14 June 1991 – Interstate 90 Eastbound, Conneaut, Ohio

Jeff drove east through Ohio five days later. He hadn’t pushed very hard to get home until today. Jeff started the day west of Cleveland and, two hours later, he was to its east and almost into Pennsylvania. He planned to push through the remaining miles to Enfield. That was the plan, at least.

Jeff was on Interstate 90, which would become the Massachusetts Turnpike at some point that night. His truck rolled along in the right lane of the two eastbound lanes. He sometimes changed lanes to avoid traffic, merging at the exits, but otherwise, it was an easy ride. He wasn’t trying to win any races and didn’t care if people passed him. He cruised at five miles an hour over the posted speed limit. His open window let the breeze in, and he enjoyed the warm morning air. Home wasn’t going anywhere.

High-pitched engine sounds cut through the cab of his truck, overpowering Jeff’s music. A glance in his rearview mirror showed a low-slung import weaving in and out of traffic. The engine had to be turning seven to eight thousand RPM from the way it whined. The import blew by him, rocking his truck as it passed.

“Dick,” he muttered. “There’s always someone who wants to be first.”

Jeff’s laid-back attitude vanished moments later when the import’s brake lights came on in the distance. The lights veered left, and the car flipped down the highway. Another half a dozen vehicles also collided in front of him.

“SHIT!”

He darted around the crash using the breakdown lane and parked off the road well past the accident. Jeff hit his flashers and grabbed his first aid kit. Brakes squealed behind him while jogging to the import. He spared a glance over his shoulder and confirmed that traffic stopped well back from the crash.

The import was, somehow, upright on its wheels. Jeff barely recognized it compared to the last time he saw it, however. The driver, who hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, still sat in the car. There was a large gash across his forehead that hadn’t bled, and his head hung at an unnatural angle. Glancing at the car’s interior, Jeff guessed the driver’s neck broke upon impact with the collapsing roof. The passenger must not have been wearing his seat belt, either. What remained of him hung halfway out his window and appeared crushed, likely by the rolling car. Jeff shook his head as he walked back to the rest of the accident.

“Hey!” Jeff called to the driver in the first car he came to, one with heavy front-end damage. “You all right?”

“I think I just lost twenty years off my life, but other than that, yeah.”

“Okay, the police should be here soon. Sit tight.”

The man waved his thanks, and Jeff went to check the rest of the cars.

“Need any help?” asked a man approaching from the direction of the stopped traffic.

“Yes, Sir. Can you find the driver of that tractor-trailer over there? Ask him to make sure the police know about this, using his CB?”

“Already called it in. That’s my rig.”

“Perfect, thanks. If you have a first aid kit, would you mind grabbing it and checking the other cars? I’m headed to that minivan over there. I hear some yelling coming from it.”

The trucker gave him a thumbs-up and ran back to his truck. The crying of a young child mixed with an adult’s cries for help grew louder while he approached the van.

The van’s driver looked like someone painted her red from the forehead down. The blood covering her face had partially hardened already, causing her eyes to stick closed. A large, jagged cut was visible across her forehead and up into her hairline. A blood-soaked sun visor sat in her lap, and the van’s left front corner displayed heavy damage.

“Help!” she called out the window as Jeff approached.

“Ma’am? My name is Jeff. I’ve got some gauze here that I’m putting over a big cut on your forehead. Then I’m going to try to clean some of the blood off your face, okay?”

“My son! Is he okay?”

Jeff glanced in the back seat of the van. A two- or three-year-old boy sat in his car seat. The boy looked uninjured, despite his frantic cries.

“Hey, little guy. I’m gonna help your mom, okay?”

The boy didn’t respond; he just kept crying.

Jeff covered the woman’s cut with a wad of gauze pressed to her head and then secured it with a military field bandage.

“He doesn’t look injured, and his seat doesn’t appear damaged at all. I think he’s crying because he’s scared. What’s your name, Ma’am?”

“Donna. Are you with the ambulance?” she asked while holding the bandage to her head with her right hand. Jeff tied the ends of the bandage around her head to hold it in place.

“No, Donna. I’m just another motorist heading home; I had to stop and help out. The ambulance should be here soon. Traffic’s already pretty backed up, so I’m sure they’re going to have a little trouble getting through.” Jeff used damp gauze to sponge the dried and drying blood off her face.

“I can’t move my legs,” Donna said matter-of-factly.

Jeff stopped cleaning Donna’s face. “You can’t move your legs?” he asked, glancing down. Her legs disappeared into a mass of metal.

“I can feel them, but for some reason, I can’t move them. It feels like something is digging into my left leg.”

Relief washed over Jeff. “The front of your van looks like it crumpled around your legs. That might be why you can’t move them. There’s no other damage inside the car, though.” Jeff cleared enough of the blood off Donna’s face for her to open her eyes. “Hey, little lady. Can you see me?”

