I am a strong believer in helping people. I try to help people when I can. It is a deeply held belief that has been with me my whole life. It has roots in my family. Most of the men I grew up around were firemen. They helped people for a living. I saw the good they did and wanted to be like them. And then there was my grandfather. He was an ace auto mechanic who was gruff and stern, but taught me to help people in need. I think he developed his help-your-fellow-man mentality from his time in the WPA. He once told me to help people even if they don’t ask because one day you may be in the position of needing help yourself. His core message was, always reach out to help your fellow man, especially when they are down. Between my grandfather and my firemen relatives, I was left with a strong sense of social responsibility which has stayed with me to this day. This is a good thing, because today I need help, and two strangers answered the call.
I5 is a long boring stretch of highway the runs the length of California. There is a five hour stretch through the central valley which is particularly boring and desolate. There are occasional gas stops, three rest stops, and two or three little towns along the way. But for most of the drive, you are on your own.
I had a blowout today. At 75 miles per hour, a blowout is a scary experience. In this case, the blowout was catastrophic. I went from tire to rim in a few seconds. I nearly lost control. We were lucky. I made it to the side of the road safely. We were stranded on a stretch of I5 far from any help. Our cell phones were out. It was cold and windy. And for added measure, every minute or so a fully loaded semi truck raced past at 80 mph. We did not even know where we were.
I started the task of changing our tire as my family stood back in the brush along the road. I hate to admit it, but it had been 20 years since I last changed a tire. I was a bit rusty, I had to get out the manual to figure out how to lower the spare. I persevered, but it was slow going. My wife was worried about my safety. Each truck shook our truck as we were experiencing a mini earthquake.
Shortly after I started, a mini-van pulled to the side of the road ahead of us. Two Hispanic men in Oakland Raiders caps ran up to offer help. One jumped under the truck to help lower the spare, the other broke the lug nuts. We scrambled about for a few minutes getting everything ready, and then they quickly changed the tire for me.
I noticed that their wives and children were in the minivan, waiting for their men to finish the job. We spoke briefly and exchanged names. They were traveling to Los Angeles like me. They had been up to Oakland to catch the last Raiders game of the year with their family. The Raiders were not even in town.
They refused a tip. They waived it off as if the very idea was an insult. They had stopped to help without any expectation of reward. They stopped to help me simply because I needed help. This is the way the world should work.
They smiled and waived as they left. I did the same in return. As scary as the whole event was, it made me feel pretty damn good too.
