Laughlin, Anne

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42 lVIANUSCRIPTSMurder on the HighwaysKen SpraetzTHREE years ago I was a reckless and wild driver who might haveharmed some innocent little child forever. In 1953 a closefriend of mine who has been a state trooper for five yearscame to see me one bright, sunny afternoon. I thought he wantedto visit, but he did not. He had something on his mind-somethingterribly important, Being blunt and coming right to the point asmost troopers do, he told me that I was a maniac behind the wheel,a criminal in disguise, and that I would not remain his friend unlessI corrected my driving manners. He went on to say that there wasonly one cure for anyone who drove as I did, and he showed me whatthat cure was. He asked me to accompany him on a few investiga-tions which he had to make, and to be a witness to "murder on thehighways."That afternoon we had only one investigation. It was enoughto cure me for a lifetime. It .actually was what he called "murder"on the highway. A man, his wife, and their four children weredriving in a car that had a blowout. The man pulled as far to theright as he could and, with the help of his sixteen-year-old son, beganto change the tire. An automobile going nearly ninety rniles perhour came zooming along that road, hit the man and his son, andcarried them one hundred Ii fty feet across the center esplanade.I saw those two corpses. The young boy's intestines had beentorn from his body, and the man's head was crushed. The driver ofthe car which had hit them had spent the evening in a bar-andwound up with a prison sentence. What happened to the widowand her three other children? They also received a sentence fromwhich there was no parole. They lost that which cannot be replaced,a husband and father and a son and brother. Death is inevitable,but to see people killed as a result of one's carelessness is no joke.Driving a car is a job which requires many things; most of all itrequires a clear mind and enough intelligence to drive correctly.That fine sunny afternoon I learned a lesson, one that I shall neverhave to learn again. I was a witness to murder on the highways.HumilityAnne LaughlinINAugust of 1955 my parents and I took a trip to Maine, wherewe visited a distant but very dear cousin of my mother. I cannotsay that anything I did or saw during my stay near Bar Harboreffected any great change in my life. However, I derived one bitof wisdom from my experience there.I regarded my family's idea 0 f a Maine vacation with somethingless than enthusiasm; I thought that I was a little too grown-up forMANUSCRIPTS 43a family vacation, and my parents knew that I was quite a bit tooyoung to be left alone. The plane ride, the people Imet, my cousin'shome, and Maine in general are relatively unimportant in this ven-ture into enlightenment. I shall begin my story on a rocky, irregu-lar Maine beach.The family had gone to Cascades Park, and I had miraculouslybeen allowed to remain alone at home. When the car disappeareddown the dusty gravel road, I ran the quarter of a mile to the shore.It was a beauti ful afternoon, and the tide was in. Even now I canremember the feeling I had as I pushed off in the little rowboat. Ifelt very daring and extremely excited for the first time since I hadbeen informed that I was to accompany my parents on their vacation.I hael put on blue jeans, a sweatshirt, anel tennis shoes; fishing equip-ment and lunch were in the bottom of the boat. The rowing began.The small whitecaps churned around the tiny boat-not angrily,but definitely unconcerned with my weIfare. When I put my sore,blistered hand into the cold water, the rhythmic swirls paid it no at-tention. They swam over and around it to their goal. I had seenthe ocean before, but with uriromautic eyes. Now, suddenly, Iwanted to know it. I looked to see where the foamy waves weregoing. When I saw them lift from the water, float for a short dis-tance, and then sink once more to the ocean, I turned my attentionto the shoreline. On my right was the mainland, rugged andstrangely beautiful, but on my left I saw an island. If the distancebetween the home shore and the island had not been so great, Iwould have gone to it; but I was afraid to try. Knowing approxi-mately how far I could swim, I knew that the chance would be toogreat. Also, darkness was approaching rapidly, and my lighthearted-ness was turning to weariness and uneasiness.The azure sky grayed and deepened. The solitary thatched islechanged from cool green to forbidding blue-black, and the once palewater around me became an inky pool. The chill of the ocean carnefrom its depths as the sun lay clown behind a giant pine for the longnight. I put off my return to my cousin's pier for a few minutes,as I watched the transformation of the marine world. One thoughtkept running through my mind. Here was something that was trulygreat. Never in my li Ie, either before or since that time, have Iever felt so utterly insigni ficant. Perhaps it sounds ridiculous tocompare oneself with the ocean; but in my case it took this compari-son to illustrate the truth that no individual person is extremely im-portant in comparison to nature. No man, however powerful he be-comes, is unsurpassed. Everything has its better, finally endingwith the strength of God, as was illustrated to me by His creation,the ocean.

Humility

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Humility

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