Kentucky Accident

Bucher and I had driven from Atlanta to Michigan to present to my ailing maternal grandmother her first great-grandchild, 7-month old Alex. Grandma was a resident patient in the hospital after a series of strokes. I put Alex up on the bed next to her. She took his hands as the baby tried to stand up and remarked, “I don’t know who you are, but I know you are mine.”

 

We invited my 13-year old cousin David Symons to accompany us on the trip home and spend a couple of weeks with us in Atlanta.

We were deep in the mountains of Kentucky, driving a narrow, winding road at night in heavy rain when a car materialized out of the murkiness—backing up around a curve at us. The cars crashed. Although Bucher was driving slowly because of the poor road conditions, he did not have time or space to avoid the ghost car.

Bucher assured himself that all of us were safe, then ran to the other car to make sure that the driver was not hurt. The woman was shaken, but sound. Bucher examined both cars and found no real damage. Somehow it was agreed that we would follow the driver of the guilty car to the nearby town.

Details are a little foggy here. I don’t remember police. I know Bucher parked the car in front of the combination police station and courthouse. He disappeared. A short time later he stuck his head through the back window where I was sitting next to the baby’s travel bed and hissed, “Don’t say a word!” Then he vanished back into the night.

A wide-eyed David peered over the back of the front seat at me. I whispered that I didn’t know what was going on, but obviously he and I were not to comment. How I entertained my scared cousin, I don’t remember. I do remember being grateful that the baby slept happily through everything.

Some thirty or forty minutes later Bucher eased into the driver’s seat without saying a word. Dave and I assumed that the ban on talking was still in force. Bucher found his way back to what Kentucky considered a main road. Safely en route home, he finally explained what had happened.

It was the sheriff’s daughter who had run into us. Considering her exalted position in the community, fault was not an issue. Bucher said he was standing in front of the judge when the Sheriff himself arrived, afire to protect his daughter. The lawman made his painful way down to the front of the court on crutches. The judge explained that the sheriff was the hero of the community. He had spent months in the hospital after being wounded severely in a shootout with a local gang, most of whom he took out.

Bucher said that he realized the only thing he could do was plead guilty, pay the $150 fine, and be grateful to escape.