The Hitchhiker

The Hitch-Hiker
A True Story

By David Anderson February 28, 200
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There is an old adage: The truth is stranger than fiction.
It was 1985 when two policemen with their son’s while out on a hunting trip, on a dark deserted hi-way met a thief. It is a story of role reversal that is almost too difficult to believe.






I’m near 70 years of age as I retell this story; I find it odd or strange how we meet people as we travel the road of life; sometimes meeting other people for only a short moment and yet these people will cause a change for the rest of our life, often we are unaware that a change has occurred, and then a small incident will happen to carry us back into the past.
The year was 1957; I was an eighteen year old boy when I was released from the city jail; in fact I had spent my birthday there in jail, I had just completed a 30 day sentence for the horrifying crime of vagrancy; (to have no visible means of support). In those days, to be convicted of vagrancy, meant you were guilty of being poor. The vagrants of yesterday are the homeless of today. The jail menu consisted of a small sweet roll for breakfast with black coffee, no lunch and then a bowl of sauerkraut for super with a couple slices of bread; if possible I would trade my sauerkraut for someone’s bread. As hungry as I was, I could not bring myself to eat sauerkraut. Needless to say, I was a pretty hungry boy when I finished up that 30 day stretch. I don’t think I weighed more than 140 pounds when I started the sentence and when I came out I had to tie my belt loops together to keep my pants from falling off. The Oklahoma City jail was sure never to be accused of coddling vagrants.
I had only the clothes on my back and a brown paper bag that contained the rest of my worldly goods as I stood outside of the City Jail contemplating my next move. I had no family or friends in Oklahoma, so I took the advice of my travel agent and headed for the highway; the only means of travel left open to me. A pleasant smile and a friendly thumb would be my ticket down the ribbon of concrete that led to my home in Des Moines, Iowa, 550 miles to the north. It was called “Hitch-Hiking”; I’m not sure of the history for that term but I’m guessing that the Hitch part comes from Hitching up with someone that has a car, and the Hiking comes into play when there are no cars or the driver won’t stop for you. This is not a good mode of travel if you are on a tight schedule, you should also not have a pre-determined destination, because you never knew where you will end up. This was not my first excursion at “Hitch-Hiking”; I had made several expeditions across America by this means of travel in the past.
I had always found the people (The ones who stopped to pick me up) on these trips the most interesting; you just never knew who you were going to meet. Of course we all had those daydreams of the first car you put your thumb out to, it pulls over, and it’s a beautiful lonely woman who eventually delivers you to your doorstep. But these are only daydreams as the cars go whizzing by splashing mud and dirt on you.
On one occasion about a year earlier, I was hitch-hiking from Des Moines to Colorado Springs, Colorado, where my parents had moved to a few years earlier. A friend drove me to the outskirts of Des Moines where I was to begin my trip to Colorado; the sun was near setting over the horizon. The hi-way seemed deserted as my friend turned around and headed for home. It was less than five minutes before I saw the first car approaching me, it was light gray 1951 Mercury; it seemed to be weaving from side to side as it came down the road. As the driver saw me he began to slow and I thought how fortunate I was to be getting a ride from the first car, and then I thought how unfortunate I was that I was going to be run over by that car as he pulled onto the apron, I dove into the safety of the ditch as the car skidded to a stop, gravel on the roadside was flying everywhere as the man tried to bring the car under control. I peeked carefully out from the safety of the ditch to see the car sitting there, the brakes lights on, I didn’t know if he was trying to give me a ride or kill me. I approached the car slowly as the man leaned over to roll the passenger window down, in a slurring voice he ask me if I needed a lift. I told him “yes” that I was headed for Colorado and I could not help feeling how lucky I was when he replied “that’s where I’m headed” although I’m not really sure he knew what he was saying. As I opened the passenger door; a whisky bottle and beer cans rolled out onto the ground. The smell of alcohol was so thick and heavy in the car you could get drunk just being a passenger. He said in a happy tone “Were off” and then pulled out onto the hi-way. After driving only about a thousand yards he brought the car to another skidding stop and looked over at me; he ask me if I knew how to drive and I told him I did. He then began to crawl over the seat into the back and told me to drive. I’m not sure if he passed out or fell asleep, but we where off to Colorado. I was only 17 years old at the time and I loved to drive and if the car had a radio I’m sure I could have driven to the moon