; it was approaching 16 weeks after the accident, which happened in August, when I began to try and retrieve my pistol. This was not easy. Apparently my weapon had disappeared. In addition there was no record of it having been turned over to Trooper Updergraff or its' being received at the Property Clerks Office. This was going to be tricky.

On the one hand I did not want the weapon floating around and turning up after use in a crime. On the other hand I did not want to engage in a battle of wits with the State Police. But my real fear was that the pistol was going to be used as a “drop” gun by a police officer. A “drop” gun is a stolen or unregistered weapon that is “dropped” at the scene by an officer after a shooting. This gives the officer a cover story if the shooting was not “clean.” I could also picture myself being charged at some later date with a homicide if the weapon had been sold and was on the street. In short, if I could not recover the weapon I wanted a receipt.

I was informed by the State Prosecutors Office that receipts were not issued for lost property. I reiterated my position to no avail. I called Trooper Updergraff and explained my concerns. He threatened me with arrest and incarceration pending trial. This is when I started thinking... and so, accordingly, I went to the library.

Looking up the State Statutes on Weapons Charges I found one that I could live with and which would also serve as a receipt for the pistol. I called Trooper Updergraff and had him meet me in the woods behind Rick Stine's. I demanded to be cited for “carrying a handgun in a vehicle against the Peace and Dignity of the State.” It was like a traffic ticket and though it carried a penalty of 1 year and a $1,000 fine it was never enforced. Trooper Upergraff was not pleased and so he gave me a ticket for crossing the centerline as well as the weapons citation. Court was scheduled for January.

I arrived at Court early and, as usual, without counsel. The Prosecutor and Trooper Updergraff were waiting for me and we arrived at an agreement. I would plead guilty, pay a small fine and serve no time. I would also formally forfeit the weapon to the State, but this was not to infringe upon my right to Possess Arms in the future. It was a misdemeanor. I would also agree to not ask the State to produce the physical evidence. With supreme confidence we entered the Courtroom.

The Judge was in a foul mood and gave me 30 days! This was after he bullied me about not having a lawyer. We were clearly not getting along! Trooper Updergraff and the Prosecutor both approached the Judge and then summoned me to join them. It was agreed by all that the 30 days would be suspended and I would pay a $300 fine. I would also do 18 months Unsupervised Probation. I also agreed to a forfeiture of the weapon without future infringements upon my rights to purchase firearms.

This was acceptable to all parties and the case was closed. I now had my de facto receipt. This deal would never have been accomplished had I used Counsel. The next 18 months passed uneventfully, during which time I even bought a new pistol to replace the one which had been stolen.

Wrecking the Car

I was on my way home about 5 PM today when I managed to smack the car in front of me - really hard, too. Aside from the obvious and fatal damage to my beloved Mitsubishi, the other guy was taken away in a neck brace and ambulance. The hospital will be calling later to fill me in on his condition. His name is Craig, but he was in no shape to exchange info beyond inquiring about my injuries. And I was equally concerned about his.

208,000 miles and I loved that car. It was just inspected 3 weeks ago and passed with flying colors. With a new set of tires, brand new catalytic converter, and a kick ass Boss stereo system, including a USB port, she will be missed.

But I did get to take home a little memento of the occasion - it seems that there is a big lump on my head and my right knee hurts. Aside from that, I'm fine. But, we're a one car family now.

Driving in New York City - 1928 / 2012

This 1928 video from You Tube features Harold Lloyd in one of the old silents still being made in New York City at the time. It's a wild stunt filled ride showcasing Manhattan in the late 1920's. The Great Depression was still a year away.

And here's a little something from my old neighborhood, on Kings Highway between East 15th and 16th Streets sometime in early 2011. I stumbled upon it while looking at old films of New York and Brooklyn subways. I was just there last September. While I do remember that trucks used to get stuck 1 block north of Kings Highway, on Avenue P, quite often, I never remember one getting stuck under the trestle on Kings Highway itself. I guess if you live long enough, you see it all...

"The Big Roads" by Earl Swift

When I was in the Navy one of the things I missed most about being home in America was driving around in cars. Especially freeways. At the time I didn't have a drivers license, but there were always cars available. You could rent one through a friend, or just ride around as a passenger, eating junk food and enjoying the scenery as it flew past.

Over time I became interested in the old signs I saw on the side of the road. They said "Eisehower Interstate Highway", or something like that. The conventional theory is that General Eisenhower, during World War Two, was so impressed with the German highways that he saw great value in building such a system here in America. From a military standpoint this makes sense. Historically it is only part of the story which Mr. Swift lays out in this sprawling history of the Interstates which we take for granted.

The desire for good roads in America goes back to the earliest days of the first settlers. Footpaths and trails were the common means of travel for the Native Americans, but the settlers built carts and needed a way to transport their goods from settlement to settlement. These muddy trails were usable for about half of the year. The winters were the worst times, often leaving the settlers stranded in their own villages until the spring thaw, and even then they still had to contend with the mud.

Nothing much had changed by the late 1800's. There were a few National Roads, most notably the Baltimore National Pike, which was really the beginning of modern day Route 40, but the country was still a hodgepodge of muddy, uneven roads by the late 19th century. And then along came the bicycle.

