Odd Life Experiencces

I have had some odd encounters during my days: most of them appear in this blog site. They have made my existence unique to say the least. If I ever had a best friend when I needed one is was Bill Moore. Bill was my classmate through our elementary, secondary schools in Carthage, Tennessee. We were college roommates at Tennessee Polytechnic Institute from 1958 through 1962: learning to become band directors.

I needed a summer job after my freshman year at TPI and Bill assisted me in joining the survey crews working out of the Tennessee Department of Highways. We traveled all over the state each summer performing surveys on how much traffic certain roads received, discerning the probable exits and entrances for the interstate highway system yet to be constructed and weighing trucks to monitor their use and need for repair for existing highways. We did the data collection and smarter folks interpreted the data. It was this period of time that inspired me to develop this anecdote.

Our first two summers were spent conducting surveys and counting cars on rural roads in West Tennessee. We worked the gravel roads way out in the boonies. And once in a while we worked in the larger towns such as Hornbeck, Sharon and Gleason. At least these streets were paved. One memorable encounter came when I was recording traffic flow in Huntingdon.

I was sitting on the steps of a Baptist church when a curious young lady joined me wondering what I was up to. Most of the shifts counting traffic flow were totally boring, to say the least, so I was glad for her interest. We discussed the usual things such as what I was doing and her rendition of what kind of town Huntingdon was.

I was in the habit of getting the Memphis morning paper to break the monotony of counting cars. The more we talked and the more I looked at my companion, I felt that I had seen her or had seen her picture somewhere. As it turned out her picture had been in the Memphis Commercial Appeal about two weeks prior.

She relayed the following story.
She was getting out of her shower when she heard a strange noise and sensed that there was someone in the kitchen. She toweled off somewhat and hearing more movement she retrieved the double barreled shot gun from behind the bathroom door.
The door crashed open and she had the shotgun up and ready to fire when the intruder came through the door wielding a butcher knife from her kitchen. She aimed at the intruder and pulled the triggers: nothing happened. The hammers were not retracted all the way back to the firing position.

She was in a fight for her life dodging the knife when she could and trying to break his grip on the shotgun. He viciously stabbed her and she dodged and ducked until he had stabbed her twenty–two times. There was blood everywhere and she was failing fast when a neighbor came in having heard the commotion and the assailant decided to run for his life while her life force was ebbing.

An ambulance and the authorities were called, and she was sped to the hospital where she recovered. The intruder was caught later that day by an enraged sheriff along with his staff. The assailant was literally treed. He was tracked by the county bloodhounds and was trying to conceal himself by climbing a tree. I don’t recall what transpired, but if my memory is sound he was known as a notorious violent offender and still in possession of the kitchen knife making threats to the sheriff. He would not surrender and was summarily dispatched.

She showed me a few of the scars that she was destined to live with. She had been stabbed in her arms, shoulders and in the scalp. Evidently she had been agile enough that her internal organs were undamaged. I didn’t need to see any others. She had recovered very well and was going on with her life when we met. I admired her fortitude. And I wonder if she remembers telling me her story on that warm day in Huntingdon.