I was 19 years old and in college. I had driven my 15-year old Volkswagen “Bug” to visit my roommate’s Mom, near New Orleans. Because I had a test coming and needed to prepare, I had to return to school in Arkansas earlier than my roommate. So I filled the Bug with gasoline and headed north. I drove into the dark of the piney woods and suddenly the car started moving in jerks, coughing and clunking. I pulled to the side of the road and turned off the car to think. I wanted to get to the first available town so I turned the key to start the car. Nothing. Afraid I would be hit by oncoming traffic in the almost pitch dark; I turned on the lights, thankful that the battery apparently worked. I waited as a single eighteen wheeler passed me. I was alone in the dark on a deserted highway.

After 16 minutes alone I was so afraid and then… the lights of a semi came toward me. The truck stopped and the driver descended. “Come on,” he yelled across the road, “hop into my truck and I’ll take you back to town.” Now, I’d been told since I was a tiny girl, never to go with strangers, but I made a choice and got into the “big rig.” On our way to town, he explained that he’d driven past me earlier and he decided to check again, in case I was in trouble. He took me to a truck stop and told the waitress to feed me and keep an eye on me. And he left.

A few hours later, he returned. He’d waked some friends who owned a garage. They towed my car and were fixing it – it would be a couple more hours. “But I don’t have money,” I cried. “Don’t worry,” he replied. We had coffee while he told me about his wife and daughters and asked about my studies. Soon, I saw the headlights of my Bug in the window. He walked me to the car and I asked for his name and address so I could ask my daddy to send him money to pay for everything. He said, “No, Honey. This one’s one me. I hope that someday, if my wife or daughters have road trouble, someone will look out for them.”