Tag: The Accident

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The Accident by Phillip Hoyle

There isn’t just one accident in my story—the story of my life. I’ve already told about tearing a ligament in my foot from my rushing down too many stairs and then falling one evening when going to retrieve a choir folder from my car. I’ve already told about my accidentally plunging over a waterfall in the Black River of New Mexico and the dislocation of my knee in that unfortunate adventure. I’ve already told of other accidents that occurred when I was pushing myself beyond my body’s strength or was involved in some kind of sport for which I was ill prepared. I’ve told about my father’s and mother’s terrifying automobile accident that killed him and left her bedfast for years. Perhaps I failed to write about falling on my head from the hideout in the top of the garage and landing on the concrete. That accident could probably account for any number of oddities in my mental functioning. No wonder I’ve overlooked it.

I wonder what risk assessment experts would make of my accidental life? What would they write up due to my lack of physical coordination, my number of nicks, cuts and bruises? What would they say of my tendency to stub my toes and even fall headlong to the ground when walking through the neighborhood? What scores would they assess over my dislocated knees, my extreme nearsightedness, my advanced astigmatism, my increasing hearing loss. Now a number of the conditions I’ve listed are due to my advanced age, but surely they would note that most of them have been with me throughout my life: my stumbling bumbling awkwardness, my tendency to fall. They may accuse me in this story of exaggerating my disabilities as if I want the government to give me coverage I could never qualify for on the open insurance market, but that is not so. I simply am prone to walk a teetering edge even where there’s no edge and seem to be losing my balance on the flattest of walkways.

I have other risky stories. I’m sure I’ve told you in so many ways about that accident of birth that could be described as being born with a homosexual proclivity. I’ve never regretted that accident or whatever it was. Certainly it would be judged better than being a natural born criminal. So if in this proclivity I am an accident waiting to happen, could it be that risk assessment researchers would say the same thing of my proclivity to feel too deeply in my friendships with other boys in my childhood? And more about similar feelings with men in my adulthood? In these stories their objections are not that I’d so much hurt my body with scrapes and broken bones, but that I’d become unacceptable, unable to get or keep a job, unable to fit in with the majority of the nation’s population. “It’s too risky,” they’d declare. “We won’t cover you.”

My, oh my. God forbid that I might stumble and fall into the open arms of a man who would love me. What an accident to hope for.

© December 2013

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.” 

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot
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The Accident by Betsy

My first pregnancy which resulted in the birth of my oldest child Lynne was a so-called accident. The discovery of my unintended pregnancy was overwhelming, anxiety producing, and stressful–for about one day. Quickly when the reality of what was unfolding set in, the wonder, excitement, and joy of it firmly took hold in my psyche. 

My oldest daughter is anything but an accident to me. She is a joy and always has been to me and her father. Her conception may have been unintended, but SHE is my pride and joy as are her sister and brother. 
At the time this accident occurred, my husband and I were hardly in a position financially to start a family. However, we had the resources we needed to adjust to the situation. It would only be one or two years before we would intentionally have considered starting a family, and so we were able to welcome the accidental pregnancy. 
Unfortunately it is not so in most cases of unintended pregnancy. Here are some interesting facts on the subject.
Births resulting from unintended pregnancies are associated with adverse maternal and child health outcomes, such as delayed prenatal care, premature birth and negative physical and mental health effects for children. 
For these reasons reducing the unintended pregnancy rate is a national public health goal. The U.S Dept. of Health and Human Services “Healthy People 2020” campaign aims to reduce unintended pregnancy by 10% over the next 10 years. 
Guess how many pregnancies each year in the U.S. are unintended. Close to half–49%. Of the 6.7 million pregnancies 3.2 million are not intentional. Of the two million publicly funded births, about one million resulted from unintended pregnancies, accounting for one half the total public expenditures on births. Total public expenditures on births resulting from unintended pregnancies were estimated to be $11.1 billion in 2006.
The rate of unintended pregnancies in the U.S. is significantly higher than in many other developed countries.
In 2006 of women aged 15-44, those with incomes at or below the federal poverty level the rate of unintended pregnancies was five times higher than that of women of higher income levels. The unintended birth rate for those poor women was six times higher than that of the higher income group. 
The unintended pregnancy rate for sexually active teens is considerably higher than for women overall. 
Facts prove w/o a doubt that contraception works. Sixteen percent of women of child bearing age do not practice contraception. These 16% account for 52% of all unintended pregnancies in the U.S. Two thirds of the U.S. women who correctly practice contraception account for only 5% of unintended pregnancies.
Without publicly funded family planning services the number of unintended pregnancies and abortions occurring in the US would be nearly 2/3 higher among women overall. The number of unintended pregnancies among poor women would nearly double. 
The costs associated with unintended pregnancies would be even higher if not for continued federal and state investments in family planning services. In the absence of services provided by publicly funded planning centers, the annual public costs of non intentional births would increase 60% to $18 billion.
Oh why, then, are so many states shutting down their family planning centers? Why do the states doing away with family planning services think that abortion is the only service provided by these centers?