“Yes. I’ve got a terrible headache, though.”

“You’ve got a pretty good gash on your forehead up by your hairline, Donna. It looks like you took down your sun visor with your forehead. That might be it.” The boy in the back seat was now quiet and looked around. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Jeffrey. He’s four. Jeffrey, say hi to the man helping Mommy.”

Jeff smiled at the boy in the back seat when the little man waved at him.

“Your name’s Jeffrey?” The boy nodded. “What a great name! My name is Jeffrey, too! It’s the best name in the world!” The little boy smiled back.

An Ohio State Highway Patrol cruiser rolled down the breakdown lane and parked behind Jeff’s truck. Jeff waved to the trooper when he stepped out of the patrol car. The man placed his campaign cover on his head and stepped over.

“Good morning, Trooper. There are two dead in that import up there. You might want to cover that car with a tarp or something; the passenger got crushed by the car as it rolled, and on-coming traffic might see that. That car there has a gentleman who was scared half to death but says he’s otherwise uninjured. Other than Donna and her young son here, I don’t know who else might be injured. The driver of the big rig there is checking the rest of the cars. I worked this side of the crash until I got to Donna’s car. Donna can’t move her lower legs; the front of the van crumpled around them. She does have feeling in them, however. She says she can feel something sticking into her left leg.”

Trooper Phil Jackson rarely received that kind of report from a bystander. “Where do you work? That was a comprehensive report.” The aid bag and pile of bloody gauze at the man’s feet hinted that the man might work in public safety.

“None, Sir. I just got out of the Army. Infantry. Gotta be able to size up what you see pretty quickly, you know?”

“I do. Someone will need to talk to you after we take care of the accident.”

“Roger, Trooper. I’ll be here.” The trooper nodded and walked away. “Donna, does your neck hurt?”

“A little. I think my head snapped back when I hit the sun visor.”

Jeff probed the back of her neck, from the base of the skull to the level of her shoulders. He didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary, but Donna sucked in a sharp breath when he touched a spot halfway down the neck.

“I don’t feel anything wrong, Donna, but with the pain you’re feeling in that spot, try to keep your head still, okay?” Jeff reached through the window. He manipulated the rearview mirror so that she could see her son. “Can you see Jeffrey now?”

“I can, thank you. Hi, pumpkin! Mommy’s got a boo-boo, but I’ll be okay!” Jeffrey looked like he was about to start crying again.

“Buddy, that’s just a big Band-Aid on Mommy’s head, okay?” Jeff said to the little boy. Jeffrey looked at Big Jeff and then back at Mommy.

“It’s okay, pumpkin,” she said to Jeffrey, trying to soothe him. “Am I still covered in blood?” she whispered to Jeff.

“Well, you’ll need a little more clean-up, but you don’t look like Carrie at the prom any longer.”

Donna chuckled. “Bastard.”

An ambulance and a fire engine pulled up behind the trooper’s car. The trooper walked up to the crews and pointed out various things around the accident scene. Two of the engine’s crew retrieved a large canvas bundle and hustled to the crushed import. The canvas was a tarp that they used to obscure the remains of the vehicle. The engine’s officer approached.

“Sir, Trooper Jackson said you’d be able to give me a rundown on this lady’s condition.” Jeff nodded and briefed the lieutenant on Donna’s injuries and what she told him about her legs. The fire officer nodded in return. “Sounds like we’ll need the Jaws to get her out. The tools get pretty noisy, Ma’am. Do you think your son will go with someone when we start working on the car?”

“Jeff, would you take care of him?”

“Of course, Donna. Is there anything in the car you use to keep him occupied?”

“There’s a bag in the back seat with some of his books.”

“LT, can we sit in the back of the ambulance while I read to him?”

“No reason you can’t. We’ve got a few more units coming to help out, but that one won’t be leaving before they arrive. I’ll make sure Donna and her little man are together before she’s transported. Grab his car seat, too.”

Jeff smiled at Donna and then walked around to the van’s sliding passenger door. Jeffrey looked at him with big eyes.

“Hey, Jeffrey. The firemen need to use some tools to help get your mommy out of the car. They’re going to be pretty loud, so she asked me if I’d bring you over to the ambulance and read some of your books to you. Does that sound okay?” Jeffrey nodded.

Jeff gathered up the boy’s books and placed them back in their bag. The crash had scattered the contents across the back seat. He unbuckled the boy and figured out how to remove the car seat. He carried the boy over to the ambulance along with the bag and seat.

“Wow, Jeffrey, this is cool! Have you ever been in an ambulance before? No? Me, either! Why don’t you sit here on this bench? I’ll sit next to you. We won’t need your seat until they’re ready to go. Which book do you want to read first?”