After the Civil War large tricycles made their appearance. They were clumsy and somewhat dangerous, being about 6 foot off the ground. Then came the two wheelers, with the same large front wheel, and a miniscule rear one. Even getting up on one of these machines was an accomplishment, riding one on cobblestone streets was truly an ordeal. Clearly, smooth and even roadways were called for. This is when our desire for modern roads first sprang up.

The author expertly traces the roots of our modern highway system to Carl Fisher, a bicycle maker in Indiana. Beginning as a sixth grade dropout, he entered into the bicycle business, popularizing the new, sportier models that we have come to know as today's bicycles. With this venture came the need for new roads.

After the First World War, with the automobile becoming a more modern means of transportation, people like A.V.Williams in Maryland, began buying up all the World War One tanks and mounting plow blades on them. Heavy equipment was born.

In the years between the two wars many ideas were floated for a national roadway, but not much progress was made. Thomas MacDonald was one of the earliest pioneers in this effort. He envisioned a system of roads not too far removed from what we have today.

All of these efforts were not unopposed. The newer and bigger roads would mean the death of many smaller towns, along with the Mom and Pop businesses which dotted the countryside. Lewis Mumford was one of these opponents. His arguments against the roads were both social and economic. And, largely, his predictions have come to pass.

One of the best examples of the struggle for modern roads and how they should be built, or not, concerns the section of Route 70 which runs to downtown Baltimore and then comes to an abrupt end. Thousands of people were forced from their homes for a section of this road which was never built. The city and state became the owners of the properties, which they held for 20 years without building the road. When they tried to sell these properties years later, the values had gone up, and the original, displaced, owners filed suit for the return of those properties. They won.

This is a very thoroughly researched book on the history of Americ'a Interstate highway system. It will change the way in which you perceive the history of these roads as you drive them.

The Perfect Moment

The car turned 200,000 miles today. I can't take credit for all of those miles, having bought the vehicle with something like 125,000 miles on it. But in the last 3 and a half years, this $2,600 automobile has ferried me around flawlessly, leaving me stranded only 3 times. Twice was in my driveway, in need of a new battery, and once, in a parking lot when I had the engine off and the music on for a long time. I pulled out my cables and had it jumped before AAA ever got there.

I have calculated the cost of operating my 1996 Mitsubishi Galant, and find it to be really cheap when compared to buying, or leasing, anything else. It gets between 25 to 30 miles per gallon, depending on several factors. It has taken me on trips into the mountains, as well as just going into town while shopping. The total cost per mile to own and operate this car, including gas, is about 28 cents per mile. Gas is by far the most expensive portion of this, averaging about 14-15 cents per mile, based on about $3.78 per gallon and a 27 mile per gallon average. In other words, half of the cost to operate this vehicle for 75,000 miles has been spent on gas!

It's really a perfect moment when you watch the numbers roll over. I tried to take the picture while driving, but it came out a bit blurry, so I took this one after I pulled over. Probably a good idea if I want the car to get to 250,000 miles. Beyond that, well, let's just say that we're taking it 50,000 miles at a time...

A Short Drive In the Snow

I took a short drive to Huntersville and back this afternoon, mainly to get a battery for my old car, but also to look at the snow. These 2 photos were taken on Poplar Tent Road at about 4:30 PM, less than a half an hour ago. The snow has stopped and the sleet and freezing rain is set to begin....

The DMV and Me

I had to go the the DMV for an application to get Handicapped Plates the other day. It was quite an experience, for both the DMV and me. First, let me tell you that I have been putting this off for some time now, doubtless due to a vague sense of pride on my part. When I arrived there, I noticed a Police Officer sitting by the door. We nodded to one another and I entered the small, cramped office.

I was in line for about 20 minutes, back burning, waiting for a form. I have very bad osteoporosis and as there were were no chairs, I asked one of the clerks if I could just get a form. To do this I had to step to the front of the line, drawing an instant rebuke from the clerk, who angrily snapped, "Everyone is waiting for something. You'll have to get back in line." I muttered something about not being able to stand long, but took my place back in the line.

She must have pressed a buzzer, or clicked her Nextel, because the door instantly opened and the Officer entered, looking at the Clerks, who , with a nod, indicated me. The Officer approached, leaned in towards me and snarled,"Sir, do you have a problem?" I replied, "No Officer, I'm just here for a Handicapped Application and was hoping to get one without waiting another 20 minutes in line." He answered, loudly, and with a design to draw support from the crowd, that "everyone is waiting for something. Do you want to leave?"

I sized the situation up in a nanosecond, and turning to the other patrons queried, "How many people waiting for a Handicap App?" No answers. The officer persisted in his rant, suggesting that I "tone myself down or leave the premises." I followed up with, "You know, while I've been standing here in pain, waiting for a form, you have been sitting the entire time, in the only available chair. How about I go outside and sit in your chair while you wait for my form?" I then walked out the door and sat down in his chair.

About 5 minutes passed and the officer cracked open the door. There I was, sitting in his chair, arms folded across my chest, with a look on my face that said, "What are you gonna do about it? Beat me?" I mean I had already announced to the entire room that I was in need of a Handicapped Application! I had also been unflaggingly polite, but firm, with the Officer during the entire confrontation. With a sheepish look he quietly closed the door and went back inside, to the Land of No Chairs.

About 3 minutes later he came out, with me thinking, "Oh boy, here it comes...." But to my surprise he handed me my form. And in return, I gave him back his chair.