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Why, oh why is it that political discussions focus on abortion only. I don’t think I have ever heard a politician discuss the pros and cons of contraception.

Let me repeat: without publicly funded family planning services the number of unintended pregnancies and abortions occurring in the US would be nearly two thirds higher among women overall. The number of unintended pregnancies among poor women will nearly double, and safe abortions will not be available to many. Shutting down publicly funded family planning clinics is hardly the answer. The overall cost of these actions to society as a whole is difficult to foresee as the consequences are many and far reaching.
Just last Friday Oklahoma based Hobby Lobby won a temporary injunction against the Obamacare requirement that employers provide contraceptive coverage for their employees. The conservative Christian owner’s site their religious beliefs as their reason for avoiding the required coverage.
Republican controlled legislatures in several states have recently shut down hundreds of family planning clinics or abortion clinics as they are usually characterized by the media.
In response to stringent abortion restrictions that the Texas GOP controlled legislature approved last week, the Democratic caucus of that state is asking the lawmakers to study the impact that sex education and family planning support has on reducing the abortion rate. Sex education and family planning support–as if that were a unique idea!
Sex education and family planning are so obviously lacking in our culture. In recent years Texas and many other states have defunded women’s health clinics and Planned Parenthood causing many clinics to shut down. If as they say they want to cut down on the number of abortions, then why, why shut down the means for women to acquire contraceptives and information. As a result of these actions the Texas health department has projected that unintended pregnancies and births will certainly increase, especially among those with the least resources.

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Many unintended pregnancies turn out to be welcomed, as mine did. But in too many cases families,young teens, single women, people of meager means are unable to meet all the needs of a new life–material needs and emotional needs. Often the parent or parents themselves are terribly needy. In these cases the choice to continue or not continue the pregnancy should certainly be available. But in a society such as ours there is no good reason not to have an adequate support system in place for those families to turn to when help is needed.

  
Source
1.   Guttmacher Institute, Fact Sheet, December, 2013


© 13 July 2013

About the Author



Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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The Accident by Ricky

When I first thought about this topic, I could not think of anything to write about. Then four-days ago, the memory floodgates opened and many memories of accidents came to mind.

Some involved me, like my mother’s pregnancy with me (I actually attended her wedding in utero), or when I cut the back of my hand on broken glass while playing in a junk car, or when I stepped on a rusty nail, or when I lobbed a small rock at a Robin and it hit and killed it, or when I was hiking and slipped breaking my ankle. Growing up, I had my fair share of accidental injuries to my body. But like always, I am not going to write about those as being not worthy. Besides, I just did write a little about those accidents.

I have written before how my parents’ divorce ended up causing my subconscious mind to shut off nearly all of my negative emotions. So, while I was working as a Deputy Sheriff in Pima County, Arizona, the loss of those feelings or rather those feelings being walled off, actually helped me do my job without emotional interference.

One midnight shift, a highway patrolman contacted me to help him find an address and to go with him to deliver a traffic death notification. It was not a pleasant experience and although I did feel sad for the lady whose husband had been killed, it did not consciously affect me.

