My Father Jim - Thanksgiving Angels on I-80

This is a family story gem about my father, Jim, which occurred 45 years ago. It took place around the same time of year as it is now--the Thanksgiving holiday. There's a lot to be grateful for since things easily could have turned out a lot worse! Below are my father's own words:

James E. Hartley: Thanksgiving Angels on I-80

There are guardian angels out there. I know because I was rescued once by two of them—one heavenly and one human.

They rescued me in 1974 while driving home for the Thanksgiving holiday from Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. Typically, I would have been part of a “ride-share” group of three to five homesick students carpooling home for the short holiday. The drive from Provo to the San Francisco Bay Area required about 12 to 13 hours—if you drove straight through on Interstate Freeway 80. This time, I drove alone and I chose to drive all night.

I was about three-quarters of the way home. I had just crossed Donner Pass and was on the steep, western downhill-side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California. I had entered that magical invisible boundary where a person can feel a wonderful change in the atmosphere. The dry desert air behind you gives way to the moist welcoming embrace of the Pacific Ocean waiting some 200 miles in front of you.

I Panicked! I Was Driving Blind!

It was early morning, about 5:00 am. The November sky was moonless and completely dark. I’m pretty sure I had already passed Truckee and Norden. I was cruising happily along in my 1967 Pontiac LeMans at about 75 or 80 miles-per-hour on the winding mountain freeway. Suddenly everything in my car went completely dark. My headlights, signal lights, dashboard, overhead lights, and hazard lights all stopped working!

My 1967 Pontiac LeMan’s safely parked at home

Strangely, the car’s motor didn’t have any problems. But there were no overhead lights along that stretch of the freeway. I couldn’t see where I was going. I couldn’t see anything—I was driving blind! A cold, paralyzing fear seized me from head to toe. I panicked! I had no idea where the road was! I fully expected that I would soon crash into one or more of the tall pines in the dense forest along the freeway. Or, maybe I would drive off of a cliff! 

My Guardian Angels 

I began to tremble hopelessly. Just then a heavenly navigator inspired me to brake firmly and steer gently to the left. In the night’s blackness, I could feel the car leave the smooth freeway and coast onto a rough shoulder on the right side of the road. When I stopped, I had a hard time believing that I was still alive! My eyes welled up with tears and a million megawatts of prayerful thanks were beamed heavenward!

As I turned off the engine, more promptings entered my mind—these were more urgent: “Cars on the freeway can’t see you. Pull your flashlight from your glovebox. Stand behind your car. Turn on the flashlight and wave it so no one will hit you.” I zipped up my coat against the frigid morning air and quickly followed the promptings.

Fortunately, there was very little early morning traffic on that stretch of I-80. As the occasional vehicles flew by, I could see from their headlights that my car was off of the freeway, but not by much. I was still in a dangerous situation. I wasn’t sure what to do. My heavenly angel had stopped prompting me. So, I simply stood behind my car and waved my flashlight at each passing vehicle.

It wasn’t long before a car slowed down and pulled up behind me. An older gentleman—my Good Samaritan human angel—got out to investigate what was wrong. Together we talked through a checklist of possible problems. He asked me to see if the car would restart. It did; the motor turned over without any problem. But I still had no lights of any kind. Then he instructed me to follow him. Using his car’s lights to guide me, he led me to the nearest service station.

I-80 outside of Kingvale, California

I followed his lead for about five miles to the Kingvale off-ramp where there was a Shell service station. But the station was closed and wouldn’t open until 7:00 am. So, I parked my car next to the station and gave an extremely heartfelt thank you and good-bye to my human guardian angel. I then bundled up for a two-hour wait.

As the sky brightened in the east, a service station attendant arrived to prepare for the day’s business. He took a look at my car and quickly discovered the problem: a tiny three-quarter inch fuse had blown. He had the fuse I needed and within about 20 seconds I had lights once again. At about 7:30 am, I was gratefully back on the road headed home.

1967 Pontiac fuse box

That year, the Thanksgiving holiday took on a much deeper meaning for me—thankful beyond words for two guardian angels on I-80 in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

And, since that time, I have always kept a working flashlight in my glovebox!

Written by James E. Hartley, November 2019