My worst accident was in a snowstorm before dawn in January 1980 driving to work . . . shortly after I rounded a curve my headlights hit a trash truck in the lane ahead of me, no lights on. I swerved into the other lane, where my headlights hit a man standing in the lane looking at me with two trash cans in his arms. I swerved back into the original lane and did my best to slow down but collided with the truck pretty hard. Luckily I have alway been fond of old cars; I was driving a 1964 Doge 440 four door, the engine was pushed partway into the driver's compartment, the roof of the car came down to meet the dash. Nothing caught fire. I kicked my way out of the car and was alright---well, I had seventy stitches on my forehead and a few down by the side of one eye. . . but I was fine. I was kept in the hospital for two nights before the doctor finally decided I wasn't going to collapse in a coma, and told me I had a hard head. I had a vivid red scar down the center of my forhead for some time. . . I felt it was sort of a "Scarlet A" of some sort but I guess it wasn't as attention-grabbing as self-concious lil me thought. It faded away with time; it's there but hardly visible.
I am sure the operator of the truck was glad I didn't just run him over; I've never been in contact with him. I had to appear in court and I was fined three dollars for hitting the truck from behind. The trash company was fined four thousand dollars for operating without the required lights.
This really made me reassess my life in small town Ohio, and when the company I had worked for for six years closed its doors in the Reaganomic recession six months later, I started looking at other places to be, visited some University of Chicago friends living in Austin, and moved here that fall, scarred forehead and all. My whole forehead was soon sunburned red!