On another midnight shift in the late fall, I responded to a rollover accident along a road next to an irrigation ditch. In this case, two high school boys were in the car and the tracks in the dirt and gravel roadway indicated that the driver either was showing off and lost control or he just lost control. The car rolled and both boys were thrown from the car as they were not wearing seatbelts. More accurately, the driver was thrown clear, but the passenger only got half-way out before the rolling car shut the door on his middle and killed him. Both boys had left a party where drinking was occurring. The driver was the drinker and lived. The passenger did not drink and died, which is an all too common result. One family lost a child needlessly and the driver has to live with the knowledge that he killed a school-mate.

On one summer afternoon, a car with six-migrant farm workers stopped by the local convenience store and purchased three or four six-packs of beer. Less than two miles from the store, there was another rollover accident, again with no seatbelts and one man was thrown out and the car ended on its side but right on top of the man’s head. Evidence at the scene, indicated that at least one or two six-packs had already been consumed. No one called in that accident; I was driving by and saw the car on its side so I stopped. All of the five remaining men in the car had disappeared into the migrant worker camps and were never found or, I suspect, never even looked for. Once again I felt sad for the family left behind in Mexico, but did not mourn. I do wish the driver had been identified and caught. I don’t blame him for running away because in Mexico the punishment is much more severe than in the US (at that time period anyway) and I’m sure he thought punishment in the US was probably the same or worse.

The following accident I wish I had not remembered. I remember it quite vividly and even the date, if not the exact year. It was winter, Christmas day to be exact. A member of the Air Force, an Airman First Class I believe, had been driving all night from southern California. His destination, Davis-Monthan AFB in Tucson. People who stopped to impart information (or just to gawk) reported that he was passing them ‟like they were standing still.” Apparently, he fell asleep at the wheel and left the right side of eastbound Interstate-10 at the worst possible point and “T-boned” a concrete abutment for cattle to cross under the roadway. He, his wife, and three-month old baby all died. Two families lost a child AND a grandchild. I’m fairly confident in saying that Christmas day will never be the same for those families. This accident did affect me. I did feel sad, but I ended up with a strong dislike for the US Air Force personnel system.

The airman had orders to report to Davis-Monthan by noon on Christmas day. If not for the accident he would have made it. NO ONE would have been there to process him into his unit. He and his family would have been given temporary quarters until the next duty day. I dislike the Air Force personnel system, not only for what it did to me, but also because it doesn’t care about the people the system is designed to serve. Rather the system serves the Air Force, not the men and women who make up the organization. In my opinion, there is no reason for anyone to transfer or report to a new assignment through the period beginning one week before and ending one week after Thanksgiving and the period beginning 15 December through 15 January. These are major holiday periods for families and human nature (which the military does not understand or care about) results in military personnel wanting to stay with their extended families until the ‟last minute.”

Over my adult life, many people, including some in our Telling Your Story group, have noticed I have some idiosyncrasies. I don’t apologize for any of them. I just want everyone to recognize the events I have related in this and my other postings, helped shape me into the character whom you perceive today.

© 22 July 2013  

About the Author

  

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.

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The Accident by Michael King

I’ve had so many accidents that I don’t know which single one stands out or has most affected my life. One was the first pregnancy that was unexpected and changed the course of my life. Knowing that I was to become a father guided all my decisions and thwarted opportunities but also provided some of my most rewarding experiences. Probably the other most life changing accident was getting my little finger nearly cut off.

I was working as a mold maker for fine arts bronzes and doing catering on the side. I got a call from a nurse in the lock-up psychiatric ward a St. Luke’s Hospital. It was her turn to do the annual Halloween party and she needed to do something with her mother so decided to hire me to do the party.

