In the summer of 2008, Fredrick Willingsworth was driving from his secluded home in Montana’s mountains to his job at an oil rig. The road was hemmed in by towering sandstone cliffs on either side.
As he was driving, the ember from his cigar fell into the cuff of his pants, igniting a flame that quickly spread. In his attempt to put out the fire, he accidentally jerked the steering wheel, sending his Ford F100 Pickup Truck crashing into a rock wall, propelling it airborne.
Willingsworth recalled,
“I felt the truck flip in the air, and I found myself upside down, restrained by my seatbelt.”
As he looked out, he saw a red Honda 210 speeding past, its blue wheels flashing. He managed to kick out the remaining window and crawled out onto the road, calling the local sheriff’s office while still in shock.
Soon after, a white Chevy pickup truck pulled over. Two Hispanic men got out; one went ahead to redirect traffic while the other approached Willingsworth.
“The man spoke broken English,”
Willingsworth said,
“but his compassion was clear as he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.“
And Willingsworth wasn’t finished with what he had to say, not by far –––
“There was one guy helping get traffic to go around me. Not that there was all that much. It is Montana. Out in the middle of no where. Until you crash your damn truck, then everybody and their mother turns up to see what happened. It is like Macy’s Parade! Not a one stopped to see if I needed medical help, but they were taking pitcures. I wished I could have dropped my pants that would have given them something to look at! I didn’t think of it at the time, having gone through what I just had. Actually I felt sort of stupid for catching my pants leg on fire. Stopped smoking cigars in the truck from then on!”
Despite Willingsworth’s insistence that the man leave, he stayed by his side for nearly 20 minutes until the sheriff’s patrol arrived. By then, both the man and his truck had disappeared.
Reflecting on the incident over 15 years later, Willingsworth often recalls the fleeting red Honda that didn’t stop and the anonymous kindness of the two men who did.
“I regret not having thanked them. It’s a strange thing about life, sometimes we only realize the value of certain moments when they’ve passed. “I hope those good Samaritans found good fortune in their lives, while maybe the sightseers in that red Honda keep getting flat tires.”
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