It was my usual drive from South Lyon to Ypsilanti for my night shift at the senior home, 11:30pm to 7:30am. I drove down Le Forge Road, passing the old silo on my left. It had always caught my eye, and I admired it’s stately but lonely appearance. It had a gruesome past, but today it is decorated with wildflowers wistfully waving around it. I couldn’t see it at night, but it was comforting to know that it was there.
Leaving the lights of Ypsilanti and the Eastern Michigan campus behind, the two-lane rural roads headed into darkness. Out here, streetlights are as rare as stars on a cloudy night. Suddenly, when I turned onto Geddes Road, my old Plymouth Reliant coughed, stumbled, and the motor shut down. I coasted to the dirt side of the blacktop road, hoping this wouldn’t make me late for work. Turning the ignition key was fruitless and failed to bring the motor back to life.
Stepping out of the car, the darkness covered me like a blanket. There was a sliver moon, but tall pine trees blocked out most of it’s dim light. I had no flashlight. This happened before cell phones were invented, and there were no public telephones on country roads. To make it worse, very few cars drove on this road late at night.
Looking around frantically, I was relieved to see a house up ahead with its lights on. Like a moth drawn to flame and with no other options, I set off toward the house. Walking with the traffic didn’t seem safe. It made me feel vulnerable to someone or something sneaking up from behind me.
My imagination was making the situation worse. So, I crossed the road to walk toward any oncoming traffic. If I could see cars approaching, it would give me a chance to run or hide if needed. My legs felt like cooked spaghetti noodles.
I couldn’t help but think about the “Co-Ed murders” (https://aadl.org/aapd/truecrimes/7) from the 1970’s. Seven young women from the Ypsilanti area were found brutally murdered over a 3-year period. One of their bodies was found near Geddes and Le Forge Road, not far from where my car broke down.
I was scared. The only thought that enabled me to function was the knowledge that I was walking. I couldn’t even find words to pray, so I just kept repeating “Jesus” over and over again to myself. Step by step I moved toward the light. It was eerily quiet, no sound but the crunching of my shows on gravel.
Several cars drove past me. Then one slowed as it was heading in the direction I was walking. He rolled down his window and said, “May I give you a lift to somewhere?”
I replied, “No, I’m just walking to that house up there.” I knew I wasn’t walking with what would appear to be a strong determination. So I continued my stumbling gait.
The car slowed to my walking speed, and the man said, “Would you get in the car before you get hit?”
Quickly, I thought to myself, “This could be the help that I’ve been praying for!” So, I got in, checking the door handle in case I needed to make an emergency escape. Then I realized I wouldn’t be able to get out if the door automatically locked!
Miraculously, the driver drove straight to the house and said, “I’ll wait here until you tell me that everything is okay.” The kind couple that answered the door listened while I explained my predicament, and readily offered their phone for me to use.
I returned to the car to let the man know everything seemed to be working out and thanked him for the ride. He said his name was “Paul.” My breath caught as I remembered that we had been studying Paul, the apostle, at church. Was this a sign from God?
I returned to the house to use the couple’s rotary phone. After contacting my workplace, I called a tow truck to haul my unreliable Reliant to Ed’s Garage in Ypsilanti. Then I called a taxi to drive me to work.
The taxi driver was a large, rugged looking middle-aged man working the midnight shift. As we drove the lonely two-lane roads to South Lyon, I thought, “Hmm, can this guy be trusted?” As a woman alone, I still didn’t feel safe.
Well, after 20 minutes of mostly silence, I finally arrived at work, the Martin Luther Memorial Home. The driver informed me the fare was $18.00, but quickly added with a leering look, “I’ll forget the charge if you’ll go out with me.”
“Holy smokes, now this!” I thought. I paid him and was relieved to be out of his car. I was only a few minutes late and thankfully; the remainder of the night was uneventful. The Reliant was repaired and was once again reliable. Eventually I gave it to a friend who drove it until it had over 200,000 miles on it.
But I’ll never forget that night on Geddes Road. When I pass the old silo on Le Forge, I recall the fear and helplessness from that long ago night, But for my prayers and the kindness of strangers, I might have been another random victim who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.