I had too much stuff to carry over to the hospital in the car so I borrowed a friend’s new pick-up. All went well. I was an interesting experience very different from any other as the behaviors of the patients were anything but normal. After returning home I was carrying the last load into the kitchen. Apparently the weight of my walking across the floor was enough to cause a mixing bowl to fall out of the dish rack and hit the sink breaking it into many pieces. One of the pieces wrapped around my little finger and severed the tendons and nerves. I knew I had to go to the emergency room, grabbed a towel, wrapped my hand and drove to St. Anthony’s. Blood was everywhere including on the leather seat of the pick-up. I felt myself losing consciousness and didn’t park very straight in the lot. I managed to get into the reception room dropped my billfold on the desk and fell into a seat letting the towel drop. It shot blood across the room. Almost immediately they were there to take me into ER. After about 1 ½ hours they got the bleeding to stop. I was weak and hungry. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was around 7 PM, I’m guessing. I hadn’t had a cigarette for hours.

I was going have to wait for surgery and even though I knew there were probably rules I lit up a cigarette and settled in for what became a very long wait. Of course I was told I couldn’t smoke there and I demanded they tell me where I could smoke because I sure as hell wasn’t going to go without a cigarette. This was in 1979. I was on a gurney and they rolled out into the hall where I was allowed to smoke. I’m sure that they knew that no matter what I would have gone outside or something and they had me pegged as a trouble maker and a number one asshole. Smoking in the hall would never happen today since there is absolutely no smoking in hospitals. There was no food available but at least I could smoke.

About five or more hours later I was finally taken into surgery. They tried to put up a screen so I couldn’t see the surgery but finally let me since I wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was so strange to see my arm devoid of blood and only the size of the bone. Each nerve and each tendon had to be reconnected by using magnification and miniature stitches. It took an incredible skill and was fascinating to watch.

Immediately after surgery I was taken into my room and the poor nurse’s aide was told in no uncertain terms that I was to have a steak immediately. She left the room shaking and I didn’t know if I would get food or not. It really wasn’t that long until someone else brought me a Salisbury steak. I still remember how delicious it was. I’m sure I must have felt a little guilt for having yelled, demanded and intimidated so many people, but I was also appreciative that it was over or so I thought.

My daughter was able to clean the blood off the leather seat of the pick-up. The following week was not comfortable keeping my hand above my heart and I was limited in doing anything while experiencing a great deal of pain. My mold making days were over. Catering was out of the question but I was optimistic and did the therapy and all seemed well. I had great movement with my finger as if the accident had never happened.

In December my mother-in-law came for Christmas. As I was setting up her room I lifted the night stand to move it a couple of feet when a tendon popped. I think it was Friday and since I was not in pain I decided to wait till Monday to call the doctor. I was in good spirits and figured it could be fixed. The next day I was horsing around with my son-in law when I caught my finger somehow I think on his shirt, another pop.

I was in no pain, and with the holidays we decided to schedule the next surgery in early January. We had a wonderful Christmas that year and I don’t recall being that concerned that I had no job and no plans. Somehow things would work out so I enjoyed the holidays.

The plastic surgeon wanted to do the repairs in his office. He had told me I had three options; cut the finger off, leave it dangling or redo the surgery. I felt that repairing it was the only choice. I didn’t think to question the decision to do it in his office and proceeded to have the microsurgery there only to find out that it was not covered by my insurance. If it had been in the hospital it would have been covered. Therapy was not covered either and I ended up with a crocked finger that constantly felt like it was asleep as it tingled for the next dozen or so years. I told the doctor that he would receive $25 a month for the rest of my life as I didn’t have access to the many, many thousands of dollars that I was billed for.

I had been studying The Urantia Book since 1975 and found out that they were opening a school in Boulder for students of the Urantia Book. I didn’t know how I could swing it but typed out the application with one hand and was accepted. 

That experience is among the best things that have happened in my life. If I had not had the accident I would not have gone to the Boulder School and I have no idea where my life would have gone. I found part time work and managed to graduate with the first class in 1984.

About the first week in December, 1982, I got a call from the surgeon’s office telling me that the doctor was cancelling my debt, “Merry Christmas.”

I don’t like to be superstitious and feel that it’s more that that. It’s more than coincidence, but a kind of guidance when my life has been turned upside down through happenings like the accident with my little finger which made an opening for a new direction and life changing events.

