November 30, 2021

Helpful people reaffirm faith in the human race

Kevin Kline takes a shortcut home from a ballgame and ends up driving through the hell of an inner city. Feeling the adrenalin move from his nerve endings, he starts singing along hard to the radio, “Send lawyers, guns and money … to get me out of this.”

Still in his suit from the office, he has prey written all over him. Four people circle like sharks in their white car with white hubcaps, rap music pouring out. They pull up behind him. As Kline watches the men in his rearview mirror he whispers to himself, “Mayday, mayday, we’re going down.”

“Grand Canyon” is a movie about societal decay and angels on earth. I watched this movie Saturday. Sunday night, I was returning home from Brunswick.

I remembered a news report of a woman stopped alongside a road somewhere near East Corinth and a man who jumped into her car and forced her to drive to a backwoods road while a second man followed in his car.

Another report was of a woman whose car was broken down on Interstate 95 near the Hogan Road. A man reached in through her window to try and get her door open.

As I traveled I-95 on this night my cruise control went out. I stepped on the gas pedal and it went straight to the floor. My Oldsmobile came to a halt and there I sat, alone in the dark woods on the side of the big road.

I didn’t want to believe it, and that’s the first thought that came to mind: This is not really happening. I’m not really stuck here. I was so scared I didn’t feel the cold.

Fortunately, I have a car phone. I dialed *-77, which is the number advertised on signs along the highway.

The state police dispatcher answered. After I lether know that I was stranded, she said, “I’m sorry, we don’t have any officers in that area. Try Triple-A.”

The next call was to Vern and Joyce Bubar, who live in Etna. They were just going out the door. One more minute and I would have missed them. They were at my car in 10 minutes.

Last week, I took my brother to the hospital for outpatient surgery on his foot. On the way home I tried to figure out ways that I was going to get this 100-pound kid up a steep set of stairs.

As I drove in the driveway, Bob McKenney of Old Town, who works for Marquis Heating, was there filling up the oil tank. Noticing my patient in the back seat he asked, “Need a hand? I have a strong back.”

You cannot convince me now that there aren’t senior angels on earth.

Robin Addams is a free-lance writer who lives in Old Town.

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