This is a true story. None of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Place: Northern Perry County. 1979.
The slurred speech of a drunk wafted through my open bedroom window, awakening me just enough to be confused. “Psssst…Hey, Gary! Pssst! Gary!” The loud, high-pitched whisper for which inebriates are famous pierced the night. “Lookeehere…tha keys are in the car!”
Still not fully awake, I rolled from the bed and squinted out onto the silver-blue moonlit landscape. My heart raced; something was wrong! I directed my attention toward my in-laws house next door. “What-the-heck?” I struggled to make sense of shadowy movements, “…is this a dream?”
Suddenly an engine came to life and a spray of gravel echoed off their garage!
In my excitement, I channeled my inner Barney Fife as I bobbed and weaved around my darkened bedroom, desperately trying to process what I’d just witnessed. Still not sure what action was appropriate, I shook Marilyn and shouted, “Wake up! Somebody just stole your dad’s car!” I stumbled down the stairs shouting over my shoulder, “Call the sheriff! And call Ken! I’m going after ‘em!” Ken and Connie, Marilyn’s sister, live on the farm adjacent to our property—I knew I could count on Ken to be my wing man.
I sprinted out to the driveway and threw myself into our rusted Pinto wagon. The tiny four-cylinder screamed in protest as I matted the throttle, sidestepped the clutch and cut directly across the yard in a rooster tail of sod. The thieves turned left—I went right; I knew I could head them off at the pass. Ignoring the stop sign, I jerked the wheel to the left and sent the Pinto into a hard starboard list like a sailboat yawed against a leeward wind. I stole a glance toward the farm. No Ken.
I mashed the go pedal, hoping to coax the tiny Pinto to reach even deeper. As I approached the state highway, I flipped the headlights off and on—an old racers trick to check for oncoming headlights. Seeing none, I violated a second stop sign, downshifted and broad-slid onto the state highway. The Pinto skidded, clawing for traction like a cheetah scrambling after a gazelle.
Within moments I arrived at the gravel road from which I expected them to emerge and slid sideways onto the tiny dirt road. I braced myself to meet the outlaws face to face.
But what I saw confused me: the dimly-lit headlights of the stolen LTD were blinking cross-eyed at me through a dense cloud of dust. I stepped out of my own enveloping plume of dust. My jaw set like flint, I strode toward the crime scene. For the first time I felt vulnerable, like something was missing. I chastised myself, “Shoot, I should have grabbed a ball bat, a wrench or something!”
As I edged closer, it became apparent that the inebriated car thieves had lost control and crashed headlong into a steep embankment.
“Don’t move! The Sheriff is on his way!” I shouted in my best Broderick Crawford voice. Within moments, the sheriff’s cruiser appeared, followed by Ken in his pickup truck.
Squinting into the cruiser’s bright lights, I trotted toward the backlit silhouettes of Ken and the deputies. Suddenly one of the deputies placed his hand on his weapon and shouted, “You! Stop right there!” Ken casually spoke something to the deputy and sauntered over to where I stood, bewildered. Eyebrows raised, he leaned in toward me and said in a low voice, “Ummm, Ron, don’t you think you ought to go home and put on some pants?”
It was only then I realized I was standing in the middle of the road wearing nothing but my whitey tighties!
My classic “hero to zero” moment still reminds me how I can become “overly dramatic” when life throws a curve. When things don’t go “as per usual” I tend to box at shadows.
I’ve also discovered that when life gets funky, God always has a better plan than I can devise. This Bible verse has become one of my all-time favorites.
God says, “I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I’ll listen.” Jeremiah 29:11-12 The Message
Lord, help me.