28 “I Was a Patsy” & “The Village Harmonica Rescue Squad” Song: “Angie”

While I was a student at Kent State, I got off working my usual night shifts at the Brown Derby, and began walking through the snow back to where I was living in my first dorm, during my freshmen winter semester, but when I reached my dormitory, I was shocked to discover that all of the doors were chained shut! I had gotten so used to staying out of the loop, but still doing the best that I could with my long history of confusion, not to mention head injuries… I had completely forgotten exactly when the two week winter semester break would begin, and only discovered it, when the dorms were locked, everyone was gone, many of the lights were out, the doors were chained shut, and the whole campus was closed, dark, and empty. I was slapped in the face, again, with the reality that I felt was the reality which my father wanted me in, preferred me being in, and had continued placing me in, UNLESS he was totally convinced that I was doing EVERYTHING exactly the way he wanted. I know I can’t blame my father. However, my father had become a total prima donna, and his demands for me included not permitting me at Brandywine, except on the Kent Ski Bus, period. After finding it impossible to get through on any of the Brandywine phones, I knew that I would have to find somewhere warm to sleep. Again, I had no choice but walk through the snow looking for a place, any place, to go. I found myself crying just like I had unintentionally, and secretly witnessed my father crying decades later, and I now realize that we were similar, at least in the way we cry. I innocently witnessed him cry in our Naples home decades later after he had received a phone call from my very angry brother screaming at him. My father cried when my brother hung up on him during that Naples phone call. He accused our father of trying to control even my brother’s children, by giving them presents and money, against my brother’s will. Because of that, my brother screamed that he was stopping all future visitation rights with his two children. And, as far as I knew, they never came to visit Naples, again.

I wandered through the closed Kent State campus with no place to sleep, stay, or go. and with no car. First, my father took away my driving privileges, then stole my motorcycle. Then, when I earned the money to buy my own car, he took away my visitation rights after I had visited Brandywine in my own car, and began skiing with my mother’s permission, but NOT with my father’s permission. Now, all I had was my VW with a bad starter, so if stopped on level ground, I needed help starting the car. I had waited until convincing some guy walking by to push me while I popped the clutch, but he only haphazardly pushed. So, I let HIM get in while I pushed, and when I gave it a good enough push, he popped the clutch, and just kept going stealing my car…

Soon, I felt awfully stupid, again, letting myself be locked out of my dorm, and having to wander aimlessly through freezing nights, just like I had to do when my father first kicked me out in mid-November when I was a 15 year old. Now I was 18, it was winter college break, and I was wearing a blue denim shirt jacket which was what I wore everywhere throughout all of my college years because my first warm winter jackets were stolen from out of my high school from hell’s locker during both my junior, and my senior years in rural Ohio. My father let me replace my first jacket stolen during my JUNIOR year, but he angrily held me responsible by not allowing me to buy a second jacket after it was stolen from my school locker during my SENIOR year in rural Ohio. I remember a sleeveless rabbit fur jacket which a girl who I met in Kent gave to me after I had given her a ride on my Honda custom “chopper” motorcycle I worked all summer to buy. She was a die hard Led Zeppelin fan (wasn’t everyone?) who knew Zed Zeppelin drummer John Bonham. However, I sensibly, only wore that sleeveless fur coat that one time (when she gave it to me, when I gave her the ride on my motorcycle). Did my father find out about me wearing that jacket, AND about me riding one time wearing it on my bike in Kent? Although I can imagine how my father would have felt seeing me wearing that silly looking rabbit jacket on my custom chopper motorcycle, it was easy for me to take this photo of my dad wearing his tiger tooth necklace, because he wore it often when going out to eat dinner, and even dad’s right hand man Wally James had a Harley motorcycle.

