Terror on Interstate 15.

Terror on Interstate 15

July 5, 1984 was a beautiful, hot summer day in southern Utah. It seems long ago, but I’ll always remember what happened to our family on that fateful day. I was pulling a rented camping trailer from Yellowstone to our home in Santa Maria. My wife, Cindy, and our five children were having a fantastic vacation that ended when the trailer started to fishtail.

I desperately attempted to stabilize the rig by accelerating and braking, but the swerve worsened. Finally, the weight of the trailer pulled the van completely around and we skidded into the freeway meridian. Our van flipped over, accompanied by the sound of crunching metal and screaming people. My initial thought was we would be okay, since we were either wearing seat belts or secured in car seats.

We came to rest right side up, but the terror was only beginning. The crash had demolished the trailer and broken the connection to the propane tank. With a loud hiss, highly flammable propane was leaking just feet away from the opened back door of our van. We were one spark away from one really big fire. Cindy jumped out and attempted to open the sliding side door. Since it was crunched closed, she rushed back in and grabbed the baby, Rachel, from her car seat. Meanwhile, I helped our oldest, seven year old David, to escape.

“Run, David, run,” I shouted. Five year old April and three year old John were in the back seat, crying with terror. I lifted April over the middle seat, put her near the front door, and told her to run. I pulled John from his car seat and rushed out to join everyone else. As we huddled from a safe distance, wondering if the propane would burst into flames, we suddenly realized that two year old Katie was still in the wreckage.

 “Katie!” my wife screamed, “Get her Mike.” When a bystander heard there was another child to be rescued, he rushed into the van.  At this time, we didn’t know if she was alive, hurt, or dead, or if the propane would burst into flames, killing both her and her rescuer.  Moments later, he emerged with a very confused, but alive, little girl and handed her to me.

“Thank you,” I cried, as he nonchalantly walked away.

The propane never caught fire, but the van was wrecked, the trailer demolished, and our stuff was strewn everywhere. We didn’t lose anything irreplaceable.

 We mostly had bumps and bruises. Katie was bruised the most because her car seat wasn’t properly secured and tumbled loose during the crash. I was glad we were okay, but I felt like an idiot for almost killing myself and my family.

Several minutes after the crash, a Utah Highway Patrolman rushed to the scene. When I told him we were all safe, he breathed an audible sound of relief. He was dreading a bloody accident with severe injuries and fatalities. He told me that an ambulance was on the way to take us to a hospital in Cedar City. The ambulance crew and the emergency room doctors and nurses were more than glad to deal with bumps and bruises rather than mangled bodies.

A week after we got home, we were sent a newspaper clipping of our accident. The headline was “BUCKELED UP FAMILY SAFE AFTER ROLLOVER.” The article stressed that everyone was wearing seat belts and all of our small children were in car seats.

I guess I wasn’t such a total idiot after all. By the way, we never again had to nag our children to fasten their seat belts.