Subj: HeroicStories #13: Good ol' Boys
HeroicStories #13: 18 December 1999 www.HeroicStories.com
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(This is a repeat of HS #13, originally run 1 June 1999. More below.)
Good ol' Boys
by Allena Hansen
Caliente, California, USA
A couple of years ago, all five of the sibs, into our forties now,
gathered at our parent's home in the Northern Sierras for family
Christmas eve dinner -- a wondrous indulgence of good food, fine wine,
and the usual outrageous and raucous conversation.
The hour grew late, and by the time my brother, sister and I piled into
his brand new turbo beep-beep for the 30+ mile drive back to his equally
remote home on the other side of the mountain, it had begun to snow.
Hard. We set out on the winding mountain road. Slowly, mind you, as none
of us is novice at icy backroad driving -- and it was, after all a brand
new car.
Of course we came upon the unexpected patch of black ice, slid and
upended in a snowbank. And of course, we were in the middle of nowhere,
miles from anywhere or anyone. A tire had come off the rim, but we were
all unhurt, and Good Scouts that we'd been harangued from early childhood
to be, we wrapped ourselves in blankets from the trunk, buttoned up our
coats, and prepared to wait out the night, if not the storm, until we
could safely walk for help.
No sooner had we turned on the emergency flashers and expelled the
obligatory profanity, than headlights appeared. "No way!" said my bro.
It was, in fact, a tow truck, out in the middle of nowhere in the middle
of a storm on an entirely minor little road leading into Obscurityville
in the dead of night.
"Merry Christmas!" came the call from (yes!) a jolly white-haired fat
man in a Santa hat. "Merry Christmas!" echoed his companion as they
hopped out of the truck. Our jaws dropped in Yuppified amazement as they
went to work.
In a flash, the turbo beep-beep was righted, tire replaced and
inflated, and ready to go. Stunned, I asked the older man what on earth
was going on...was this a hallucination, or had a tow truck with two hick
Santas just saved our sorry butts from a miserable end to a lovely
evening?
"Well," said (the) Dad thoughtfully. "Momma died in a car wreck around
Christmastime back when Jimmy here was fourteen." He nodded towards his
gray-bearded son. "And ever' Christmas eve since then, we get together up
here t' my place, and go out on this forlorn little spit of road and pull
folks like you out of snowbanks. It's sort of our way of celebrating the
holiday."
Of course they refused recompense. And they had their arms around each
other's shoulders, laughing as they walked back to the old tow truck
shaking the snow out of their Santa hats and beards as they prepared to
take another run along the treacherous little road. As far as I could
figure, they were just a couple of local heroes drivin' up and down that
lonely icy stretch, waitin' for some idiot city folk to mess up so they
could help out.
Jimmy's momma must've been a lovely woman.
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