Month: August 2026

Sometimes we don’t realize when we are in danger and when unseen angels protect us without us even knowing it. The following is a story that happened to me back in February of 1968 when I was a rookie deputy sheriff beginning my career in a patrol car:

I had joined the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department in April of 1967. I finished the grueling Academy in August and was assigned to the old Hall of Justice Jail. The jail was built in 1929 and occupied the top five floors of a fourteen story building. Here’s an interesting tidbit: The top five floors were jails and the bottom 9 floors were courtrooms and criminal justice offices.

The building sat on two separate foundations. The bottom nine floors sat on a foundation typically designed to hold up a building of nine stories. The top five floors sat on a foundation that included several large balls. Each was 24 feet in diameter and constructed of concrete. The theory was this: Since Los Angeles was plagued with earthquakes, the idea was that if the bottom nine floors were to fall away, the top five floors would allow the prisoners to survive by holding top of the building in place and allowing it to move on the foundational balls that supported it. To this day there have been many earthquakes but the theory has never been put to the test.

Back to my story: Following graduation from the Sheriff’s Academy deputies are assigned to the jails before being allowed into patrol. I was 21-years-old when I joined the department and spent 16 months working the jails before being transferred to Temple Station in Temple City, California, located in the beautiful San Gabriel Valley.

I arrived at the Sheriff’s Station in December of 1968 and was assigned to Gene, my training officer. I was spit and polish, had all new equipment and was ready to make my mark on the world.

That February of 1968 it rained almost every day. Everything and everyone was inundated with these heavy rains that had brought mudslides and flooding.

Gene and I were working the graveyard shift in the city of Duarte. This is a foothill community located at the base of the San Gabriel mountains. Around two o’clock in the morning, Gene and I were dispatched to the San Gabriel Gun Club to rescue the caretaker who had called the station asking to be evacuated due to flooding.

The gun club is located in Fish Canyon about 3 miles north of the city of Duarte. Gene drove our patrol car up the paved road as far as we could before reaching the unpaved section that was impassable due to mud. We got out of our patrol car and began the trek on foot to the gun club located about a quarter of a mile away. The going wasn’t too bad. We were protected by our police issued yellow slickers and our boots. It was muddy but not too difficult to navigate.

We were thankful when we reached the cement driveway leading up to the gun club. We approached the living quarters of the maintenance man who kept an eye on things and knocked on the door. The door was opened by a middle aged man who was obviously intoxicated. He looked at us with bleary eyes while being unsteady on his feet. Gene asked him if he was ready to go. He was belligerent and demanded to know where the whiskey was he had ordered. We had no desire to deal with this individual, determined he was in no immediate danger as there was no evidence of flooding in his area. We left him in his intoxicated state and began the trek back to our patrol car.

As we began our trek back to our car, we were unable to find the road again. It was entirely gone. Off in the distance, we could see two patrol cars with their red lights and spotlights on. They were using their speakers to tell us to stay where we were that rescuers were on the way. What? We didn’t need rescuing, we were fine…we thought.

Eventually the fire department arrived and we were led out of the area on a life line through swirling muddy water that was up to our chests. Our patrol car was nowhere to be seen and Gene and I were still a bit disoriented as to what was going on. Once we reached safety, the deputies who had arrived to check on us told the story.

When they arrived they could not reach our patrol car as there was a torrent of water keeping them from moving up the road. They couldn’t see our patrol car, as a flash flood had come through taking everything in its path. The mud was up to the top of the telephone poles, the road impassable and they were believing the worst, that we had been swept away in the flood. It was only when they saw the light from our flashlights that they realized we were okay and began rescue efforts.

Gene and I were soaked, our uniforms and equipment ruined. We were covered in mud from head to toe. The next morning our patrol car was found nearly a quarter of a mile downstream where the flash flood had taken it. It was completely filled with mud inside and only the emergency lights were seen above the mud.

Now, you might be asking yourself, “How did we get back to safety and whatever happened to the guy who caused all of this in the first place.

We were separated from safety by a raging river of water a few hundred yards wide. Thanks to the Fire Department we were guided to safety. These brave men were able to somehow get a rope tethered to each side of this raging river. To this day, I have no idea how they accomplished this feat, but they did. We entered the water and held on to the rope. Every few yards was a fire fighter who made sure we did not let go of the rope and we eventually reached the safety of the other side. To add just a wee bit of additional drama to this rescue, as we were being guided through this river, one of the fire fighters told us to be cautious of rattlesnakes in the water. Like we needed one thing more on our minds.

That same afternoon, the rain stopped and the maintenance man called again asking to be rescued. This time a helicopter was dispatched, the man was rescued and arrested and booked for reporting a false emergency.

It wasn’t until much later that the severity of the situation really sank in. This time my life flashed before my eyes following the event. I thought of the effect of leaving my wife and daughter, parents and friends. A matter of a few minutes or a few seconds were the difference between life and death. There is no way we could have survived if we had been caught in the flood. It seemed surreal as I reflected on the life-threatening experience I had survived.

I’ve always been close to my Grandma Haag. She passed away when I was fifteen but I have always felt her presence close to me. I’d like to believe she had something to do with saving me that night. I’ve always felt she is my guardian angel as I have survived several near death experiences throughout my lifetime and I have attributed them to God’s grace as he provided His angels to look over me. I think my Grandma Haag is my guardian angel.

One thing I know for sure. There are guardian angels. I am living proof of that.

Thank you God for your protection!!!

