Ann and Bill’s Christmas Angel (out of the Firehose)
It was Christmas eve. Time for the glorious Midnight mass at Uncle Doc’s farm in Beavercreek. The sheep and horses and chickens would be there. Lots of cousins, aunts and uncles too. Two bales of hay for an altar. A few candles, Christmas carol sheets. Luminaries of carved out gallon milk cartons with candles lit inside, leading from the farmhouse to the barn for the Mass. Father Cy wearing his knit cap, nose dripping and breath vapors coming in constant streams in the chilled air.
Bill and Ann and their 4 children, mostly teenagers, had driven 11 hours from New York, like usual, on this day to begin their holiday visit to grandma and grandpa’s in Dayton. Ann’s parents were almost empty nesters with a 7-bedroom house and un-rivalled hospitality looking forward to the visit. It was hard to get away in their Ford van, bringing all they would need for 10 days for 6 people in Dayton. All seemed to be working OK, except time was short. No time to stop for another tank of gas right before the Midnight Mass. Might be late and miss many of the carols. Gauge is low, but get gas on Christmas Day. Something will be open.
Ann was the oldest of the 7 children in her family. Jane was the youngest and still single. After the fantastic richness of the homespun Midnight Mass, Jane asked if she could ride back to Grandma’s in Bill and Ann’s van with their family. There was room, and it was fine. It was 1 AM Christmas morning. We left Uncle Doc’s property and got only about a mile down the road, when the gasoline ran out. The car died, and everyone wondered where that left all of us on such a thrilling but desperate evening, all of a sudden. We all exited the van and thought a moment. We knew the road we were on. We knew there were stores and a gas station about a mile or two ahead and the road was relatively flat between here and there. It was not at all likely that any of the stores or gas station was open, however, at 1 AM.
Undaunted, we put Ann behind the wheel while the other 6 of us pushed the van. We had gone only about a hundred yards when we got to a side street on the right. . . . and the doggone firehose opened up wide and hit us broadside! We noticed that, waiting at the stopsign, there was a red pickup truck. We noticed that the driver of the pickup got out of his truck as soon as we approached. He came over and said, “Looks like you folks need some help. Out of gas?”
We explained our predicament to him and said we hoped we could just get to the gas station up the street and then hoped that it would be open and get us home for the night. We asked him how he happened to be there at such an (un-Godly??) hour of the night. He mumbled something about visiting his mother. We didn’t get a very clear answer, but what did it matter. This was undoubtedly a guardian angel . . . in a red pickup truck! Mission of mercy.
We reviewed with him the option of his driving up behind us and pushing the van. He said he preferred pulling or towing us forward so he didn’t do any damage to the back of the van. He said he just needed something to tow us with. He said he’d look in the back of the pickup to see if there was anything that might help. He had no idea what was back there. Not 60 seconds later he returned saying, “Well, what do you know? A long strap. Just what we need! I think I can tie it onto your front and my rear tow-ball, and we may be in business.”
A couple minutes later, we were in tow and heading toward the intersection with the gas station. To make the rest of the story short, the station WAS open. We got our gas. The fellow helping us wouldn’t accept any money in compensation for his services. He just headed off into the night. Mission accomplished! Grace overflowing! O Holy Night!
Our children and Aunt Jane and we will never forget it.
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