This week’s big snowstorm brought back to me a now fond memory of the blizzard that hit the Chattanooga area in 1993.
I had borrowed my brother-in-law’s four-wheel drive pickup truck the night before the storm hit because, being a member of the editorial staff at the old Chattanooga Free Press for over 12 years at the time, I knew that missing work with a snow excuse was akin to treason.
The newspaper, I had been told many times by older staff members, had not failed to publish an issue since its beginning on Aug. 31, 1936, and that it never would under their watch.
So, with that in mind and feeling like Rambo, I got into my borrowed pickup truck the next morning and drove out of Hidden Harbor in snow a foot deep. I was feeling proud that I would be among the few staffers who saved the day during the Storm of the Century.
Getting to the Free Press was not as much of a problem as I had feared. The big, old truck with the big, thick-treaded tires moved up the Big Ridge and down the other side to Hixson Pike with relative ease in the deep, dry snow.
When I arrived at the Free Press, I trotted up the stairs to the second floor newsroom and made my grand entrance. Rambo died right there. All staffers were at their desks and so were City Editor Julius Parker and his assistant Irby Park. Editor Lee Anderson was in his office nearby pounding out editorials for the day. And now the church editor was there, too – late!
Well, time ticked on, with the clicking sound of keyboards, and Julius shouting words of encouragement. The paper was printed, the publishing streak unbroken.
But my memorable story does not end here; it has another beginning.
Driving down DuPont Parkway on the way home from the Free Press in winds gusting up to 50 mph, I saw what meteorologists call a “whiteout” coming rapidly toward me from a nearby field. “Help me, Lord,” I cried out, entering the thick blowing snow that dropped my visibility to about the end of the truck’s hood.
I knew I couldn’t hit my brakes because it might make the truck slide, so I continued driving and praying, “Help me, Lord. Help me, Lord. ….” And I reckon He did just that, as in a few seconds I made it through the blowing snow just like Moses crossing the Red Sea.
“Thank You, Jesus!” I yelled, thrilled at seeing the road again.
From there I drove down Highway 153 to Hamill Road, to Cassandra Smith Road, to Hixson Pike, up Big Ridge Road and then turned right on Fairview Road at the top of the ridge headed toward my brother-in-law’s home about 200 yards away.
After resting a few minutes, I got back in the truck and headed toward the higher end of the ridge on my way home.
But after going only about 400 yards, the truck got stuck in snow almost two-feet deep. So, I exited the vehicle and got help from some kind folks at a home nearby.
I then called my wife, Kay, and told her what had happened and that I was waiting to see if someone with a bigger four-wheel-drive truck would come by and take me on home. If not, I would have to walk, I told her.
After that, I silently prayed that the Good Lord would help me again. And, a few minutes later, it appeared that He had done just that.
I could hear in the distance the sound of vehicle coming in my direction. So, I thanked the folks at the home for giving me shelter during the storm, and walked outside. In a few seconds, an old, white pickup truck appeared. Excited, I walked as quickly as I could toward the vehicle. When it stopped, I was filled with joy. Two men were in the truck, and the driver lived in my neighborhood. He was a member of my Sunday school class. “Hallelujah!”
Thank you again, Lord, I said silently, after the driver asked, “Need a ride?” I then began climbing into the small compartment behind the passenger side of the truck, and the passenger, whom I did not know, got back in the passenger seat.
Then I saw what I couldn’t believe I was seeing: empty beer cans everywhere, all over the floor, under the seat and piled on top of each other.
But because it was still morning, I thought they must have been put there during the previous day. All doubt was removed when the driver began talking. He sounded drunker than Cooter Brown.
“Help me, Lord, please help me,” I silently cried out, only to watch the driver move the truck on toward a steep drop on Fairview Road just past Bay Pointe. Stopping to assess the situation, he quickly decided the best plan was to get up enough speed to make it up the other side, the highest point on the Big Ridge.
“Yahoo …,” he and his buddy screamed, acting like they were riding on the Cannon Ball at Lake Winnie. And down we went.
“Lord, help me; Lord, please help me. If You get me out of this, I promise I’ll read the Bible every day. I’ll be a faithful servant,” I pleaded, sounding like Burt Reynolds in the movie Swimming With the Best of Them.”
I don’t know how fast that truck went down the hill that day because, at that point, I was trying to hide in the floor under a pile of beer cans. And at one point, even I felt like we were on the Cannon Ball. Then, bam! The truck had made it almost up the hill when it suddenly hit a wall of snow waist deep. The rear of the truck was knocked to the right side of the road and tore down a nice rustic fence in front of a beautiful home. But nobody got hurt.
Once again I thanked the Lord for helping me out of another mess and then quickly crawled out of the wrecked, slightly-damaged vehicle. After helping the guys to try and dig the truck out of the wall of snow for several minutes, I gave up, thanked them for a ride of my life and began trekking home down Fairview Road in the waist-deep snow.
At first I thought it was great walking in snow up to my waist. It was a childhood dream come true. But after about 100 feet of walking and huffing and puffing and seeing 50 more yards of waist-deep snow to conquer, I once again asked the Good Lord to help this 45-year-old “now faithful servant” get safely back home.
I had taken only a few more steps when a thought popped into my head: “Look to your left, Jim.” So, I did and I could not believe what I was seeing. Leaves! The 50-mph winds had blown the snow near the top of the ridge right onto North Fairview Road. That’s why it was waist deep.
I walked about 150 feet on the leaves and then had to trudge through more waist-high snow to get to the entrance of Hidden Harbor. Amazingly, a man was there in a small car. He had made it to the top of the ridge but had to stop when he saw the waist-high snow. He offered me a ride down into Hidden Harbor, and a few minutes later, I was home. “Thank You, Lord,” I said, one last time, dropping exhausted into the La-Z-Boy and reaffirming my promise to Him that I would start reading my Bible every day – beginning tomorrow.
Jim Ashley
Jashley@epbfi.com