listening to rock and roll. I reached over to turn the radio on and found one of my favorites; KOMA from Oklahoma City. I looked into the backseat where the man lay sleeping in a deep stupor. I stepped down on the gas pedal; it wasn’t long before I had that mercury running 80 miles an hour and the rock and rock at about 90. The miles quickly faded away and we were coming into Omaha Neb. I noticed that we were nearly out of gas and I had no money, I found a gas station that was open and pulled the mercury up to the pump. I woke the man up and told him that we were out of gas; he ask me where we were at and I told him Omaha; He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of dollars, dropping them onto the front seat; said “that’s great” then passed out again. I began to wonder if he was really going to Colorado and if he had any idea of where he was at. With a full tank of gas I headed back to the hi-way. The miles clicked away and I soon found myself near the Kansas, Colorado border and once again the mercury needed fuel. The sun was now up as I pulled into a gas station; once again I woke sleeping beauty, he came up out of the back seat and scanned the terrain with two squinting bloodshot eyes, “ Where the Hell are we”? When I told him where we were I also added that we were out of gas. He once again reached into his pants pocket, only this time he came out with an empty hand. He had no more money. He told me to give him the car keys; he got out and opened the car trunk and then headed for the station. When he went into the station he was wearing a nice suit (a little rumpled from sleeping) and when he returned he was wearing an old pair of jeans and sweat shirt; without saying another word he climbed into the back seat and resumed his previous position. The station attendant came out and filled the gas tank. And then it dawned on me that he had gone into the station and traded his suit for a tank of gas. All these miles we had traveled and he had only said “Where the Hell are we” – twice, and “That’s great” once. I pointed the mercury for the hi-way and the Rocky Mountains off in the distance. It was not until we were about 60 miles from Colorado Springs that he came up out of the back seat with a quizzical look on his face and said for the third time; after looking around at the strange country side, “Where the Hell are we” and then he added a new line “How the Hell did we get here” After asking my name and telling me his, he said “Boy am I hungry” we were just pulling up in front of my parents home so I told him I would go in and see if my mother would fix us something to eat. After a big plate of fried eggs and potatoes, he asks if I knew where the employment office was. I took him to the employment office and that was that last I seen of him. The most amazing thing about him was the fact that he had passed out in Des Moines and woke up in Colorado Springs not sure of how he had gotten from one place to the other; but he didn’t seem to mind. It seemed as if this was the natural order of his life. It was the only time I had ever gotten a single ride from one place to my front door in all my travels of hitch-hiking.
So here I was again; not a penny in my pocket headed for the hi-way, wanting to put some distance between myself and Oklahoma City. This trip was going to be different and have lasting effects on my life that I wouldn’t understand for another 28 years.
A good forty five minutes passed before the first car pulled over to give me a ride and what a ride it was. The man was alone and said he was going as far as Tulsa, as the ride progressed he made me very nervous, he had a pair of those thin leather driving gloves, he kept taking them off and putting them back on. It was a little over a hundred miles to Tulsa and I thought I can stick it out that long, but he was making me very uncomfortable with his question and comments about sex. By the time we got to Tulsa I was sure he was some kind of sex pervert. As we pulled into Tulsa, he said this is where I’m turning off. And now he had one more comment for me as he pulled to the side of the road. He said “I’ll bet you’ve got a big one” as he groped my crotch with his hand, with one hand I punched him in the jaw while I reached for my paper sack with the other. I wasted no time on a thank you as I departed his car and I don’t know who was more scared; me or him as he peeled out and tore off down the street. After the pop to his jaw I’m sure he was as happy to be rid of me as I was of him.
I put out my thumb hoping my next ride would be a little less stressful, and it was but it was also only a short ride of a few miles.
The journey had no smooth or consistent flow to it, as the rides were slow in coming and short in distance.
It had taken me 40 hours or the better part of two days to arrive at Joplin Missouri; a distance of 225 miles. This meant that I was traveling at the terrifying speed of 6.5 miles per hour. A young lad gets pretty hungry when traveling at this break-neck speed; I hadn’t eaten since I left the jail. It was at about this time that the thought occurred to me; I could make better time by just walking to Des Moines, stopping to put my thumb out to the cars was only slowing me down and hindering my progress.
