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GENNEWS

STD HD: REPORTER'S JOURNAL

So How Was Your Saturday?

B Y K AAREN V ALENTA

My husband doesn't know the name of his guardian angel but he does have his

cellular phone number.

This guardian angel rescued my husband, Jerry, who was stranded on the median

between the junction of I-95 and I-695 in the Bronx. It was there that Jerry's

rental car broke down during the height of Saturday's rainstorm.

But I'm getting ahead of the story.

The saga began at noon on Saturday when Jerry left Newtown to drive to JFK

Airport to pick up Charlie and Carol Foss who were flying back from Milan

where they, along with former Newtown residents Glenn and Jill Cutler, visited

Dan and Mary Beth Scheid. The Scheids, who live in Sandy Hook, are living in

Italy for a few years while Dan steers a joint business venture involving

Union Carbide and the Italian government.

Jerry was driving in heavy traffic on the Hutchinson Parkway in our Dodge

Caravan and was just passing the scene of an accident when a woman motorist in

the next lane lost control of her car, slammed into the Caravan and pushed it

into the cement Jersey barrier. The lone policeman who was investigating the

first accident walked over to Jerry, asked if he was alright, then collected

the information needed for an accident report.

The policeman told Jerry he could leave, if the van was driveable. Jerry

thought it was, because the damage seemed to be mostly just on the sides of

the vehicle. He realized almost as soon as he got back on the highway,

however, that it wasn't driveable. But now he was too far from the accident

scene to stop and back up, so he kept driving to the next exit, which dumped

him into a residential neighborhood in New Rochelle.

Jerry stopped at a house to ask to use the phone. The homeowner was sorry -

"It's the Sabbath and I can't use the telephone," he said, "but try next door,

at Mr Cohen's house, he's not Orthodox." Mr Cohen helpfully obliged, bringing

his portable phone out to the front porch for Jerry to use. Jerry called for a

tow ("We'll be there in 15 minutes," a cheery voice assured him), then called

Westchester Dodge in New Rochelle to let them know the van was coming and to

arrange for a rental car, and called me to let me know what was happening.

An hour and a half later, less than 20 minutes before Westchester Dodge was

scheduled to close, the tow truck finally reached my anxious husband. It was

now 4:40 pm. The TWA flight from Milan landed in New York at 2:19 pm. I paged

the Fosses at the airport, explained what had happened, and asked them to be

patient, Jerry would be there before 6:30 pm.

At 5 pm Jerry was back on the highway in another Caravan, trying to get to the

airport. By now the Whitestone Bridge was closed because of flooding so he

maneuvered his way toward the Throgs Neck Bridge and was within three miles of

it when the van quit. Tinkering under the hood didn't help.

By now Jerry's clothing was thoroughly soaked. He sat waving a handkerchief

out the van window hoping to attract a policeman or someone with a cellular

phone. Two motorists stopped a few minutes apart but neither had a phone. They

both offered to drive him somewhere to get help. But Jerry wasn't willing to

leave the rental car in the Bronx, where cars left along the expressways are

routinely stripped of their tires, radio, and everything under the hood

practically before the owner is out of sight.

Finally, an Isuzu Trooper pulled onto the grassy median and stopped. The

driver (Jerry thinks his name was Bruce) had a cellular phone. Within minutes,

Jerry and another rain-drenched motorist were tucked into the passengar and

back seat of the Trooper. The other unlucky motorist had darted across three

traffic lanes to reach shelter, and help, from the driver of the Trooper. She

had been driving along the expressway when a wheel fell off her car. She'd

just bought new tires and had them installed the day before, she said.

At 6 pm, the phone in my kitchen rang. It was Jerry, explaining that he was

off the road again, waiting for another tow truck.

"Call Mark Dennen and ask him if he will drive here (from Newtown) to get me,"

Jerry said. "Everything is closed now and I can't get another rental. You'll

have to call Fosses, too, and tell them Mark and I will try to pick them up."

I tried to page the Fosses at the airport, but by now they were waiting

outside in the arrival pickup area. At 6:30 pm, they gave up, went back inside

and called me.

"The rental car broke down. Mark's going to get Jerry, then they'll try to get

you," I explained.

"We're taking the limo," they said.

For some reason, although Mark has a cellular phone, calls to Bruce's phone

didn't go through. Bruce said he had been on his way from New Hampshire to

Flemington, N.J., to attend a Carpenters for Jesus meeting when he saw Jerry

signalling for help. For the next hour I relayed messages between the two

vehicles.

Finally, Mark found Jerry just minutes before the tow trucks arrived. Bruce

insisted on waiting until both vehicles were towed. He refused any payment for

his help or for the repeated use of his cellular phone.

"Just do a good deed for someone else who is in trouble," he said. "Pass it

on."

By now many of the roads were flooded and it was difficult to decide on the

best route home. Mark also realized that he was almost out of gas.

He and Jerry decided to get back on I-95 and head for Bridgeport to pick up

Route 25 north, knowing there are gas stops every few miles along the road.

They reached the first one just as the lights went out for the night. The next

two were dark - power was out in the area so the pumps were down.

Finally, just as the two men decided they might be out of luck, the next rest

area was open. So was a small Italian restaurant nearby, so after getting gas,

the they stopped for a quick bite to eat. Jerry finally got home at 11:30 pm

to a house that was dark and cold. No hot shower. The storm had knocked the

power out at 5 pm.

On Monday morning, Jerry got a call from the rental company agent who

profusely apologized for all the inconvenience. The agent also had a question.

"The vehicle did have license plates on it when we rented it to you, didn't

it?" he inquired. "It didn't have any when we got it back."