Jeff used different voices for the various characters in Jeffrey’s books. The little boy soon filled the ambulance with laughter. Jeff kept him laughing by making funny faces as he read.

The back doors to the ambulance opened thirty minutes later. Donna lay on the ambulance stretcher, strapped to a long wooden board with her neck in some sort of brace. A thick bandage covered her left lower leg.

“All right, Jeffrey, it looks like it’s time for an ambulance ride. I gotta get something from my truck. I’ll be right back.”

A crewmember nodded to Jeff while he strapped Jeffrey’s seat to a captain’s chair in the back. Jeff jogged to his truck, retrieved two items, and jogged back. Jeffrey sat in his seat again, ready to go, when Jeff returned.

“Hey, little buddy, you take care. These folks will take good care of you and your mom, okay?” Jeffrey nodded at his new friend. “These are for you because you were so brave. I’ll give this one to Mommy to hold for now, though. It’s got sharp points, and I don’t want them to poke you, okay?” Jeffrey nodded again, holding his arms out for a hug.

“Donna, these are what I’m giving to Jeffrey if it’s okay with you?” Jeff showed her an 82nd Airborne patch and paratrooper wings with a bronze combat jump star. “The pin is what has sharp points. I’ll pin it on his bag.”

Donna nodded despite the brace on her neck. She reached for his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes.

“Of course, Donna. You and Jeffrey take care.” Jeff stepped out of the ambulance and watched it pull away. A trooper approached.

“Mr. Knox? I’m Trooper Ferris, OSHP Crash Reconstruction.”

“How are you, Sir?”

“Mr. Knox, would you tell me what you saw?”

“I was going about sixty, headed eastbound in the right lane. I could hear the engine of that import winding long before I ever saw it. I saw him weaving in and out of traffic in my rearview mirror as he approached, and he blew by me like I was standing still. A minute later, I saw his brake lights come on, and then he flipped down the highway a bunch of times. I’m not sure how many. I was a little busy trying not to be part of the other cars piling up. I’d like to get home in one piece.”

“That’s usually a good plan. Is this your current address? Fayetteville?”

“I got out of the Army at the end of May. Well, technically, I’m still in the Army until the beginning of August. I’m using up my accrued leave, but I don’t have to report back to Bragg. I’m headed home to Enfield, Massachusetts.” Jeff gave Trooper Ferris his home address on West Ware Road and phone number.

“What are you doing in Ohio? A trip up 95 would have been quicker and more direct.”

“My best friend was killed in the Gulf War. After I got out, I drove to Spokane, Washington to express my condolences to his family in person.”

Ferris grimaced as he nodded. He quizzed Jeff on what he did after stopping at the accident.

“Those are all the questions I have for you, Mr. Knox. I have your home address and phone number, though I don’t think we’ll need to contact you further. The deceased driver seems to have caused the accident. Other than the two in that car, Mrs. Smith’s injuries were the only serious ones from the accident. We lucked out there. It could’ve been a lot worse.” Trooper Ferris shook his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

Jeff drove to the motel Trooper Ferris recommended two exits away. There were plenty of rooms available. Jeff unloaded his things to his room and called home.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Jeff! Where are you?”

“I’m in a motel in Conneaut, Ohio, which is just west of Pennsylvania. There was a big pile-up on I-90. I got stuck behind it for a couple of hours, so I’ll stay here for the night. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Well, we’ll be disappointed not to have you here in the morning, but that sounds like a smart choice. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t involved in the accident, just stuck behind it. Eight more hours of driving didn’t seem like a good idea today. There’s a restaurant next door where I’ll grab a late lunch. After that, I’ll come back to the room and relax.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. What time will you be home?”

“I’m planning to blow out of here around eight tomorrow morning. I should reach Enfield by four in the afternoon or so, with any luck.”

“Okay, honey. We’ll see you then! Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Jeff woke later than he planned. He checked out of the motel and pulled his truck over to the adjacent gas station around nine. Jeff loved his truck, but it was not easy on gas. He’d just begun to fill his tank when a minivan pulled up on the other side of the pump.

“Daddy! Daddy! It’s Jeff! Over there, that’s Jeff!” he heard from the van. A large man unfolded himself from the vehicle and rushed over.

“Are you Jeff? The one who helped a woman and her son on the highway yesterday?”

“Yes, Sir?”

The man startled him by grabbing his hand, shaking it furiously. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I’m Donna’s husband, Stan Smith!”

“You’re very welcome, Sir. How is she doing?”

“They kept her in the hospital last night for observation. She has a mild concussion and needed about sixty stitches for that cut on her head, both inside and out. They wanted to keep the stitches small so that they’ll heal better, be less noticeable. Her leg took another twenty. They’re going to let us take her home later today. We’re on our way over to see her now. She and Jeffrey have been singing your praises ever since!”