It was late on a quiet warm summer night as I walked the main street through Joplin, the stores were all closed and there was not a sign of another living creature, the windows of the houses were all dark as the people had long since retired for the night. I moved through the deserted streets, out into the countryside north of the city. I had not seen the headlights of a car in more than two hours as I moved along the darkened hi-way. I was about a mile north of the city; I could still see the streetlights in town. I decided I would lie down in the tall grass next to the road, I was tired and hungry but once I was asleep I would escape my hunger. The grass was tall and thick; it reminded me of the fields of wheat I had seen in Kansas, swaying in a gentle breeze.
I was in a deep and exhausted sleep when I felt the hands gently shaking me; a voice filled with concern asking me if I was alright; I opened my sleep filled eyes and focused them to find a young man; his eyes were filled with anxiety; It took me a moment to clear my mind and recall my surroundings, I looked down the high-way and saw the street lights of Joplin and then what I assumed was the young man’s car parked hastily beside the high-way; headlights on and the engine still running. He said “I thought you had been hit by a car, when I saw you laying there in the grass, I’m so glad that you are alright” I explained to him that I was hitch-hiking and when there were no traffic and so I had laid down to get some sleep. He held out his hand in a warm and friendly gesture, with a kind smile he said “My name is Christopher; but I would like to give you a lift to where I’ll be turning off the hi-way. I told him my name was David as I shook his warm hand, I gladly accepted his invitation.
Christopher had that all American boy look, he also had that rare and unique quality that some people possess; we seem to like them from the very first moment of meeting them, people like Christopher always leave us wondering; after are initial contact, “There is something I really like about this person, but we can’t quite put our finger on it”
Christopher was going to have an impact on my life for years to come and I wouldn’t be aware of it for almost thirty years.
In a very modest way Christopher began to talk and tell me about himself, he had a warm smile that extended to his eyes, his voice was very soft, as he told me he was on his way home from his second job for the day; he had only taken this job a few months earlier when he and his wife learned they were going to have their first child, he was trying to get ahead of his bills and put some money away for the new baby; he told me he had been married for about a year, he had married his high school sweetheart, it was very evident how deeply he loved his wife; not because he said it, but you could hear the affection in his voice whenever he spoke about her. He was anxious to be at home with her, after being away all day and most of the night, in spite of this he had unselfishly taken the time to stop on a dark and lonely hi-way, pushing his needs and desires aside to help another human being who needed help.
Christopher told me that his wife loved to cook, and that she would always have a warm meal waiting for him when he returned home from work, he talked about how much he enjoyed this special time with his wife, he told of how his wife would sit and listen as he related the day’s events.
Christopher had one of those rare qualities of not making judgments or making critical remarks on the troubles and problems that befall others; he only sees the needs of another and then in his quiet way tries to help.
He pulled the car off of the hi-way onto a gravel side road and came to a stop. He told me that he would have to let me out here as he lived down this road about five miles. It seemed that he was apologizing for not being able to drive me closer to my destination. He asks me when the last time I had eaten, and when I told him, he made no comment. He had that warm smile on his face and there was a true sincerity in his voice when he told me how happy he was to meet me, he held out his hand to shake mine and said “I don’t have a lot of money David; but I would like to give you something, so that you can get something to eat. This was in the days that a hamburger was only about 25 cents.
As we were shaking hands he turned his hand slightly so that my hand was on the bottom; I could feel something between our clasped hands, something he had placed there and he wanted it to remain there with no spoken word, no thank you, just something he thought he could do to help. I closed my hand tightly without looking at what he had placed there. Somehow I knew that he did not want me to look, and I know the he wished he could have done more. As I stepped out of the car Christopher wished me a safe journey. It would be the last time I would see Christopher in this life, but I would think of him from time to time as the years of my life rolled by, and I would remember his goodness and his gift to me on that dark lonely hi-way. The taillights of his car began to disappear down the country road as he headed for home, a warm meal and a loving wife. I was standing there in the darkness with the sounds of his tires rolling across the gravel. I could hear a dog barking off in the distance; it must have belonged to some local farmer and had been stirred from its sleep by one of the creatures that move about in the night.
I slowly began to open my hand to see what he had placed there; it was a half dollar, I know in this day and age, a half dollar doesn’t sound like much but in the year of 1957; fifty cents still bought a lot, to a boy who had nothing, it was a great windfall. Those fifty cents meant a hungry boy would be able to feed him when the morning rolled around. To my stomach, fifty cents seemed like a hundred dollars so great was my hunger.
It was just a chance meeting of two strangers on a dark and lonely hi-way; and one of those strangers had compassion for the other. It wasn’t the size of the gift, it was the gift itself. I had no idea of how that chance meeting would affect certain events in my life at some future date. On that night in 1957 my only thoughts were of the food that fifty cents would provide.
