The Lump in the Road

(I put there here because it's true)

It was certainly not the first time I’d driven the road. Friday evening and it’d been a long two weeks without being able to leave the base. Going to the movies, hanging out in the bowling lanes and the service club was okay. But, it wasn’t like getting off base and going into town.

I sat in the movie theater a couple of weeks earlier when the lights went on and the movie suddenly stopped. We all wondered what had happened when a field grade officer (I think it was a lieutenant colonel) came on stage and made the announcement that stunned us all.

“President Kennedy is dead. We don’t have the details yet but it appears he was assassinated while driving in a motorcade in Dallas. We will pass on the details as soon as possible.”

None of us had any thoughts about the movie and silently filed out. I have no idea if the movie continued. I joined the huge crowd in the enlisted man’s club and ordered my usual, a rum and coke.

The full story came to us in the following days and they played films of the event over the Armed Forces Network.

I didn’t ask for a pass the weekend after that as I was broke. It was the day after when I received my pay and the money - or script - burned a hole in my pocket. I need to explain here. The Occupation had been over for some time but American Forces still paid their personnel in MPC’s (Military Payment Certificates). We didn’t get U.S. dollars, as the authorities were afraid it would increase the Black Market going on in West Germany. I’d gone to the American Express Office on the Kassern and converted a hundred bucks of my meager pay into Marks.

I’d bought a neat little Ford Taunus with my reenlistment bonus and loved driving it every chance I got. As I look back on it now, that little 1961 German Ford had a whole bunch of neat little things we now take for granted. One of them was being able to turn on, raise, and lower the headlights with a thingie on the left side of the steering wheel shaft. That was important as, driving back roads in the German country sides at night could get a bit hairy. They didn’t have lampposts or traffic signals except at very important crossroads and in the villages.

I left Coleman Barracks outside the village of Sandhofen to drive into Mannheim, the nearest city. A heavy mist had risen from the nearby Rhine but visibility was good, especially with the extra strong fog lights that had come with the car. The posted speed limit was 110 kmp or about 62 mph. Due to the mist, I’d slowed down to fifty-five.

Armed Forces Network music played from the radio and I felt good. There was a bar downtown that not only served decent mixed drinks but the restaurant next door served food so much better than the mess hall that my mouth drooled from the thought of it. I also couldn’t wait to have companionship other than the Donut Dollies at the service club or my fellow GIs.

The thud, followed by the heavy object smashing into my windshield almost didn’t register with me. “My God! I just hit something.” My foot slammed down onto the brake pedal and I gripped the steering wheel with both hands. When the car came to a stop, I sat and shook, wondering why I was still alive. Then . . . it struck me. What had I hit?

The windshield was a web of cracks but still intact. I slowly opened the car door and stepped out. Other than the light from the one headlight still intact, there wasn’t much to see. But, after several minutes, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Pinpricks of golden light flicked through the mist to indicate a farmhouse some distance across the dark field.

I opened the Taunus’ trunk and dug around for the emergency kit. The road was deserted for the moment, but I was sure another car would come along before long. I had three flares and thought about lighting one but hesitated. The taillights would serve as a warning - if I only remembered to turn the flashers on! I went back to the front and flicked the switch, satisfied when the tail lights began blinking. I just began to get my thoughts in order, picked up the flashlight and started walking back down the road.

I didn’t have far to go. The first thing that appeared in the beam of light was a smashed, twisted bicycle wheel. My heart began to race as it dawned upon me what was to appear next.

The twisted body lay still. The head was bare, revealing a man in his fifties. The craggy features spoke of years of hardship and toil. I had nothing but the barest of first aid training from my Boy Scout days and the army’s basic combat training. But, it wasn’t hard to tell there was nothing I could do for him. I knelt and gingerly touched his throat, seeking a pulse that wasn’t there.

It didn’t seem real. It was something one sees in the movies - scene from a television show.

Off in the distance, lights from an approaching car caught my attention. I stepped over the body and walked towards them, waving my flashlight in an attempt to catch the driver’s attention and stop him or her.

Luck was with me. The driver was a German National who worked on the base and spoke very good English. He listened to my story, told me there was a call box back up the highway a mile and offered to go back and notify the police.

I stared at the dark shape on the pavement. It appeared to be nothing but a pile of rags. The twisted form didn’t approximate the shape of a human being. The only thing that struck me was the bicycle. Bicycle equals rider. Rider equals human being. Broken bicycle equals broken human being.

The US Military Police arrived just before the Bundespolizei. The hours passed where all sorts of measurements were taken. I sat in the American cruiser - not handcuffed, as the Germans had wanted - and endlessly told my story. I watched the ambulance arrive, the attendants kneeled by the lump on the ground for a surprisingly short time until they loaded it onto a gurney and inside the vehicle. After taking lots of photos of the bicycle, a German cop moved it to the side of the road.

The tow truck arrived to take my car to a German police yard where it would be held until the legal process could be finished.

The luminous hands on my wristwatch indicated a little before three am when the MPs finally shut the door of the cruiser and we took off back to the base. They dropped me at my barracks and didn’t have to tell me to not go anywhere until the while thing was cleared up.

It was impossible to go into the squad bay - even though I knew everybody would be sound asleep. So, I sat on the back steps, not feeling the cold steel. A little to my right, just across the tall barbed wire and chain link fence that acted as the border of the Kassern, I saw the bright lights of the stockade - and mused about possibly going there in the not too distant future.

I killed a man. Another human being.

Did he have a wife? Children? What was he doing there on that dark road at night? Why hadn’t he stopped when he saw the headlights of my car?

What could I have done to avoid it? Was I driving too fast for the conditions? Wasn’t I paying attention?

Questions that would haunt me for many years. Thoughts that finally faded away . . . until now.

I was exonerated. The insurance company paid off the claim for what the man would’ve earned if I hadn’t killed him. They didn’t even increase my premiums. But, I never drove down that highway at night again,

I learned one thing - there is no cold way to look at an event like that. Although it was an accident and not my fault, the fate of others had been affected one night on a German highway when too much alcohol, dark clothing and not paying attention had lured Fate to place her fingers into the lives of many people - mine included.

I killed a man. And learned what it means to live.

The End