Denver, 7/22/2013

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

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The Accident by Lewis


[Prologue: My story today concerns not a single life-altering event, such as a car wreck or fall, but a series of accidents of a related nature spread out over a period of many years. A month ago, I told a story of Laurin’s and my experience with various medical doctors and his radioactive seed implants that led to his fecal incontinence. I will not go over that ground again. What I want to tell you today is what the two of us went through during that period of about 8-1/2 years of gradual descent into constant misery and worry. It is mainly about shame and its effect on two human beings. My writing this and sharing it with you is not in any way a cry for pity. I seek only to assuage some of my own shame and trauma that have lay dormant, apparently without possibility of relief, and to impress upon you, when faced with a life-or-death decision about medical treatment for yourself or a loved one, to weigh carefully the importance of quality of life versus quantity.


In an effort not to oppress you good folk with negativity, I will occasionally indulge in attempts at humor. In that vein, in an effort to avoid the constant use of scatological words to refer to the natural end product of the digestive process, I have created an acronym for “End Product of Digestion”, EPOD. This term should not be confused with docking stations for recharging hand-held devices.


Because he was the faithful keeper of a daily journal–a practice which I have now adopted–I am able to reconstruct an exact timeline of his early history with fecal incontinence and deduce, with a high degree of certainty, it’s causation.



Laurin had the procedure known as “prostate seed implant” in December of 2003. Less than three weeks later, he reported the first instance of lack of bowel control with such an element of consternation that I am certain it was the first in his recent experience. Over the next four months, three other episodes followed. Slowly, they increased in urgency and, thus, frequency. What follows is a catalogue of some of the lowlights of our lives during the ensuing eight years.]

* We were walking to church one Sunday morning when Laurin suddenly needed to evacuate. The closest site offering some privacy was behind the large bushes in front of an apartment building. Terrified of being seen, I walked some distance away and stood at the corner trying to appear as if I were waiting for someone to pick me up.

* We drove to Mazatlan, Mexico, for a week’s stay at a timeshare resort. On our last day there, we were having breakfast in the dining room when Laurin suddenly needed to go. When ten minutes dragged out to fifteen, I knew that it hadn’t turned out well. I finished breakfast and went to the men’s room to check him out. There, on the floor was a trail of EPOD leading from the door to a stall, where Laurin was busy cleaning up. Terrified, that someone would come in and see it, I quickly cleaned it up with paper towels.

* We were at a concert of the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. During the intermission, Laurin went to the bathroom. He was gone a long time. I was already seated when he returned. I could detect an odor. I hoped that it was only because I was sitting right beside him. Even before the next musical selection ended, a couple of people stood up and moved to more distant seats. During the interlude, even more did the same. Soon, we were sitting alone in the row.

* We were browsing at the Tattered Cover Bookstore in LoDo. Laurin went to the men’s room. I waited…and waited…and waited. I knew what the problem was. I noticed a line was forming outside the men’s room. I decided to check and see if I could do anything. I stepped inside the restroom where several men were waiting to use the single stall. I was ashamed to even say anything but I asked how it was going. He said, as always, “OK”. I left the bathroom. When he came out we took the 16th Street shuttle. He had EPOD on his socks and shoes. I hoped nobody could see or smell. No one indicated that anything unusual was going on.

* Saving the worst for last, we were driving around Glendale when Laurin said he needed to go to the bathroom NOW. The new King Soopers hadn’t been open long. I dropped him off in front and found a place to park and wait. Fifteen minutes rolled over into twenty. I decided to go and check on Laurin. I asked the security guard where the restrooms were. I turned down an aisle in the frozen food section. From a distance of 30 feet, I could see a pile of EPOD on the floor, perfectly formed like a soft-serve ice cream cone, complete with swirl at the top. I would have laughed out loud if I hadn’t been stricken with utter terror. Apparently, no one had reported it so far. But I had no way to clean it up. I thought, “I should find someone responsible and tell them so it could be cleaned up”. I walked the length of the store but could find not a single employee to tell. Perhaps my fear of how such a bit of news might go down blinded me. I left the store and returned to the car, watching the door to see if security guards were going to haul Laurin away. No, several minutes later–it seemed like hours–he comes sauntering out as if nothing untoward had happened.

