Strange dying

Mary was a friend of my wife in Little Rock. Mary’s father, Herb, was a collector of things useable or sellable, taking what he could find from where he found it. One day while driving on Interstate 30 southwest of Little Rock, Herb saw a piece of something useable in the grass median. Herb parked his pickup safely on the shoulder of the highway, got out and walked back toward the object. When reaching the object, Herb stepped onto the highway and into the path of an 18-wheeler that was doing about 70 miles an hour.

Jackie was my wife’s secretary in Paris, Texas. Jackie had moved to Paris more than 20 years before from a state Up North where factories closed and rusted. Jackie had lost track of her son. All she knew was he had moved from Up North to California. One day she got a call from a California state agency. The caller said Jackie’s son had been hit by a freight train in a railroad yard. He had, the caller said, been released from a state prison two days before. Jackie was listed as next of kin on state prison records. The caller wanted to know if Jackie wanted her son’s body shipped to Texas or whether the state should bury him. Jackie said she could not afford shipment costs. She had not seen her son in such a long time anyway.

Jerome was one of my daughter’s best friends in high school. A 350-pound All-State defensive lineman, Jerome was given a four-year full scholarship to Florida State University. He dropped out at the end of his freshman year. He said, “Those people were serious about their football.” A couple or three years ago, Jerome had a flat tire while driving to Austin on Interstate 35. He changed the tire and while carrying the flat to the back of his car got hit by a speeding tractor-trailer.