I remember how I felt every time I saw Joe Walsh walking around downtown Kent in his thigh high buccaneer boots. I never learned about marketing, but clothes in the 70′ s were certainly unique. I rode my motorcycle for only a very short time after I worked months to purchase it in 1970. Weeks after purchasing it, my father ordered his employees to steal it, and throw it in the same ditch which he had the ski lodge piano thrown in. I know, now, which employee got it, but to this day, he still won’t admit that he was the one. I learned he was the one who got it, on my own, because I remember seeing it parked right outside of the Dojo in Cleveland which he frequented, when I had stopped in. My ski instructor friend arrived at the same time that I happened to see my bike parked outside through the dojo windows. Unfortunately, my ski instructor friend from Brandywine had obviously seen that I had seen him arrive during the same time that I had seen that MY bike was parked out there. He quickly arraigned a spar between me, and a highly advanced tae kwon do expert who immediately gutted me in the stomach so severely injuring me that I had to be be taken immediately to the hospital. My ski instructor friend obviously feared that I had seen my bike parked outside, thus figured that I would know that my bike was still around. (The story I had heard was that fellow employees had dumped it in the Brandywine ditch long ago). Combined with remembering me seeing my motorcycle parked there with my own eyes through the window at that Cleveland Dojo, and remembering how my friend(?) convinced me to spar with his tae kwon do expert friend, which resulted in me having me be taken immediately to the hospital (thus taking any/all attention away from the fact that I had seen my stolen motorcycle parked outside at the gym) all reminds me of the following… THAT was a perfect example of how even my best friends took advantage of me because of my head injuries, and went as far as to even cause serious injury (like the head injuries which both my two year older brother, and ten year younger sister caused). It wasn’t until decades later that I remembered it being parked right outside the windows of that dojo. Did my ski instructor friend think that I would never forgive him for my injury? Did he think that after decades, and me moving all over the country, years after him taking over ownership of my motorcycle that I’d still want it back? Will my life long best friend EVER admit to it even now in our SEVENTIES after I sold my current Harley years ago because I’m too OLD to ride? Now, I simply think of him being the one who SAVED IT from being thrown into the same ditch at Brandywine where my father angrily ordered the lodge piano to be dumped. I think that my bike was actually in his house when I visited him one winter, and parked with my wife in our RV outside his house in Cleveland. He could have easily shown it off at that time (which was already several decades later). Both he, my brother, and even my sister should all know that I am still the same forgiving guy that I always have been… because that’s who I am,

I ended my first college semester stuck outside my own campus dormitory in the dead of winter, and late at night. All I could do was walk aimlessly trying to find a phone to talk to my own parents, but couldn’t get through, or even find somewhere still open to get warm. All the phone lines were just recordings with snow conditions, etc. So, after crying out loud, I walked through the frozen campus, and empty streets of town, then walked toward Ravenna wondering if, or where, I would ever find a place to sleep. I remembered a girl who I had met, and I was very lucky to find her home, but I didn’t want to impose on her. The next day, I walked back to my dorm, and luckily got in through the kitchen entrance only to retrieve a handful of clothes, and my guitar, and I took them to work where I could also get a meal, but I still couldn’t talk to either parent, or get though to anybody on any of the ski area phone lines.

After walking with my guitar to work at the Brown Derby, out of the blue, this Kent State student who I only knew his first name came in to eat right before closing time. It would much later become obvious to me that my father had to have been behind why this guy suddenly appeared at the diner where I was stranded with my guitar. He finished his meal as I ended my shift, and he gave me a ride to where he suddenly said that he would show me where I could stay! It was the first trailer right off of the main road where Kent turns into Ravenna, and he showed me this key, and points to the trailer, opened it, and we went inside. He said that he would help me figure out where to turn on the heat, then wouldn’t let me know what the circumstances were behind how he got the key to that trailer.

When I wasn’t able to get through on the Brandywine phone lines to inform either parent that the college dorms were closed for my winter break, I had to realize that my father had already made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t allowed to be at Brandywine, except on Friday nights arriving, and leaving, on the Kent State Ski Bus. I remember not being able to find where the ski bus left from until the whole winter was almost over, and when I did, there wasn’t enough room on the bus, plus I was told that I needed to be signed up for it, I especially missed not being able to ski at Brandywine, but I also knew that I only had myself to blame for that, too. Plus, I only have myself to blame for being locked out of my dorm, and for not having known, beforehand, that the dorms would be closed when the campus was closed for semester break. What I DIDN’T realize until after my father died, was that my FATHER was gay. Why didn’t he just TELL ME like I got this fellow student who gave me that trailer key told me. One more time, he came back to the trailer, supposedly to just stop in and say hi, and when he left, I still remained confused about exactly how he went about knowing about the trailer key, but it was obvious that my father was the one behind the whole thing. Neither that guy named John, nor my father would discuss how I got that trailer key, and I only figured out decades later through osmosis that I was paying the rent for that trailer with my OWN interest money accruing from what I had earned working for my father since age 13. And, it became more obvious to me, despite my life long naivety, and confusion as a result of head injuries, that my friend was really just another one of my father’s puppets.

