How does the ol’ saying go? Last Friday night and the following morning, I found out the hard way. Wife Olive and youngest daughter were already at our weekend home and I was on my way there.

Originally, I was to have dinner and see a hockey game with a friend, before making my way to meet up with my family. A steady downpour and dropping temperatures put a stop to those plans and coated everything in sight with close to an inch of ice.

I took the exit off the interstate and slid to a stop, slightly askew. Sure, it was slippery, but if one was careful, they could manage. With a light foot, I fought to keep the wheels from breaking loose and did everything in my power to keep the wheels from locking, when stopping.

On an ordinary day, the trip from the highway to the house is about a half hour. This night, after an hour of travel, I was within a quarter of a mile. In less than five minutes, I would be in front of a warm fire, a great weekend ahead.

That’s when I saw him. He wasn’t a man of large stature; in fact, he was somewhat puny. Standing in the driving rain, he looked like a drowning rat. Maybe pity played a part in my fateful decision.

A car had slid off the road and rolled over, causing the sheriff’s deputies to close the road while a tow truck tended to the accident. I was the second car to arrive. Looking out my driver’s window, I saw the first arrival—the wet, rat-guy. Resigned to not wait for the road to open, he tried to turn around and he was now stuck.

No—it’s raining. I’m almost home. I’m dry! These excuses flooded my thoughts. I fought to listen. The angel on my other shoulder spoke. Look—it will only take a minute. You know, it could be you. You’d want some help.
Okay, okay—I’ll do it!

I jumped out of my still running, car and shut the door. The road was like an ice rink. I gathered the rat-guy, gave him instructions and started pushing.

Soaked to the bone, I watched him drive off and skated to my car. I grabbed the handle and pulled. I pulled again. Are you kidding me? Just in case, I pulled once more. Out of habit, I had locked the doors…but with my keys and phone inside.

It seems that the police don’t carry tools for breaking into cars, these days. Maybe I’ve watched too much television. In any event, the officer did give me a ride in the back of her squad car.

I had called home just before exiting the highway. “I should be home in thirty minutes; we’ve canceled the hockey game.” It was almost an hour and thirty minutes after that call, when the deputy’s squad car pulled into the long driveway. Meanwhile, my wife and daughter were calling me and getting no answer. The frantic look on my wife’s face, when the squad car pulled up the drive, quickly turned to anger. “I thought you were dead! Why didn’t you answer your phone?” You never answer your phone!”

She relaxed slightly as I explained my situation. We all piled into her SUV and I drove to where I had left my car. In seconds, I was heading home and my wife on her way, as well. I headed north and she headed south. Her plan was to circle around on another road about a half a mile away.

I’m going to fast forward about four hours, so as not to bore you with the details of: The bus and car that did an ice dance, the same police officer that gave me a ride home, shutting down the road my wife was on, the lack of food and water in the SUV, the lack of a toilet in the SUV or the lack of gasoline in the wife’s tank.

I inch my car down the skating rink that has replaced the road I live on. I can see two figures, stark against the drifts of snow. My wife and daughter, holding hands, taking two steps forward, only to slide one-step back, are only a minute or two from rescue. Unable to drive up the last hill, they had resorted to foot power.

As I waited, I convinced myself that I couldn’t drive her car up the hill—it will be all right for the night. A woman in a speeding four-wheel drive, who slid past the front of my car so fast that ended up about thirty feet off the road, cinched the deal for me. Assured that she wasn't hurt, I made a quick phone call and had a wrecker on it's way.

At last, the wife and daughter were inside my car. I backed up the road, to avoid turning and slipping off the road and delivered them safe and sound.

I woke early on Saturday, anxious to retrieve our car. Once more I am going to fast forward, again to not bore you with: The fact that I slept about thirty minutes too many, the retired state trooper who witnessed the onslaught and left note on the windshield…only to tell me that he had no details, the county sheriff’s officer that came to the house to complete the report, looking at my wife and saying, “I know you…last night, right?” I won’t concern you with the fact that I’m still waiting for the estimate for repairs—“You’ll have the quote within twenty four hours.”

What I will tell you is this. If faced with the same situation, the opportunity to help someone, I would do it again, in a heartbeat. You see, it’s how I live my life—all or nothing. If I help one, who am I to not help another?

I have heard it said, ‘No good deed goes unpunished.” Well, I’ve also heard it said, “But for the Grace of God, there go I.”