It was then, after many visits to doctors about his condition and the utter embarrassment and terror of the “Incident in the Frozen Food Aisle” that we welcomed the additions of Pampers for Men and a shoulder bag with cleaning supplies to his wardrobe. Laurin even resorted to cutting off the tail of his dress shirts with scissors so they wouldn’t get soiled. Once, when I picked up one of his thus-modified shirts at the cleaners, the nice woman politely said, “I’m sorry, we couldn’t repair this.”

On one of our last visits to his internist, we were told, “I have just the cure for you.” I said, “What?” He answered, “Physical Therapy”. We would be happy to try anything so we said, “Sure”. Turns out that this particular therapy, as with many other forms, involves muscle-strengthening–namely, the sphincter muscle. Measuring the strength of that muscle requires the insertion of a probe which is connected to a machine that shows on a computer screen the intensity and duration of the muscle’s constrictions. This is something that would normally be of interest to many gay men but, unfortunately, the equipment is very expensive.

After eight sessions with the therapist, she recommended and the doctor concurred that further sessions would be fruitless. Laurin’s muscle or the nerve leading to it was unable to respond to treatment. I conclude that the seed implants had, over time, fried not only his prostate but this area, as well. Apparently, he was one of the ill-fated 5% that suffer such after-effects.

Laurin’s sole recourse at this point was a colostomy, whereby the colon is severed from the rectum and rerouted to exit the abdomen slightly to the left of the navel. The end of the colon is rolled over like the end of a balloon, sewn into place in the muscle wall, thus creating a new way for the EPOD to escape confinement. Thus, began a entirely new chapter in Laurin’s life story. Unfortunately, it was not to provide a happy ending, but that’s another story.

© 6 August 2013



About the Author


I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.

Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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The Accident by Merlyn

Most auto accidents don’t just happen. If you study what caused them it comes down to driver error, badly designed highways, sloppy workmanship or manufactures cutting too many corners when they design the cars.

I had a good friend that was an engineer for GM way back in 1974. I got to know him when I was working at a Chevy dealership. He brought his mother’s car in for some warranty work. He was telling me about how he was waiting for the weather to clear up so he could fly up to a small town in northern Michigan to try to fix a Chevy van that the dealer could not fix.

The complaint was every once in a while the driver would have to push real hard on the brakes to stop the truck. Dealers were replacing all kinds of brake parts trying to fix the problem without success. No one knew what was causing it.

A few weeks earlier I had a van come in with a complaint that every once in a while the motor would be racing when he came to a stop. I checked everything and could not find anything wrong; I could not duplicate the complaint so I gave the truck back.

The truck came back in about a week later with the same complaint and this time I got to talk to the owner. He told me the only time it happened was in the morning on his way to work when he got off the freeway.

We kept the truck overnight and the next morning I was able to duplicate the complaint. I remembered that when I had tried to come to a stop the motor was going so fast I had a hard time stopping.

I was able to figure out that someone at the factory had left a little tube out of the carburetor and the only time it effected anything was if you drove at highway speed on a day when the temperature was below 30 degrees.

The engineer called the dealer and told them what to do and the next day he called me to let me know that the part was missing and that he did not have to fly there to find out what was happening.

GM came out with a bulletin stating to check for the missing part if you had braking or fast idle complaints. Over the years I found that part missing on at least 5 other carburetors.

In any industry there has to be enough death or injury accidents to justify a recall.

How many accidents happened when people were trying to stop on icy roads with the motor racing which caused them to lose control of the vehicle? The trucks with the missing part should have been recalled.

Denver, 2013

About the Author

I’m a retired gay man now living in Denver Colorado with my partner Michael. I grew up in the Detroit area. Through the various kinds of work I have done I have seen most of the United States. I have been involved in technical and mechanical areas my whole life, all kinds of motors and computer systems. I like travel, searching for the unusual and enjoying life each day.