The years of my life rolled by, I would often stop to help strangers who needed help, I never did this thinking of Christopher and the time he had helped me. But rater I did it because it seemed like it was the right thing to do. I would stop and change a tire for an old couple stranded out on the hi-way. I remember a time in 1972 when I was headed for Kansas City; I was hi-way 40 in eastern Colorado, it was a very lonely stretch of road and you wouldn’t see a farm house for mile; I looked up to see a car pulled off on the shoulder headed in the direction I had just come, there was a young woman sitting in the car crying, there was steam coming from under the hood. I pulled over and went over to her; she said she didn’t know what was wrong. I lifted the hood and discovered she had lost the engine’s fan belt. The nearest town was Cheyenne Wells about 30 miles away. I told her to get in and we would see if we could find her a new fan belt; she looked at me in disbelief, as we were driving into town she told me the story about how she had come to be stranded out on the hi-way. She said that she had just left a failed marriage in Kansas City and lost her job, she had no family there in Kansas City; everything that she owned was in the back seat of her car, and she was headed to Colorado Springs where she had been offered a job as a nurse. We arrived in Cheyenne Wells to find only one gas station open, I ask the attendant if he knew where we might find a fan belt. It was a Sunday and everything was closed. He called the local garage owner and he came down to see if he could find the needed fan belt, we were in luck and headed back for the young woman’s car to install the new belt. After installing the belt I had her start the car to make sure everything was alright. I started walking to my car to resume my trip, just as I reached and began to open my door, I turned to look at why she hadn’t started out onto the hi-way, and Once again she was sitting there crying. She then got out of her car and walked over to me, she was still crying when she asks “can I hug you?’ I told it would be OK. And then she told me that is the first time in my life, that a stranger had ever been so kind to me.
There were many occasions over the years of just giving a hitch-hiker a ride as far as I was going; making sure they had money for food; on each of these occasions I gave no thought to Christopher and the kindness he had shown to me. My only thoughts were that I was doing what needed to be done, and it seemed like the right thing to do. I would never meet Christopher again and have no idea where life’s path led him. I thought I had pretty much forgotten about him after he let me out on that high-way those many years ago. It would be 28 years before he would surface in my life once again.
It was in the fall of 1985, at that time I was living in Monument, Colorado, when I received a call from my “fence” (a “fence” is a person who deals in stolen merchandize), my fence lived in Des Moines and worked at a large trucking company. He had made many contacts at his company with drivers and other people that were looking to buy discounted stolen merchandize, when he called; he ask how soon I was coming back to Des Moines again? He then told me of a special request he had received from a customer. His customer was a farmer who lived east of Des Moines; the farmer had ten thousand dollars he wanted to spend on a tractor. A few days after this call I drove to Des Moines to get more details, the more details I got on this deal the stranger it seemed. You have to be very careful of set-ups, a set-up is a sting operation run by the police department. There are many men and women in prison who were trapped in these “sting operations”. I didn’t intend to be the newest member in this club; and so I did a data search on this farmer to make sure everything was on the level. The farmer worked for Land O Lakes Corporation as a supplier which meant that his farm was a gated farm, there was no access allowed at this farm from the general public. I was told that it was the policy at Land O Lakes for health and sanitation reasons. The farmer had given my fence the make and model of the tractor he wanted, he had also given him the key for a gate that allowed access to the farm. I was in luck when at the second tractor dealer I found the tractor the farmer had requested, and it was brand new. When I passed this information to my fence; he quickly came back to me, the farmer did not want a new tractor as he felt it would draw to much attention; he was looking for one that was near new, but not new. This seemed a strange request but I would take a look around to see if I could find this make and model a couple years old. As an afterthought I ask my fence why this farmer wanted a stolen tractor in the first place. It seemed to me from my research this farmer could easily afford a new tractor. He told me that the farmer felt that he had been ripped off by this tractor company some time ago; and he wanted to get even. And then he added that the farmer was very excited about buying stolen merchandize, it seemed to turn him on. Some people like to flirt with danger, even when it means spending a few years in prison for that flirting.
And then I was sure that I was being set up when a few days later I found a used tractor, the same make and model the farmer was wanting and it was already loaded onto a flat bed truck, chained down and ready to go. I was extra cautious on this contract as I had no desire to join my comrades at the cross bar hotel. It went off without a hitch and I placed the tractor in the field where the farmer had requested; I got rid of the flatbed truck and then waited for payday.
