Christmas Day, 1955, Los Angleles County, California...I am 16 yrs old. It was unusually warm that day..strong desert winds. Dad and I decided to drive up into the Mountains and take a short hike..I believe it was a Sunday. The Angeles Crest is a dangerous, curvy road. steep bluffs on one side, steep drop off on the other. We had gone up quite a ways and came upon some rocks on the road...loostened by the wind and fallen. Dad wanted to stop and pitch them over the side, I discouraged him and said we could do that on the way down. I wanted to hike. He listened to me and we had a nice hike...sound of the Pines roaring in the wind. On the way down, we came to the place where the rocks were on the road and a number of cars pulled off and people gazing down. We also stopped and saw a Buick at the bottom of the canyon. Christmas presents strewn down the hill side...one body ejected, the rest in car. Five elderly people killed on their way to spend Christmas Day with family.
The next day, I drove my own car back to the spot, and one of the family members was just looking down. "They hit a rock and blew a tire he said."
I have carried that weight for all these years..not a huge weight..just a weight that I do not talk about...much.
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