I felt that I was a screwed up teenager in a screwed up world, and in a screwed up situation, while trying to live my screwed up life, with my screwed up father trying to control everyone, and everything, including anyone I knew. However, NOW, I also realize that my father did a lot of what he did because he loved me, and that I, (and most likely, both of my siblings), never took into consideration, then, that our father was likely even more screwed up than his own children! In any case, that new gay friend of mine showed up at the trailer again, and he was acting as if he was even more confused than me, which only made me realize how screwed up I could feel, too. He said he still wanted to be my friend, but I barely even knew him, and again, when I asked him as politely as possible about how he got the key, and got no answer, I added, “How can you expect us to become friends when you can’t tell me how you got the trailer key?” He simply wasn’t being honest with me. I also told him that I was brought up to believe that honesty was/is above everything else in terms of importance in this world. I was very lucky to suddenly have my own trailer key while my dormitory doors remained chained shut for two more weeks. After I transferred myself to Tri-Towers dorm, the Kent State shooting’s tragedy happened, during which time I happened to get hit in the face by one of the guys who assaulted me who happened to be in the right side of the photo below which I happened to take at Brandywine while at the Kitzbuhel bar!

When I finally got through on the Brandywine phones, I was only allowed to talk with my father, and he reminded me, again, that as long as I was working a full 40 hour work week at any job which he approved of, he would still consider helping me out financially with first week, weeks’, or months’ rent. But, even my own father wouldn’t discuss anything about that trailer, or the key, or that guy named John, except to repeat the same following words he had often spoken. It was as if he was proving how much smarter he was than me, and everyone. One of my father’s often repeated sententious, and pompous remarks was, “Do what I say, don’t ask questions, and admit that I’m always right.”

The next few snowy winter days and nights dragged on through Kent’s winter semester break with me terribly missing skiing, but being very thankful for having a warm trailer to go to after work to sleep in. It got very slow at work while no students remained over the winter semester break, and students were allowed to remain staying in their dorms over the following summer (prior to the May 4th 1970 Kent tragedy). One of those nights after work washing dishes, as I walked out, a couple who had just finished paying for their meal walked out at the same time that I did. I asked if they were headed in my same direction, and if I could get a ride to that trailer. The driver said yes, and on the way, he explained that they were heading to New York City, and told me that if I wanted to go with them to NYC, that he could use some help with the driving! He explained that the girl with him didn’t drive. My dad had the same exact car when we lived in Grosse Pointe, MI. So, because I loved to drive, and I loved their(?) car, a Chrysler New Yorker, I said, “Sure! I’ll go with you to New York… in your New Yorker!”

I grabbed my 12 string from out of my(?) empty trailer, and off we went! They explained that they would be stopping to pick up a friend, and then they would be going straight into the city. About six hours later we arrived at their friend’s house right off the highway with a big barn. It was in the outskirts of somewhere. A guy walked out immediately to greet us, but when we all got out of the car, he jumped in the car and drove it up the snowy driveway to a big barn where he quickly stopped, jumped out, opened the large sliding barn door, jumped back in the car, drove it inside, and shut the sliding door behind him. The girl and I sat inside the house in front of a large glass picture window in the kitchen, as the guy she was with went straight back outside. The big sliding barn door opened again, and the car backed down to where it was when we had first arrived. Then, the two guys stood outside the car talking. It looked like they began to argue, and it seemed odd to me that his friend looked as if he had become very angry. As we watched through the kitchen window, the girl told me it was because they brought me with them, and I could see that she looked seriously concerned about what was happening out there. This was when I, too, started thinking more seriously about everything that was happening. Before the girl and I left the house, the two guys were still, obviously, arguing outside, and that was when she very emphatically warned me saying, “It could get dangerous”. I thought to myself, “Oh great, that was NOT something I wanted to hear”.

