Where Have All The Good People Gone?

On a beautiful Saturday in late April 2007 my husband and I headed north on Highway 101, bound for Lincoln City. A few days earlier, one of his computers had refused to boot with no warning whatsoever. After patiently and sympathetically listening to a description of the symptoms, his "computer guy" suggested that it might be time to trade up. He offered Jim an outstanding deal on a gently used model that was more nimble and loaded with useful software. The old computer, tucked safely in the trunk, would be used for parts to breathe new life into countless other systems.

Driving approximately 2 1/2 hours in each direction was a good excuse to enjoy the sunshine and gorgeous scenery along the south coast of Oregon. Within minutes we had cleared the population center and were busy admiring the graceful trees, lush foliage, and sparkling waterways that never fail to soothe our souls.

In the course of conversation, Jim divulged his feelings of distrust toward the mechanic who had serviced the car not long before. I did not share this view because the mechanic was a referral from a long time auto care customer and a friend who does not tolerate poor service of any kind. We were on a typical mountain road, sparsely populated with one narrow lane in each direction, which prompted me to say, "Perhaps now is not the best time to talk about this." No more than five minutes passed before the car, like the computer, suddenly stopped working. Jim was able to steer it safely onto the shoulder, where he set the parking brake and raised the hood.

Armed with my AAA card and some pocket change, he ventured out to seek help. A few minutes later he came back to tell me of his findings. One side of the road appeared to be without any sign of humanity whatsoever as far as the eye could see. On the opposite side of the road two houses sat next to each other like orphans forced to sleep outside seeking warmth and companionship on a chill night. One house, a "For Sale" sign adorning its front yard, appeared to be vacant. Approaching the other house brought forth an elderly man who seemed suspicious and unfriendly. When Jim explained that we could not call AAA because cell phone service was unavailable, the man confirmed this by checking his own portable phone. Having satisfied himself that Jim was telling the truth, he nonetheless replied that he did not like people in his house and that Jim would just have to walk to town.

We had passed the nearest town several miles back and neither of us was keen on the idea of hoofing it. Instead, Jim headed in the other direction while I silently fumed and wondered how anyone could be that heartless and unhelpful. When the realization came that adding my negative feelings to this situation wasn't a wise choice, I exited the car and faced oncoming traffic. As I leaned against the rear bumper, trying to look pitiful but not desperate, I began to focus my thoughts on attracting someone who would help us. My first choice, a member of the Highway Patrol or Sheriff's Department, never made an appearance. Although it seemed like hours, relatively little time passed before a van slowly pulled in behind our ailing vehicle. The male passenger rolled down his window and inquired if I needed help. Even though I was giddy with gratitude, years of living in metropolitan areas caused me to approach the van with caution. I got closer and saw a woman at the wheel, who was identified as the passenger's daughter. Feeling more comfortable by the second, it wasn't long before I accepted their gracious offer to take one of us back to Reedsport where we could get in touch with AAA.

When Jim reappeared, he refused to leave me behind. Having also lived in big cities, he feared for my safety if left alone. Upon hearing this, the driver quickly instructed the two female adults and one child occupying the rear to vacate their seats. The three of them wedged themselves between sports gear, beach towels, and other items crammed into the back of the van. It must have been quite uncomfortable squeezed together like that, but not one word of complaint was heard during the entire trip.

The driver was quite willing to backtrack, even though this would further delay her own plans. To minimize the inconvenience, we convinced her to drop us off in Florence, about 20 minutes away. Our hosts put us at ease by engaging us in pleasant conversation. Soon we arrived in Florence and began looking for a good place to disembark. The Visitor's Center seemed like a good choice, but it was closed. When the driver spotted the Safeway, she quickly determined that this would be a convenient, safe place to part company. She pulled up in front of a payphone and deftly reached back to open the sliding door for me. As Jim and I verbally expressed our thanks, I handed a gift to the gentleman to show our appreciation for their kindness--a zesty orange scented candle that I had grabbed from our car in anticipation of this moment. Soon they were headed for the exit, eager to resume their original travel plans. As Jim and I watched them drive away, it occurred to me that we didn't even know their names!

The AAA dispatcher was friendly, informative, and extremely helpful. When the tow truck driver appeared about an hour later, he was courteous and efficient. As he chauffeured us home, he regaled us with numerous stories about his family and experiences on the job. When his work was done, I invited him into the house for a "thank you" gift. I noted with interest that he selected the same candle scent that we had given to the wonderful folks in the van.

Although the day got off to a rocky start, it ended on a much better note. No, the car didn't magically heal itself, but our lives were touched by some extraordinary individuals. We are truly grateful for this experience because it reminded us how compassionate, caring, and giving most people are at their core.

Sheri Orloff grew up in the much-maligned San Fernando Valley before it became forever associated in people's minds with airhead "Vals." Since fleeing "The Valley" in the early eighties, she has been somewhat of a gypsy with stopovers in California, Hawaii, and Florida before settling on the southern Oregon coast. For the past six years she has been operating WicksWorks, a successful online candle boutique, as well as her own Mia Bella's Gourmet Candles distributorship.

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