Tuesday, Nov. 27, 2012 My Turn • The Good Samaritan 

As I drove home from Chester during my first snowstorm in the Lake Almanor Basin, I didn’t expect my newly leased, red 2010 Nissan Sentara wouldn’t make it home with me.

My low-beams reflected off the bright snowflakes heading straight toward me, forcing me to drive slowly through the storm.

Never driving in such a storm before, I had no idea my 35-mile speed was still way too fast for such a blizzard. I figured going half the speed limit would keep me safe; little did I know.

With my turnoff, A13, barely visible ahead of me, I began to reduce my speed so I could make the turn in time. As I started veering toward A13, my car took control and my common sense lost control.

Instead of making a sharp right turn toward my destination, my wheels turned slightly and my car began to slide toward two vehicles stopped at a stop sign, waiting for an opportunity to turn onto Highway 36.

Being the timid driver I am, I started to panic. I cannot recall exactly how I managed to avoid smashing into the vehicles ahead, but I did.

I drove right in between the two stationary vehicles, and straight into a telephone pole located on the roadside.

The noise of my car smashing into the pole, and the realization of what just happened, unnerved me to the point of tears. I sat in my car for a few moments, and eventually, grabbed my phone and attempted to dial my parents.

Before my mind could tell me what numbers to press, a young man approached my car. I am almost certain he was not one of the drivers that I avoided colliding with; they seemed to have driven off right after my accident, not even bothering to make sure I was OK.

The man who did check on my welfare was the first of many who risked getting into an accident themselves by stopping to ensure my safety.

After I told the man I was fine, and was trying to contact my family, he got back into his car and drove off.

After a few more moments, I finally managed to find the contact entry for my dad on my Android phone. I knew that he and my mom were out of town on business, but I didn’t know who else to call.

I was calm at first, but with every word I spoke, my voice started shivering and tears started flowing.

While my dad was attempting to direct me on what to do next, several other drivers stopped to check on me. My answers felt rehearsed, as I told each person that I was not hurt and had people on the way.

My dad told me he would call my grandma and have her come pick me up. He instructed me to call the police and a tow truck in the meantime.

When I hung up, I tried to perform a Google search for the non-emergency number. I was having no luck, and I kept getting distracted by my smashed front end. I was also getting text after text from friends I managed to message during my delirium.

I was having no luck finding the number I needed (which is odd since I am a Googleing wiz), but luckily for me, one more driver stopped to offer assistance.

The woman had already phoned her husband, who is a volunteer at the Hamilton Branch Fire Protection District, and on my behalf, to ask him what I should do. She told me to call 911, and they would most likely send someone from the fire district as first responders.

I dialed the simple emergency number and explained to the dispatcher what happened.

The woman waited until I got off the phone, and then asked if I had someone coming and if I wanted to sit in her car while I waited. I told her I would be fine, but she insisted on waiting with me.

Although I do not like people being bothered on my expense, it was a relief to have someone wait with me at the pitch dark crash site.

Fortunately, she did not have to wait long, as my aunt soon showed up in her SUV. Filled with concern, she asked me all the usual questions, such as, “are you hurt,” “what happened” and “did you call the police.”

After removing my things from my poor broken car, we both got into her SUV to keep us safe and warm.

A few minutes later, my uncle and his son arrived on scene. My uncle removed some flares from my aunt’s trunk. He and my cousin worked together to place the flares on the road and around my car.

While they were doing that, another driver stopped to look over the damage on my car. I had no idea who he was or what he was doing: another Good Samaritan wishing to offer his help.

After kicking my tires and pacing around my car, he stopped to talk with my uncle. Apparently, he used to be a tow truck driver. He told my uncle there was no way I would be able to move my car, since the left front tire was curved in the wrong direction.

While I was waiting in the SUV, my grandma showed up as well. At this point, I had already secured a ride home and there was nothing more she could do, so she drove slowly home. Not much time later, my uncle and cousin left as well, leaving my aunt and I waiting for the emergency services.

When they arrived, we learned two more accidents had just occurred. Because of this, they were in a bit of a hurry to get me on my way. Of course, I had no problem with this, and was grateful for their help. They even called for a tow truck, which I never expected they would do.

In the last six months of living in the Lake Almanor Basin, I have felt more love and more friendship from the community than I have ever felt in my life.

People in the basin seem to have an inherent need to protect their community, and the people within it. As I observed during this low point in my life, it doesn’t even matter if they know you or not.

The parable told by Jesus of the Good Samaritan is a good example here. He spoke about a Jewish traveler who was beaten, robbed and left for dead alongside a road.

Both a priest and a Levite walk by, but neither stopped to make sure he was OK. Lastly, a passing Samaritan stopped and provided help to the man, even though Jews and Samaritans generally despise each other.

Jesus told this parable to explain the identity of who classifies as one’s “neighbor” in relation to the scripture found at Leviticus 19:18 where it says, “… you must love your neighbor as yourself.”

Puzzled by the many people in this world who would simply walk away from those in need, some have asked, “What happened to the Good Samaritan?”

I say, they all moved to the basin. Those who didn’t bother to stop, I am going to give them the benefit of the doubt and say they either didn’t notice I was stranded, or they didn’t want to risk getting stuck themselves.