The Meanest Man in Pickens County

It was the winter of 1971 that the Super Bowl was too exciting to miss. Torn between either remaining glued to the TV or more sensibly driving down the windy 276 past Caesar's Head to Greenville before the highway froze over, I was just about to make a big mistake that would bring on a very unusual experience. Well, being not so wise, I stayed until the Baltimore Colts beat the Dallas Cowboys with a field goal in the last five seconds of the game. I had heard the weather forecast-rain and temperatures falling to 8 degrees-but I expected I could get on down the mountain before it got too cold.

"Are you still here?" Jane asked with surprise when she came into the living room. "Haven't you heard the weather?"

"You'd better stay for the night," Sumner advised.

"I have to teach in the morning," I replied. "Don't worry, I'll make it down the mountain pretty quick." With Jane shaking her head, I grinned, buttoned up my jacket and saying thanks and goodbye.

But, man, was it cold and rainy outside. I ran to my yellow '66 Mustang, started up and headed down the long driveway into the darkness. At the highway, I turned left and started off, windshield wipers working hard. By the time I passed the entrance to Caesar's Head and started down the steep grade, I realized I had not made the best decision. The park there was closed; there were a few cabins always vacant in the winter, and no more houses until the bottom of the mountain about six or seven miles away. Within a mile or so, I was sliding around the S-curves, sensing that the rain was freezing on the pavement. I slowed to about 15 to go around the next bend, found the wheel turning free in my hand and the little car totally out of control. Ten seconds later, I was off the road to the right with wheels spinning.

When I turned off the ignition, the wipers stopped and began to freeze inside a solid sheet of ice across the windshield. I looked at my luminous watch dial and saw that it was about half past nine. There had not been a single car going or coming, and I knew there would not be. There were no cell phones then. Only an idiot would have been out on the treacherous highway at this time of night. I sat there in total darkness, beginning to shiver.

Just as I was considering my options, I heard a vehicle coming. I jumped out of the car and nearly slid down, waving frantically at the headlights coming down the mountain. It was an old army-surplus jeep with a canvas top. It stopped and the door opened.

"You'ns all rite?" someone called. I slipped and slid walking over to them. In the ambient light I could see two men in the front.

"My car's run off the road," I explained. "Too icy I guess."

"We done got chains on," the driver said. "We's out joy ridin'."

"Where was you a'goin'?" the other man, said. He was dressed in camouflage fatigues.

"Greenville," I replied.

"We're a headed to Pickens," Driver said.

"Well, let me go with you," I pleaded. "I don't think I can make it here in the car all night."

"Reckon not," the man in the right front, "shotgun" seat, said and moved over to middle. "Git in."

"I could climb in back," I offered.

"Kids back 'ere," Driver said, shaking his head. "Joy ridin'."

I climbed in, pulled the canvas door to and latched it. Driver put the jeep in gear with a grind and headed on slowly. In answer to their questions, I had to explain who I was and what I was doing up on the mountain. But then when a clinking sound started on the windshield, the driver interrupted me.

"I do believe that's sleet," he said. "He glanced at me. "Open the door 'n stick yer hand out there."

I did as I was instructed, feeling the patter of ice crystals on my bare hand. I pulled it back in and shut the door.