The next day the farmer called my fence and said he had the money ready. And then another strange occurrence; the farmer was so happy with his adventure that he gave my fence an extra one thousand dollars. Boy! I thought; these farmers were the kind of clients I was looking for. I treated my fence to a steak dinner and then headed for the hi-way and home in Colorado.
It was on another dark and lonely hi-way; nearly 600 miles from where I had met Christopher those many years ago outside Joplin. And it was only then, I would realize how strong an impact Christopher’s love, his concern and compassion would have on my life.
It all happened in a very strange and powerful way.
I was driving a new; 1985 ford pick-up with a topper covering the bed. My burglary tools were in the bed of the truck, in a snap-on tool box, they were mixed in with regular mechanics tools so as not to draw any attention if I were to be stopped and searched by the police.
I had turned off of interstate 80 onto I-76 in northern Colorado, in about three more hours I would be home in my warm soft bed. I was anxious to be home. It happen about 50 miles north of Sterling, Colorado when I looked up to see a late model Ford Bronco parked at the side of the hi-way. And for those who have never seen this part of Colorado, it is a very remote and desolate land; you can drive for miles and never see the lights of a ranch house. The taillights began to reflect in my headlights, I began to slow down and saw that the Bronco was occupied by several people, as I slowly passed the bronco a man in the driver’s seat looked over at me. I pulled over and parked in front of them. I slowly approached the bronco and could see four people sitting in it. This was not a spot that a normal person would pick to park unless they were having some car trouble. It seemed odd that no one had gotten out of the bronco to flag me down if they were having car trouble. As I got closer, I could see four people inside and they were all wearing hunting clothes. It was pheasant hunting season; I thought, they had been out hunting and had car trouble.
When I got to the driver’s door I noticed that the man was very nervous and hesitant; he would only roll the window down a couple of inches, I ask him if they were having car trouble and did they need help. He then gave me the strange reply of “Why do you want to know” There was four of them, they had shotguns and they were afraid of me. I told him I thought that maybe they were out of gas or had car trouble and needed help. I tried to reassure him that I was only there to try and help. And then he said “I would never have stopped on this lonely hi-way to help someone”. I ask him if he needed gas, and he said no, he had a full tank of gas. He was still talking to me through the two inch crack in the window. He seemed to relax a little but he still wouldn’t get out or roll the window down any further. He said that he could still start the engine but that when he engaged the transmission it would not move. He then just sat there staring at me and repeated that he would never have stopped to help someone.
I told him that I had a tow chain and would be happy to tow him to the next town (Sterling); he spoke to the other in the bronco and then said OK. I backed my truck into position and hooked up the chain to the bronco and no one had gotten out of the bronco in all this time. Boy! I thought, they must really be frightened. As I tried to pull out onto the hi-way the bronco would not budge, it seemed as if the wheels were locked up and would not move. After un-hooking my truck I went back to the two inch crack in the window and told the driver that I would be glad to drive all of them to the next town, or that I could try to find a tow truck there. Again they began to talk among themselves. There seemed to be a lot of indecision and the driver just couldn’t make up his mind. Finally he cautiously he stepped out of the bronco, keeping his eyes fixed on me as if to spring away at the slightest movement or threat from me. I tried once again to reassure him that I was only there to help them. He was having a lot of difficultly with his decision when he told me that he and his son would ride into town with me, while his friend and his son would remain with the bronco, his reason for this plan was to keep anyone from coming along and stealing all of their stuff out of the bronco. Fat chance of that happening; we had not seen another car since I first stopped an hour earlier.
The driver and his son got into my truck and we set off for Sterling, he was so anxious and edgy you would have thought I was walking him his last steps to the gallows. In an effort to relax him I thought it would be good to start a conversation, I told him my name was David and that I was from Monument, Colorado. It didn’t help a lot as he once again repeated that he would have never stopped out there on the hi-way to help someone. He said that he and his friends were from Denver, and that they were out on a hunting trip when the bronco broke down, at the time that I had come along they were on their way home to Denver. He then told me that he was going to pay me for helping them. I told him that I didn’t want any pay for helping them. He then repeated himself like he hadn’t heard me and said that he was going to pay me for my help. And once again I told him I didn’t want any pay for my help! We were beginning to sound like two kids on the playground; Him saying “yes I will” and me saying “no you won’t”. I was only trying to move the conversation off the yes I will and no you won’t, when I said “What kind of work do you do”. And then this whole thing was going to get even more surreal, when he replied that he was a Denver Policeman; I’ve been dealing with policemen all my life and I’m a pretty good poker player where they are concerned. If the spit dried up in mouth and my heart skipped a beat you would never known it as I said the following “Really, that’s nice, what department are you with” and now he gave me the mother of all answers “I’m with the burglary detail; we set up “Sting Operations” he proclaimed proudly.
