Thanks, Larry |

Thanks, Larry

Sunday morning on Highway 20, my clutch failed. I was six hours from home with nothing but a toothbrush to employ as a tool. I heard an approaching car! I hoped my sign language of “need phone” computed. (Being blonde might help.) His name was Larry. He smiled, we chatted; I dialed, he pushed. Suddenly I felt like Oz being lifted away – I couldn’t return, I couldn’t offer payment for the call, I couldn’t say thank you enough. Dear editor, please tell Larry thank you.

Claudette Fansler

Ft. Jones

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