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A Christmas Tale: A 79-year-old Texan tells a true story of kindness in 1949 Willcox
By Paul Ming/For the Range News
FOREWORD: This story is true. I have told it many times and my grown daughters asked me to write it down for them. I am sending you a copy as I thought you may want to use it in some way at Christmas time. I am only sorry I didn't have the names of the people that were so nice to my family and I in Willcox.
As I said, I have told this story many times. I am a retired policeman and have used this incident from my life in hopes of inspiring others in some way.
Paul Ming
Fort Worth, Texas
A CHRISTMAS TALE
In December of 1949 I was a 19-year-old Private First Class in the army stationed at the Presidio of San Francisco at Letterman General Hospital. I lived off post with my wife, Bobbie, two daughters, Kathy, 2, and Ruthie, 3 months, and Bobbie's mother, Pairlee. We had a trip all planned to go to Oklahoma City for Christmas. This was where we were from and we were going home for Christmas.
A few days before Christmas, after working a 24-hour shift at the hospital, I picked up the family and we were on the road. Our car was a 1940 Ford four-door. Not having much money, our plan was to drive through to Oklahoma City without stopping. In those days there were no interstate freeways, mostly just two-lane highways; and the speed limit was 50 and 55 mph on most highways. So it took time to get where you were going.
We traveled due south until we could get on Highway 70, which ran east out of California. A shorter way was on Highway 66, but I heard it was snowing at Flagstaff, Ariz., so we chose the southern route through Tucson. By the time we got there, it was late at night and I had driven all the way. I was worn out after nearly two days without sleep.
Bobbie began driving from there so I could get some sleep. After she had driven to Benson, which was about 50 miles, she was too sleepy to go on, so she pulled into a gas station that was closed and went to sleep. Around midnight we were awakened by a policeman knocking on the window. He advised us we could not sleep there. I had only slept a couple of hours, but I said I could drive. Bobbie was sleeping in the front seat and Pairlee was with the girls, all asleep in the back.
Needless to say I was still sleepy. I started for Willcox about 40 miles east of Benson. Six miles west of Willcox, I fell asleep rolling the car over a couple of times. The car landed on its passenger side. We all climbed out through the driver-side door. There was very little traffic on the road at that time of night, but a few cars stopped and someone went on into town to notify the Highway Patrol and wrecker.
A trucker who had stopped took Bobbie, the kids and Pairlee on into Willcox to be checked at the hospital. The wrecker and Highway Patrol arrived and the car was taken in to Willcox and the trooper took me on to the hospital. As nobody seemed to be hurt, the trooper took us to the hotel. It wasn't really a hotel, just an old two-story house. While driving me into town, the trooper had told me that having an accident by falling asleep was "reckless driving" and it would be a $100 fine. At this time, I asked the trooper about the reckless driving charge. He asked me if I had a hundred dollars. I didn't. He said, "You're a soldier aren't you? Would be pretty hard doing 100 days in jail wouldn't it?" I said "yes". He then said, "You take care," and he drove away. I never even had time to say thanks. Sorry to say, I never knew his name.
After staying the rest of the night, we went to the local cafe. Willcox was a pretty small town at that time, and as soon as we went in the waitress asked, "You the people had the accident last night?" We ate breakfast and they wouldn't let us pay.
I don't remember the caf/'s name, but they were really nice to us. They also told us where to find our wrecked car. This was a gas station a few blocks down on main street, which was the highway. It was Sunday and the only thing open was that caf/ and the gas-station.
The attendant was the same wrecker driver who had picked up our car. Our car was there beside the station. All the fenders were dented and against the tires, a couple of tire rims were bent, the passenger side window was broken out, the fan was against the radiator, but it wasn't leaking, and the battery stand was broken off under the hood. After looking it over, I told him we would leave the car there and try to get the train on to Oklahoma City. But he said, "Now wait, maybe we can get the car drivable."
We pushed the car into the station bay and began to work on it. He pulled the fenders out so the wheels could turn. On the front, he took one bent wheel off and replaced it with the spare tire and rim. He took the other wheel off and laid it on the cement. With a large sledgehammer he beat it as straight as he could. He put a piece a cardboard in the passenger side window and cut about a 10 inch square in it and taped a piece of broken glass on it. He straightened the blades so they didn't hit the radiator. He called the owner of the parts store -- remember this was a Sunday and all the businesses were closed -- who then came and opened up his store and got him some parts. As best as I can remember, it was two battery cables and a fan belt. He then made a battery stand out of wood and wired it under the hood.
While he was working on our car I wasn't much help, mostly watched. My family was hanging around inside the station as it was cold outside. By this time it was about 4 or 5 o'clock in the afternoon. This guy had been working all day on our car and only stopped to pump gas for a few people. He finally said, "I think maybe you'll make it on home now". I was just hoping I had enough money to pay him. I asked him how much I owed, and he replied "eight dollars." I told him it had to be more than that and he said no, he was just "glad he could help us out." That eight dollars was about what the parts cost. We all thanked him and headed east.
I don't remember his name, if I ever knew it, but I will always remember his kindness, and also that of all the other people in town that were so nice to us. I know it was partly because it was only a few years after World War II and I was a young soldier, with two small children. I always said if I ever got rich I would come back to Willcox and thank those people and do something for the town. Needless to say, I never did get rich. I didn't get back to Willcox for years and then I didn't recognize any of the places we had been.