This was a conversation I wanted to move away from, and I was happy he hadn’t ask how I was employed, had he of and had I have answered, I’m sure he would have shit himself. Can you imagine? A nervous policeman being driven down a lonely dark hi-way; by a burglar. I thought about my tool box in the bed of the truck, but I was sure in his state of mind he would not think anything of it. And then it was he who changed the subject back to he was going to pay me for helping them. And once again I repeated that I wanted no pay. He told me that if he couldn’t pay me; he wanted to do something for me; he asked what he could do for me. I thought of telling him then that I was a burglar and that if I ever got busted in Denver he could let me go. I don’t think he would have seen the humor in it. So I told him that I would think of something, after we got him a tow truck I would let him know. I said that without having any idea of what I was going to request him to do.
It was then for some strange reason that I began to think of Christopher and how he had found me on the hi-way north of Joplin, so many years ago and the 50 cents he’d given me, and all that it meant to me at that time. My mind was filled with the bizarre paradox of the circumstances I now found myself in.
When we arrived in Sterling; I found a convenience store next to the hi-way. I pulled up to the pump and the policeman went inside to see if he could find a tow truck. The policeman was on the phone with a tow truck driver when I went in to pay. I went over to get a cup of coffee. As I stood there drinking my coffee my thoughts fell on this strange twist of events, the burglar helping the policeman and then it occurred to me that when someone needs help; it shouldn’t matter what profession they are engaged in; when someone needs help, we should help them, it’s that simple.
The policeman finished his call to the tow truck driver and came over to me; he once again said that he wanted to do something for me and he reminded me that I had said I would tell him when we arrived at Sterling. Without thinking I started to tell him about Christopher, how Christopher had found me sleeping next to hi-way, had given a very hungry boy 50 cents and what all his help had meant to me. I told him that I was finally beginning to understand the true measure of Christopher’s gift to me; there was only one way that I could pay him back, and that was when I found someone in need of help, help them. It was that simple. I then told the policeman if he truly wanted to do something for me; he could help me pay Christopher back for the gift he had given to me, all he had to do was help someone who needed help. He told me that he could never do what I had done; stopping on a dark lonely hi-way to help someone. He repeated “I just couldn’t do that”, I said that was up to him, but it was the only thing he could do for me. The strange thing about this conversation was that I didn’t know I was going to say the things I was saying; it was like my lips were moving and I was hearing the words for the first time, the words were coming from a far distant place.
My connection with the policeman wasn’t going to end there at the convenience store as I had thought it was. The tow truck driver came into the store and wanted the details of the situation. When he learned all of them he told us that he could not allow anyone to ride in the bronco while it was being towed, and that he would not have room in the cab for four people, he then said he would not drive out there unless someone went back out to the site with him. And then those words came back to me; when someone needs help, help them.
I drove the policeman and his son back to the bronco with the tow truck driver following close behind. After the tow driver had the bronco hooked up and ready to go the policeman with his friend and their son’s piled into my truck. The bronco would be taken to a repair shop in Sterling; I would drive the passengers to their home in Denver. It was 125 miles to Denver so we would have a little more time to talk.
I delivered them all to their homes in Denver; the policeman was still adamant that he would not stop in the same situation and help someone but as his friend was getting out of the truck, he told me that he had passed many people on the hi-way who were stranded in the past; but now, for the first time he understood what a simple act of kindness meant to him and his son, he said “I don’t know that I will be able to drive past someone who needs help”.
I headed back to the hi-way and my home that was 60 miles south of Denver. The policeman had offered to give me money to fill my gas tank, I declined his offer and the thought occurred to me; would he have made that offer had he seen the nearly eleven thousand dollars in my pocket and knew where that money had come from; considering his line of work. I didn’t help him because I needed gas money. As I drove the final leg of my journey; I thought of Christopher and his gift to me those many years ago, how his gift was causing an evolution in my life.
The true power of Christopher’s gift to me would only be seen in the following years of my life; but that’s another story for another day.