1996: The Big Traffic Accident on US-22
In which Teófilo experienced a shocking synchronicity and lives to tell about it.
On October 21, 1996 I was part of a DocEx team heading to El Paso, TX. We organized a caravan to drive to Pittsburgh International Airport. There we would begin our long travel to west Texas. I was the Lead Analyst, in charge of the DocEx project and its final report.
Our caravan consisted of two full-sized government vans and a private SUV. The lead vehicle was a passenger van. I was riding in it, along with seven companions. A cargo van followed with two riders, with our equipment on board. The private SUV, with three riders, tailed us.
We drove from Johnstown on a cloudy, foggy day on PA-56 toward US-22 and then headed West. Back then, US-22 was a two-lane road, with a few portions built-up to four lanes.
We were an animated, motivated bunch. Then, something eerie happened. Someone, I don’t remember who, mused aloud:
I wonder what it would feel to hit a deer.
An animated conversation ensued about the options open to us in such eventuality. The conversation went along the same tracks the guys in my USAF team had gone a few years before, in 1989. Yes, the year that we hit that cow, right after a similar conversation took place.
I interjected and told them of my previous experience. I told them how my colleagues had asked the same question while driving on a South Dakotan dirt road. I told them how we hit a cow instead, and none of the options we'd formulated had come to pass.
Laughter followed.
"What's the moral of that story?" someone asked. "Don't go anywhere with you?" Laughter followed, as they’d reduced me to a sign of bad luck. It was funny. But I answered:
Noo...The moral is 'watch out what you ask for, because you might get it.
Laughter ensued as we argued how much bad luck I was bringing to the team.
About five minutes passed by. We were westbound on US-22, driving by the Windmill Farms Restaurant. I remember it because it had a windmill by its advertisement sign. Suddenly, I saw a dash of a tan-colored flash on the right front corner of the van...
Collision
Right away I knew we'd hit a deer. I felt the van careen from left to right as Paul tried to control it. He would've if the hood hadn't popped open right then.
I felt we veered to the left and I thought Paul was trying to avoid the ditch to the right of the shoulder. With his visibility cut by the open hood, he had no way of knowing we'd invaded the lane with opposite, oncoming traffic. We had no way of knowing that we were about to hit head-on a tractor truck, hauling sacks of cement on its flat trailer.
There was a loud bang. Time seemed to slow down. I saw the long windshield to my left flex out, and splinter into a thousand pieces in slow motion. There was some more violent shaking we came to a stop. Then, and unsettling silence followed.
We had several people hurt in the accident. The worst was Paul R., who had sustained several fractures and cuts. To his side, in the passenger seat, Drew M., our FBI agent liaison was unhurt. One of his lenses on his glassed had a drop of Paul's blood, streaking in red.
The two ladies on the bench seat behind Paul, Marie D. and Joanne B., suffered various bone fractures. Then followed our seat. I had hurt my right knee as the energy of the crash had thrown me against the metal frame of the seat in front of me. I didn't realize this until later. To my side was Jodi S., whose hair and makeup had become undone. She was otherwise unhurt.
On the seat behind me was Chuck T. His grief had crazed his wits and was cursing away at the deer.
Steve G. sat on the last seat. His face and head sported lumps and welts that hadn't been there before. Since Steve had played football in his school and college years, he looked unfazed. He had experienced such beatings before, no big deal and thank you very much, his expression seemed to say.
Aftermath
I limped out of the van and observed a horrific scene. The front of our van laid destroyed beyond recognition. Traffic had come to a stop and people were rushing to help. One identified herself as a nurse wanting to help. "Be my guest" I muttered.
I observed the truck laying on its right side on the grassy area by the road. I wondered aloud what'd happened to it. Someone told me, a civilian I think, "You hit that!" The true dimensions of what'd taken place began to dawn upon me.
Once we'd hit the truck it veered to its right and flipped. Its trailer continued with its own momentum, jackknifing against the private SUV. It was Becky H.'s SUV and Paul M. and Jimmy H. were riding along with her. Several sacks of cement had landed on the SUV's hood, ripping, spewing its contents in a cloud. Onlookers thought the SUV was on fire, but it was the cement dust, blowing in the wind, that gave that impression.
The white equipment van, crewed by Rich N. and James L. laid also on the grassy area, at an odd angle. Thanks to James’ deft driving he was able to swerve toward the grassy area as the flat trailer headed for them. The truck scraped the front end of the van, dumping some of the cement sacks through their windshield. Cement and broken glass washed all over them. They were unhurt, while their van idled sheepishly on the grass. Rich first ran toward the truck driver who was hanging upside down by his seatbelt. The truck driver, though unhurt, wouldn’t stop cussing at surprise inconvenience. To shut him up, Rich screamed at him “You killed my friends!” He was sure we were because he saw our van explode into pieces on impact. It was a miracle we survived, Rich thought. Thanks to James L.’s deft driving, they escaped unscathed.
While Chuck T. discharged his anger by kicking at the deer carcass, I borrowed a cellphone from our FBI liaison. I called Mercie, told her that we have been in a serious accident, that we'd taken casualties, but that I was OK. I asked her to go on with her day as normal, that I would see her soon.
I then looked on Paul R. The console had crushed him. He couldn't move. I saw he was going into shock. I offered him my jacket to keep him warm and then I put it on him. Soon his blood soaked it.
Paramedics were there in no time, and they took care of everyone. It was then that one of the attending paramedics saw me limping and asked me about my involvement in the crash. I pointed to the lead vehicle and said, "I was in there."
My perception of time having reset, things happened fast after that. Within minutes I was laying on a gurney, my neck immobilized, and in the back of an ambulance for a ride to the hospital.
They took us to Conemaugh Memorial Hospital on Johnstown's Franklin Street. As they wheeled us into the ER, I saw several concerned NDIC executives, managers, and fellow employees waiting for us. As I passed them by, I try to reassure them by saying, "Don't worry, I'm fine, I look worse than what it is." I don’t think they believed me.
The doctors put us on different partitions in the ER. I decided to lighten the mood by making funny observations about our unbelievable circumstances. I'll spare you the jokes, a few of which I remember still.
God had watched over us that day. I thank God every day for having limped away from an event in which He could've called me to Himself but had decided not to. Jesus had taken the wheel.
I called Mercie to pick me up after my discharge. We got home and I limped from our garage, up the stairs and into our bedroom. The kids where in school. We went inside, I closed the door, hugged Mercie tight, and cried until my fear, grief, and sorrow had melted away in her arms.
