I think it was around 1989 or 1990 that Charleston had 5 inches of snow. We were living in North Charleston at the time and my sons were about 6 and 9 years old.
We have always been a snow loving family. There were times when I would miss snow so much that we would get in the car and drive north until we found some. Then we’d spend the night so that I could enjoy snow for just one day. You have to remember, that when I was a child we lived in Buffalo, New York, which has the highest snowfall of any state in the United States, and also Pennsylvania. So yes, I am a snow lover.
For my husband, snow was just an interesting episode that he hoped would not last too long. Born and raised in Sumter, South Carolina, he’s a southern boy through and through. He doesn’t like the cold. But he loves me, and so he’s always pandered to the snow loving side of me. The truly interesting thing about my husband and me is that we are also lovers of adventure. Yes, we are those strange people who will get in the car and travel down roads we’ve never been on before with no particular destination in mind. We just want to see what’s there.
So as adventurers, when it snowed that day we had to get out there and look around. We got in our car and traveled down a few roads observing attempts at making a snowman in various yards throughout the suburbs. We even stopped at one point to assist some travelers in removing their snow-covered car from a ditch.
But at one point, I realized it was beginning to get dark. I told my husband we needed to turn around and head back home. The snow had begun melting, but with night falling and the temperature dropping rapidly, the melted snow on the roads was turning to ice.
We were traveling down one particular road on our way home when my husband proceeded to slow down for a stop sign. However, when he applied his brakes, our car began to slide a little. But we finally came to a stop, then turned to each other and hesitantly chuckled. That was a rather scary episode, but we continued home with my husband gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Turning down another street, we saw a stop light and convenience store on the right. This was on Spruill Avenue in North Charleston, and with nightfall coming so quickly, the lights from the convenience store and the red stop light gleamed on the new ice.
My husband gently tapped the brakes so we wouldn’t slide. But that’s not what happened.
We were still a good distance away from the stoplight, and thinking we had plenty of time to slow down before we reached the intersection, we were not too worried… until the car continued sliding.
Now you, my dear readers, are quite familiar with my horrible luck, so don’t be too surprised when I tell you that it was at that moment a man came out of the convenience store, and noticing the red light, he began to slip and slide his way across the intersection.
My husband had a tight grip on the steering wheel and was shoving the breakdown so hard with his foot that it was pushing his seat back as far as it could go. I had a tight grip on the dashboard while shoving my foot down into the floorboard of the passenger side as if I could help stop the car. It was almost as if the entire event was in slow motion.
We continued to slide toward the man, and when he was almost under the red light, he turned and saw us sliding directly toward him.
Seeing our headlights slowly closing in, his eyes grew big and his feet began moving even more rapidly and sliding. It was as if he were running in place. He wasn’t going anywhere with all that rapid leg movement, but we sure were.
At that moment the man slipped and fell flat on his back in the middle of the road. I distinctly remember screaming out, “Oh, no!” And then I closed my eyes with a quick prayer.
Remarkably, our car slid just a few more feet and my husband turned the wheel slightly so that we slid sideways and parallel to the man laying on the ice in the middle of the road.
We sat in the stopped car with my husband’s hands still gripping the steering wheel and his foot pushing the brake almost through the floorboard. I still had my fingers clutching the dashboard when I turned and saw the poor man rise to his feet. For a moment the two of us stared at each other with wide eyes and horror-struck faces.
But suddenly, realizing just how close we all came to a disaster but missed it, we both began to smile at each other. He shakily raised his hand and waved at me while I raised my trembling right hand off the dashboard and waved back.
It was over. Our car had stopped, and the man was safe. This time there was no hesitant chuckle between my husband and myself. There was stark fear on our faces as he looked at me and said, “I don’t care how we get home, but we are going there right now. And as God as my witness, we will never do anything like this again!”
We made it home safely that night, and guess what. We never did it again. But every time I drive down Spruill Avenue and come to that same intersection, I have to smile. And remembering the man’s huge eyes with his feet running in place like a cartoon character as we slowly slid toward him, I have to laugh. It’s funny now, but I hope to never repeat it.