When she was telling me that it could get dangerous, I saw the two outside taking my 12 string guitar from out of the back seat, and putting it into the trunk of their(?) car, and immediately, they both stood behind their(?) New Yorker, and stared at me standing inside looking through the kitchen window looking at them staring back at me. That was when I started figuring out that this was very possibly a stolen car, which suddenly made me also realize why this girl said that she didn’t drive, and would have been why he let ME drive for much of the way. And, I didn’t even have more than seconds to think about why they pulled that car into that barn, or what they had taken out of it. Drugs? A dead body? But, based on this girls comment, I suddenly feared that their next move might be killing me, and putting me in the trunk along with my guitar. I actually sensed that anything might happen now in the middle of nowhere and, while I really had no proof that it was a stolen car, I didn’t have much of a choice, then, but to cautiously ride on into the city with the three of them, while my Martin 12 String guitar remained in the trunk.

While the girl and I walked out and got into the car, she explained that I couldn’t stay with them in Greenwich Village because there wasn’t enough room for me to even physically fit to sleep on the floor in their tiny apartment. She also mentioned that I shouldn’t even be walking around where they were going, after dark, but that part went right over my head, because I was way more excited about being in NY, than about staying in Kent and washing dishes. I remember telling this girl, “I grew up in NY”, and remember answering her comment by saying, “Don’t worry, danger is my middle name”.

The trip to NY in their New Yorker was actually enjoyable. We sang, I got to drive, and I played my guitar. And, we played some typical car-games to pass the time. We even enjoyed noting the changing license plates from state to state, except now, this additional guy was driving us on our way into the city, and no one was saying a word. The day went from sunny and clear, to grey and pale with thick flaked snow which made it became dark well before it even began approaching dusk. The silence in the car became deafening, and I started having the annoying thought that I might never even make it to the city alive. I broke the silence leaning toward the two guys in the front, and said with a forced smile, “Seriously guys, you can drop me off right here in the snowstorm if you want, or wherever, or I’ll just go all the way to wherever you’re going in the city, and then I’ll go my own way from there,”. To my dismay, the scary looking guy driving, quickly slowed down from going fast on the two lane highway, to nearly skidding out of control to a stop just off the side of the road. It was quite obviously in order to let me out one way or another in the middle of nowhere. It was 5 degrees, snowing very hard, and I thought that would be where I would part with my Martin 12 string, because it was in the trunk. I quickly added, “OR, I’ll just ride with you into the city like we talked about, right?” Luckily, he jerked the car back onto the highway, sped up again, and headed toward the city. I still had no idea whatsoever where we were going (I just hoped that he wasn’t going to drop me out there, or kill me). I had no idea what would happen next…

We arrived in the city, and as I saw that their tiny apartment was on the third floor, and it didn’t have enough room for anyone to even sleep on the floor. Their friend disappeared, and the guy and girl I rode with to NY stepped inside their tiny Greenwich Village apartment. Then, suddenly her roommate, too, bolted, possibly to catch up with that other guy who was more of a dangerous character. The girl immediately suggested that I should take my guitar, and go. But, I was still trying to figure out where I actually was, before I could possibly figure out where I was possibly going. So, I asked her to please watch my guitar for just a few minutes, and I bolted, too! I went running down their three flights of stairs lightning fast to do the following… (Since I had no idea what I was planning on doing once I had actually arrived in NYC), I suddenly realized in that moment that I would definitely have to immediately 1. find something really nice to eat for all of them… 2. find a place to sleep before it got dark (which it was already doing), and 3. quickly land a job somewhere for a source of food and money just like I had successfully accomplished at least three times, and learned was what my father had always drilled into me that I could do anywhere. I walked right next door into a narrow little deli where I bought two huge NY “Rye bread Reuben sandwiches”, (the famous ones). I raced back upstairs with all of the food and drinks that I could carry, and offered them that food in order to say thanks, with the intention of leaving with my guitar. But, both guys were still gone, and the girl was still there with my guitar. I gave her the food and drinks, and said how excited I was about being there. She repeated more emphatically this time that I couldn’t stay there. I said that I totally understood, and like an idiot with the sense of a duck, left my guitar there bolting one last time while saying that I’d be right back to get my guitar, and then leave. I bolted back downstairs again to figure out where to extremely quickly get a job, a gig, or trade my musical services for a place to stay. Or, I had to figure out how to get back to Ohio after dark with my Martin 12 String guitar, alive. Since my dad had completely drilled it into me that I should be able to easily get a minimum waged job anywhere I go, and survive JUST LIKE HE SAID HE HAD TO DO, and I entirely believed him. In fact, I had already discovered how I had to do so in order to feed myself again, again, and again. I was a normal teenager who just happened to have head injuries, a severe case of ADDHD, deja-vu, and amnesia all at the same time, or intermittently, while hurriedly walking around somewhere in Greenwich Village, NYC after dark looking for a job (preferably one that came with a place to stay), and/or a place to sleep.

