We were talking about steep hills the other day, and I would have to admit that the ones around here are nothing compared to the hills in Hazard, Kentucky, where I grew up.

Poplar Street Hill was just across the street from where we lived then (1940's) and it was so steep a lot of people parked their car at the bottom and walked up. One man had a single axle dump truck with a granny gear and/or a two-speed axle, and he always drove up to his house about half way to the top. I guess Poplar Street was about three or four blocks up to the top.

Anyway, one morning, he and his wife got in the truck and started down the hill. No brakes. He practically flew across Cedar Street at the bottom and zoomed up a driveway on the other side. He could see that he was going to remove a house, or worse push a garage down a 15 foot bank, so he decided to turn out across the yard.

It was too much of a turn and the truck went over on it's side, and that stopped it. It was a good thing, too, because his next decision was either run over me or go through our house.

I was standing out in the front yard watching all of this unfold, and it was so interesting, I never thought I might be in any danger.

They climbed out with only bruises and all the kids in the neighborhood gathered to watch a wrecker pull the dump truck back up on its wheels. I got to tell everybody what happened.

Anyway, the truck had very little damage, so they fixed the brakes and it was hauling coal again in just a few days.

That was more than 60 years ago. Sometimes I am really impressed by my own memory. Other times, I can't find my glasses or remember if I took my pills.
Howard