I have told this story many times and I always tell people what nice people live in Willcox, and also how lucky we were to have had our accident near Willcox, Ariz.
To finish the story, we limped into Oklahoma City the next night. And we had a Merry Christmas, after all.
As I said, I have told this story many times. I am a retired policeman and have used this incident from my life in hopes of inspiring others in some way.
Paul Ming
Fort Worth, Texas
A CHRISTMAS TALE
In December of 1949 I was a 19-year-old Private First Class in the army stationed at the Presidio of San Francisco at Letterman General Hospital. I lived off post with my wife, Bobbie, two daughters, Kathy, 2, and Ruthie, 3 months, and Bobbie's mother, Pairlee. We had a trip all planned to go to Oklahoma City for Christmas. This was where we were from and we were going home for Christmas.
A few days before Christmas, after working a 24-hour shift at the hospital, I picked up the family and we were on the road. Our car was a 1940 Ford four-door. Not having much money, our plan was to drive through to Oklahoma City without stopping. In those days there were no interstate freeways, mostly just two-lane highways; and the speed limit was 50 and 55 mph on most highways. So it took time to get where you were going.
We traveled due south until we could get on Highway 70, which ran east out of California. A shorter way was on Highway 66, but I heard it was snowing at Flagstaff, Ariz., so we chose the southern route through Tucson. By the time we got there, it was late at night and I had driven all the way. I was worn out after nearly two days without sleep.
Bobbie began driving from there so I could get some sleep. After she had driven to Benson, which was about 50 miles, she was too sleepy to go on, so she pulled into a gas station that was closed and went to sleep. Around midnight we were awakened by a policeman knocking on the window. He advised us we could not sleep there. I had only slept a couple of hours, but I said I could drive. Bobbie was sleeping in the front seat and Pairlee was with the girls, all asleep in the back.
Needless to say I was still sleepy. I started for Willcox about 40 miles east of Benson. Six miles west of Willcox, I fell asleep rolling the car over a couple of times. The car landed on its passenger side. We all climbed out through the driver-side door. There was very little traffic on the road at that time of night, but a few cars stopped and someone went on into town to notify the Highway Patrol and wrecker.
A trucker who had stopped took Bobbie, the kids and Pairlee on into Willcox to be checked at the hospital. The wrecker and Highway Patrol arrived and the car was taken in to Willcox and the trooper took me on to the hospital. As nobody seemed to be hurt, the trooper took us to the hotel. It wasn't really a hotel, just an old two-story house. While driving me into town, the trooper had told me that having an accident by falling asleep was "reckless driving" and it would be a $100 fine. At this time, I asked the trooper about the reckless driving charge. He asked me if I had a hundred dollars. I didn't. He said, "You're a soldier aren't you? Would be pretty hard doing 100 days in jail wouldn't it?" I said "yes". He then said, "You take care," and he drove away. I never even had time to say thanks. Sorry to say, I never knew his name.
After staying the rest of the night, we went to the local cafe. Willcox was a pretty small town at that time, and as soon as we went in the waitress asked, "You the people had the accident last night?" We ate breakfast and they wouldn't let us pay.
I don't remember the caf/'s name, but they were really nice to us. They also told us where to find our wrecked car. This was a gas station a few blocks down on main street, which was the highway. It was Sunday and the only thing open was that caf/ and the gas-station.
The attendant was the same wrecker driver who had picked up our car. Our car was there beside the station. All the fenders were dented and against the tires, a couple of tire rims were bent, the passenger side window was broken out, the fan was against the radiator, but it wasn't leaking, and the battery stand was broken off under the hood. After looking it over, I told him we would leave the car there and try to get the train on to Oklahoma City. But he said, "Now wait, maybe we can get the car drivable."
We pushed the car into the station bay and began to work on it. He pulled the fenders out so the wheels could turn. On the front, he took one bent wheel off and replaced it with the spare tire and rim. He took the other wheel off and laid it on the cement. With a large sledgehammer he beat it as straight as he could. He put a piece a cardboard in the passenger side window and cut about a 10 inch square in it and taped a piece of broken glass on it. He straightened the blades so they didn't hit the radiator. He called the owner of the parts store -- remember this was a Sunday and all the businesses were closed -- who then came and opened up his store and got him some parts. As best as I can remember, it was two battery cables and a fan belt. He then made a battery stand out of wood and wired it under the hood.
While he was working on our car I wasn't much help, mostly watched. My family was hanging around inside the station as it was cold outside. By this time it was about 4 or 5 o'clock in the afternoon. This guy had been working all day on our car and only stopped to pump gas for a few people. He finally said, "I think maybe you'll make it on home now". I was just hoping I had enough money to pay him. I asked him how much I owed, and he replied "eight dollars." I told him it had to be more than that and he said no, he was just "glad he could help us out." That eight dollars was about what the parts cost. We all thanked him and headed east.
I don't remember his name, if I ever knew it, but I will always remember his kindness, and also that of all the other people in town that were so nice to us. I know it was partly because it was only a few years after World War II and I was a young soldier, with two small children. I always said if I ever got rich I would come back to Willcox and thank those people and do something for the town. Needless to say, I never did get rich. I didn't get back to Willcox for years and then I didn't recognize any of the places we had been.
I have told this story many times and I always tell people what nice people live in Willcox, and also how lucky we were to have had our accident near Willcox, Ariz.
To finish the story, we limped into Oklahoma City the next night. And we had a Merry Christmas, after all.
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