[ponyakr]

Now here's a wild story for you. After they opened the new dirt track in Chatham, a neighbor of mine showed up at the shop one day. We'd went to school together, but he was several years older than me. He worked for the parish (county, we're still French in La.) He drove a road grader dozer and other equipment. He told me he had heard about the new dirt track and that I was doing some dirt racing and he wanted to get involved. Well, that was fine with me. I figured I needed all the hlep I could get beatin these things back into shape every week. He went on to tell me how he had raced at a local track years before. i had never heard much about it. They'd raced mostly 55-57 Chevys. He told me that another neighbor of ours had also raced bak then. They called him "Flipper" cause he had so many end over end wrecks. Anyhow, we pulled my 1sty dirt car out of the weeds, stuck a motor in it and soon he was in the middle of the action. Then 1 nite a Checy drove him hard into the wall knocking the rear end out of it and ripping out the control arm brackets. It was a mess. We decided it would take too long to fix it, so we just went out in the barnyard and got another car. It was MB's 1st racer, the 68 bird. I had come across a good 428, wo we stuck it in the bird and he was back on the track. Now here's where the story gets wild. and I warn you, it may rub you the wrong way, so you may want to unplug here. After the crash with the cutlass I had told him about the possibility of using MB's old car for his next ride, so he went out behind the shop to take a look. Now it was a hot summer day and I already knew the car, so I stayed in the shade of the shop while he went out back to look at it. After a long while he didn't come back so I wnet around back to see what was taking him so long. He was leaned up against the shop int he shade, and was white as a ghost. I said "Hey, man, what's wrong?" He barely could talk, but he said "I'm having some problems, call my wife." Well it looked to me like he needed an ambulance, not his wife. But I did like he asked. He was obvioiusly having some sort of heart attack. After I called his wife I remember thinkin "If I don't do something he ain't gonna make it til his wife gets here!" So I did what I had been trained to do, I ministered 1st aid. Our pastor had told us about how Jesus had prayed for the sick and had instructed his followers to do the same. So there was no decision to be made. I went back around the shop and said "Jerry, is it alright if I pray for you?" Now I could tell that Jerry was not religious at all. But when your back's up against the wall and yo're facing possible death, you don't tell soembody "no, I don't want your prayers, don't pray for me." No, you'll take hlep from any source. So, I prayed for him out loud just like our pastor had taught. From then on I figured he'd make it. But when his wife got there she could see it looked bad, so she called the ambulance. To make a long story short, in a few days he was out of the hospital, back at work every day and at the shop everyday after work helpin me thrash on the bird to get it back on the track. He never talked about it much, but I cand assure you he never forgot what happened that day - nor have I. PTL!