I took the chance of leaving my 12 string Martin guitar one last time in their third floor apt/room, and starting walking nervously down the street in the other direction of the deli, and around the corner, but I had absolutely no idea of where I was walking to (other than it was on the street below where their apartment was). Before I had gotten past the length of their long apt. complex, someone actually dropped a steel-spring bed frame which crashed into the concrete sidewalk nearly crushing my skull, and only barely missing my toes. It was actually a miricle that at the precise instant, I happened to decide to pivot, and cross over to the other side of the street! Soon, there was no light whatsoever, and I was walking in near pitch blackness.

I now understood how serious that girl was when she told me that it would be dangerous. I walked even faster for a couple of more blocks at full-speed on the other side of the street, and made a couple of turns in the darkness, then stopped to gather my thoughts. I firmly decided that I‘d go right back to their apartment as quickly as possible, grab my guitar, and leave just as quickly, with no plans to EVER return to that area (wherever that area was). I started walking back just as fast, and even more determined, almost angry, feeling that the timing would be crucial if I expected to still be able to get back without another bed frame dropping on my head, to still be able to get my guitar, and leave alive. I was recalculating my route in reverse, but in the near pitch blackness, I only realized that I was definitely LOST! Then I had the very very annoying thought, “How could I find my way back to where I just was, if had no clue where I was now?” I stopped in the blackness, and felt that I had made a huge mistake coming to NYC at all.

So there I was, lost in the dark, and there were no street lights where I headed walking in Greenwich Village NYC. I finally saw someone, and impulsively started asking him for some directions because I really was lost. Then I realized, AFTER opening my mouth to ask this stranger for directions, that I didn’t even know where it was that I needed to ask directions for! I should have known not to accept a free ride from strangers to anywhere, and I shouldn’t have walked in a “drop zone” without at least a hard hat for protection. Now, I was about to learn even more…

I tried to describe the deli that I had been to, and he said, “Oh, yeah, sure, I know exactly where ya needs ta go, I even got a map I’ll give ya, no prob’, right around here, c’mon we’ll take good care of you. I will give you MY map. C’mon, I’ll get it for ya.” Like the trusting and gullible person I’ve always been (and still remain, in theory), I followed him up a set of concrete stairs just like the apartments I had just come from blocks away. When we reached the first level of a walled staircase, he turned back around, pulled out a knife, and told me to give him all of my money, rings, and anything of value, including my socks and shoes! I remembered that I had taken my cash out of my shoe to pay for all the food at the deli, and had put it back securely. Now, I was thinking like a detective INSTEAD of fearing for my life, and/or dying from multiple stab wounds. I thought, “Was there someone in that deli who saw me paying for the food and drinks, who ratted me out to him about my hiding place where I stashed my cash?” I told him that I had no cash, (and knew that I had no brains being there in the first place). But, I was sharp enough (or stupid enough) to start negotiating with this guy. After handing him my first ring (my gold Grosse Pointe high school ring), I explained that it was really hard for me to get my other ring off, and as I kept explaining, I pulled my harmonica out of my pocket. This actually startled him when he saw it, and he asked “What the (blank) is that?” His reaction convinced me that he actually didn’t really know what it was, and I sensed that I was the one who sort of had a possible slight advantage to somehow use the distraction in order to negotiate with him possibly a little more. He only had a pocket knife, not a huge Bowie knife like the one which my neighbor used on me in my childhood NY neighborhood. And, he wasn’t nearly as big, or intimidating. So, I started playing on that harmonica, and the first song that came into my head was “Shortnin’ Bread”. He actually was relieved to know that it wasn’t my own weapon, although it really was. And, he appeared to like it enough that he actually start tapping, and even clapping along. We were there making music! In fact, we made a fairly good improvised creation by combining the rhythmic high registered squealing pitches of the harmonica with the audible beats he made with his hand-claps, and/or our feet stomps.

He even started singing perfect harmony when I went straight into “Down On The Corner” (which was one of many other songs I sang every weekend at a bar named JB’s off of Water Street in Kent, Ohio, (along with a black friend named Paul who always wore dark sunglasses, even at night, who sang with with Joe Walsh).