Like most boys at 15 I was enthralled by cars. I would spend time at the local hobby shop looking at and purchasing plastic models of a variety of model cars. Once I got them home I would paint them, usually in candy apple colors, and then customize them. Some would be lowered in the front, some in the back, some had a continental kit added and some were chopped. I just enjoyed my romance with model cars.

My dad had always been a Nash man. My first memory was of his 1946 Nash and then later his 1951 Nash. The 1951 Nash looked like an upside down bathtub, but my dad loved his Nash. My job was to make sure that car was washed every Saturday and that it was polished a few times a year. That job lasted for a very long time since my dad bought the car new and we had it until it was destroyed in 1962. More about that later.

The Nash was in an Airflyte model and when we were kids we’d try and convince my cousin, Gary, that the car could fly. Of course he did not believe it so we showed him where, right on the dashboard in chrome lettering, were printed the word “Airflyte”. My dad and mom perpetuated this myth when I would ask my dad to put out the wings so we could fly. He would come up with the excuse that there were too many cars around and no room to extend them. My cousin who was probably about 8 or 9 was pretty gullible and bought into it hook, line and sinker. It was great fun!

My dad did buy a 1951 Chevy before he bought the Nash. He piled the whole family into the car. He, my mom, my sister and me. He drove us up to Mount Wilson located a few miles north of Pasadena, California and the highest peak overlooking the San Gabriel Valley. When we got home, he took the car back to the dealership and turned it back in. No Chevy for him. He’d stick to the Nash.

In 1962 my dad bought a used 1959 Chevy station wagon, just like the one pictured here. That was our Sunday go to meeting car and our number one car while the Nash was used to get my dad back and forth to work. By now my three brothers had appeared on the scene and thus the need for a station wagon. Not sure who the car belonged to before but it had a really unusual item that had been added on.

Just to the left of the steering column and mounted just below the dashboard was a Kerr fruit jar. Leading from the top of the fruit jar was a tube that extended up and next to the steering column. The tube was attached to a chrome funnel about an inch across and it had a small latch that allowed the funnel to open and close. This was something I have never seen before or since. It was a place to dispose of lighted cigarettes. My dad and I both smoked but the person the car had belonged to was a chain smoker according to the used car salesman who sold us the car. You would finish your cigarette and then place the lighted butt in the funnel, push the latch and a vacuum would suck the butt into the fruit jar where it would extinguish itself.

I was 15 ½ and yearned for my California Learner’s Permit so I could drive with one of my parents in the car. I spoke to my dad about getting my permit but he said I could get it but before I could get my license at 16 I’d have to find a way to pay for my own insurance. I got my permit, took a driver’s training course offered through the high school and enjoyed driving. When I turned 16 I did not have money to pay for insurance so no license. However, my dad had never been one for obeying all the traffic rules, so very often I was allowed to drive the Nash…by myself…no parents or anyone else in the car.

I am reminded of another time my dad scoffed at the rules. My dad, mom, sister and I were at Keeler and Stimmel’s, an appliance store in Temple City, California. Not sure why we were there but my dad did not put any money into the parking meter. I was about 6 years old at the time and as luck would have it an officer appeared and began writing out a parking ticket. My dad flew out the door and told the officer he had just gone in to get change to put in the meter. Well, I knew that was not true and I had been raised (in my short time living on the planet) the importance of telling the truth. I ran out behind him and told my dad he must be mistaken, that we’d been there for a long time. I don’t remember if he got the ticket or not, but if looks could kill I would have been dead a long time ago.

Now, I really wanted to use the Chevy for my dates. It certainly was not a “chick magnet” but it was way better than the Nash, the upside down bathtub. Unfortunately, the Chevy was off limits. I was allowed to use the Nash if I only drove it locally. Out to a local drive-in restaurant, a drive-in theater, or to church and back.

I was embarrassed to invite a date out and show up in the Nash but it was all I had. There was one good side effect of the Nash. The car was a four door and it was advertised that the seats would lay down and make into a bed. As youngsters, my sister and I often slept in the car while my parents attended meetings or visited with friends. I remember one trip we made when we were returning home from a vacation. It was late at night and my dad was tired from driving. This was in the days before freeways and driving took a lot more attention than it does today because of blinding headlights and curvy and narrow highways.

We pulled off to the side of the road in Bakersfield, California. We were still about 4 hours from home so my parents laid the seats down and we all laid down to take a nap. Bakersfield was known as the earthquake capital of the United States back then and I remember that we had just gotten settled when my mom popped up and said, “What if there’s an earthquake?” “What if the earth opens and swallows us up?” Well that did it. Put the seats back up and hit the road. Everyone was too nervous and excited to sleep. As I look back on it, so what if there had been an earthquake. I think my mom watched too many movies.

Back to the story. The front passenger seat was broken and the back would sometimes fall back if somehow it was pulled forward a few inches. Otherwise it would stay in place. In high school, I had a steady girlfriend that lived across the street from the church we both attended. The parking lot on week nights was the perfect place to “park” and “share a little romance.” As we would be “making out” as it was very easy to release the broken seat and allow it to lay flat without missing a beat. Okay, I know what you may be thinking but I was a virgin until I got married a few years later. I only had the thoughts in my imagination, I did not act upon them.

In 1962 I was driving the Nash late one night when I was involved in a head-on collision with a 1959 Cadillac driven by a drunk driver. The driver of the Cadillac nearly died and I had a few stitches and lost a couple of teeth but survived. Unfortunately the Nash did not.

I eventually saved enough money to buy my first new car and pay for the insurance. It was a 1964 Volkswagen. No fold down seats, engine in the rear, trunk and gas tank under the hood. Not a lot of power, but it was mine all mine.