“They had the tough jobs, Sir. They were both very brave. I just bandaged her up and kept Jeffrey company for a little while.”

“Well, you’ll forgive me if I disagree? Come on over and say hi to Jeffrey.”

Stan slid the side door open. Jeffrey beamed at him and held up the red, white, and blue 82nd patch. Jeff noticed the jump wings pinned to Jeffrey’s shirt and traded high-fives with the little guy.

“He hasn’t let go of that patch since you gave it to him yesterday. He slept with it last night. You were a paratrooper?”

“Yes, Sir. I just got out. I was headed home to Massachusetts when the crash happened. I should make it home by dinnertime today.” Jeff chatted with the Smiths for a few minutes while the gas pumped. “I’ll let you guys get over to see Donna now. I’ve got about eight hours of driving ahead of me.”

He gave one more high-five to Jeffrey. Stan shook his hand again and slid the door closed. Jeff turned back to his pump. Stan finished fueling first and waved when they drove away.

“That doesn’t happen very often, so savor it when it does.” The man fueling the car behind him turned out to be the lieutenant from the fire engine yesterday. “Phil Jackson said you’re not a firefighter or EMT?”

“No, I just got out of the Army. They teach buddy-aid, and I took a first aid course in high school, but nothing too involved.”

“That was a well-stocked bag you had yesterday.”

Jeff shrugged. “A surplus medic bag from an Army/Navy store in Fayetteville. My platoon medic helped me stock it before I left Bragg.”

“Well, however you wound up at that accident, you have a future in public safety if you want it. I’ve seen people with many years under their belt who don’t handle stressful situations as well as you did. And that’s not to mention how you took care of that woman and her son, both physically and emotionally. I think you’d do very well as an EMT or even a paramedic down the road.”

Jeff’s pump clicked off, his tank full. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Sherman Pineo. I go by ‘Sherm.’” the man offered as he extended his hand. “You have a safe trip home.”

“Good to see you again, Sherm. I’m Jeff Knox. Take care and be safe out there.”

Jeff climbed back into his truck. He rolled east on I-90 towards home a minute later. While driving along, Jeff considered Sherm Pineo’s words. He hadn’t considered a career in public safety before Sherm mentioned it. Jeff crossed being a police officer off his mental list almost immediately. He respected law enforcement for the difficult job they did but didn’t want to do it himself. The same was true about firefighting. Becoming an EMT, however, was something he could see himself doing. He’d look into it next week.

The miles rolled by while Jeff thought about his future. In the near term, he knew he wouldn’t stay with his parents very long. Finding an apartment was an immediate goal. He didn’t want to upset them by moving out so quickly, especially his mother, but he was almost twenty-two, a combat veteran, and used to living on his own. Financially secure, thanks to Dr. Pelley’s insistence on financial counseling before he and TC reported to Bragg, Jeff wasn’t worried about affording it before finding a job. Again he wondered how TC was doing. Jeff would mail the Pelleys a Christmas card this year. He was out of the country last Christmas.

The New York Thruway was miles and miles of miles and miles. Western and Central New York was pretty country, but each mile closer to West Stockbridge, Massachusetts, made him want to drive faster. The New York State Police might frown on that, though. They wouldn’t be as majestic as the Rocky Mountains, but the hills of the Swift River Valley were home, and he missed seeing them. Eating fast food as he drove was the limit of Jeff’s culinary experience that day. He didn’t want to delay his arrival home by sitting down somewhere. He felt almost giddy when he saw signs for I-87 South, the road that bypassed Albany and would take him south to the Berkshire Connector eastbound.

Jeff felt lighter when he crossed the Massachusetts state line. The state police cruisers were the right colors, and the state flag looked right to him. He stopped for gas at the Lee Service Plaza along the eastbound Pike. He stood by his truck as the pump dispensed its product into his tank. He gazed east, unmoving, even after the pump clicked off.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The question startled Jeff out of his thoughts. He turned and saw a Massachusetts State Police trooper looking at him, his cruiser parked at the edge of the grass of the rest area.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve been away from Massachusetts for a few years, and I was soaking up the feeling of being back. It’s good to be almost home.”

“Where have you been, Sir?”

“Fort Bragg. The DoD was kind enough to send me on field trips to all sorts of interesting places along the way, too.”

The trooper walked over and held out his hand. Jeff took it. “Welcome home. Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Enfield. Only a little more than an hour to go.”

“What will you be doing now that you’re home?”

“Well, if you’d asked me two days ago, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Now I think I might try being an EMT, see how that goes.”

“‘We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.’ Romans, Chapter 8, Verse 28. Do what you love and love what you do. You might not get rich, but it will feel right.”