Anyway, I think that the reason that the guy who started to rob me at knifepoint in that afro-mentioned stairwell, made the decision to give up continuing his armed robbery, initially, because he suddenly got paranoid when he saw my harmonica. Then, I think that he got even more paranoid when I turned, and blew on my harmonica very loudly. He may have been thinking that I was alerting someone nearby, and because it was REALLY loud coming from out of that stairwell, it could have easily been heard from the streets even blocks away. In any case, HE suddenly started negotiating with ME. Maybe he was thinking that I was an undercover cop working the neighborhood?

He actually started pleading with me saying, “Please, please, don’t turn me in”. I’m guessing he was thinking that I was an undercover cop in plain clothing policing the neighborhood. Why else would HE be suddenly negotiating with ME? He either believed that the cops would be arriving pronto, and that he’d be going (again?) to jail or something, or that someone, or some people I knew, would quickly be running to my aid. Did he think that it would be the “Harmonica-Rescue-Squad”? Or, perhaps “The Harmonica-Hero-Brigade” better known as the “H.H.B”? I really think that he simply had a change of heart because he liked the cool beat music I was playing on the harp, and perhaps because he realized that I had just as much soul as he had. Whatever he was thinking, he never made me show my socks, or remove my shoes, and we sort of had a truce. I even negotiated my ring back, and we made friendly conversation as we walked down the stairs, then sang even more harmonies together, as they echoed harmoniously together as we walked down the street in the dark. When we reached the main street, he pointed me in the right direction to get to where I could catch a bus to the main bus terminal, and from there take a bus back to Ohio. So, it turned out that the one who pulled out a knife to rob me was actually the one who showed me where I could get on a bus to get back to Ohio.

I raced back to that third floor apt., picked up my guitar from the girl who warned me that it could be dangerous, and found the bus stop only because the guy who robbed me at knifepoint told me where the bus stop was. I caught the first bus to the main bus terminal, forgot about trying for a gig, or job, or even trying to get to see Broadway. When I arrived back to Ohio all in one piece, and alive with my guitar, I was glad to be back happily washing dishes at my full time job in Kent. I REMEMBER ASKING A FRIEND WHEN I GOT BACK TO KENT…. “WHAT DID YOU DO DURING THE SEMESTER BREAK?

I never had any doubt about my belief in God, and believe in miracles (ever since I was four years old bleeding out while stuck in the stomach on a telephone pole spike, and was not able to touch the ground, or get off). My big brother had put me on his high bike seat, and pushed me down so I sailed all of the way to the bottom of the hill, on my very first time on a bike, and when I landed on a telephone spike, while I hung there, I had a vivid vision of a nun praying. I think what I saw was a miracle, and even decades later, I believe that I experienced the Holy Spirit for brief seconds during one of my many years of choir practices, during a practice in a church sanctuary. I haven’t even tried to document all of the miricles I believe I have witnessed, because I don’t need to do so in order to believe them, myself. Besides, they’ve been so numerous, I can’t even remember them all.

I remember that I prayed a lot while staying in that trailer in Kent, and after college started again, I had gotten rides going to several praise Jesus meeting which met weekly in different rural Ohio barns. After one of those meeting (and after I had visited my new girlfriend who I had met at one of those meetings), I was hitchhiking back from her parents’ home in Newton Falls. There had just been another heavy snowstorm-blizzard, it was well below zero, and everyone, everywhere around, was staying inside their homes because of how cold it was. I had walked for hours throughout what was left of the day on a road that looked like it had always been covered with hard packed snow, and there were close to zero cars for hours. I knew it would soon be getting dark, and more desperately cold, when finally, I heard what I thought was a vehicle approaching. But, of all things, it was an Amish horse drawn carriage, and it was barely big enough for the Amish couple to sit in that small black varnished box on wheels. I remember thinking that the only way for me to get a ride would be to jump up, sit on their horse, and ride it bareback. The horse must have been reading my mind as he trotted by, because his ears poked back threateningly, and he noticeably sped up even turning sideways away from me a bit. The horse looked as frozen as me, and the Amish couple looked frozen, too. I walked all of the way to Route 631, and amazingly, got picked up right away hitchhiking, and dropped off right in front of my(?) warm trailer.