Chance Collinsworth stayed in the Pacific Northwest for a while. He went into a partnership with someone he met at a car show and became an organic farmer in Oregon for a while, but never really embraced the business and sold out to his partner sometime in 1978 or ’79. Word filtered back to Fort Stockton that the partner made quite a go of it, retiring only recently as a wealthy man.
Chance, in no rush to get home and with pockets full of organic farming cash, took the opportunity to see the rest of the area before returning home. He considered settling down in Washington, despite the cold winters, gloomy skies, and women who refused to wear makeup. He was even scouting a place near the mountains that was as picturesque as any scenery he could ever hope to find around Fort Stockton. Then, on May 18th, 1980 the whole top of the mountain where he’d picked out a plot of land to build, blew off in one of the greatest natural disasters in American history.
The Thunderbird was covered in ash, and no longer operable. Making his way through the forest, he was able to find someone still alive, who also had the means of trying to outrun the mountain of volcanic ash headed their way. A tourist from Nebraska driving a Pinto and pulling a motorcycle seemed to be in shock when Chance found him in the middle of the road.
“We gotta get out of here FAST!” Chance told him. “It’s coming our way!”
The tourist seemed to snap out of it and started heading towards the Pinto.
“Not the car!” Chance yelled. “Can’t risk it! What if someone runs into the back of us trying to outrun the ash? If he hits the back of your Pinto, the explosion could be bigger than the one up there on Mount St. Helens. Get on the bike.” Chance drove the motorcycle like a bat out of hell all the way to Cougar, the closest town, with the owner hanging on for dear life on the seat behind him. Over the next few days he learned that 200 homes had been demolished, 47 bridges lost, 15 miles of railways made unusable, and 185 miles of highway destroyed. Just getting out of the area proved to be a nearly insurmountable task.
Hitchhiking to Vancouver, Chance went to the nearest rental car company. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got. I need it for as long as it’ll take to get me to Fort Stockton, Texas. I don’t care what it costs.”
The girl behind the counter wrote him up a new 1980 Buick Regal. It was no Thunderbird, but Chance hardly cared. Vowing to stay as far away as possible from airports, mountains, strangers, and the west coast, Chance pointed the Buick Regal towards the midwest and home. He traveled roads with the least amount of traffic through the middle of the heartland. He swore if he ever got back to Fort Stockton he wouldn’t leave.
It was mid July when he pulled into the parking lot of the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown Kansas City. It was late. He’d been driving for days, never over the speed limit. He’d used his blinker every time he turned and checked the air pressure on the tires every time he filled up with gas. He was employing every precaution he could, praying to get back to Texas. He vowed to check in, order room service, grab a quick shower and not even leave the hotel. He’d leave early in the morning and be back to Fort Stockton in two days. He was nearly home free.
Standing at the registration desk, Chance heard noises he couldn’t identify. Creaks. Groans. Structural noises. Then screams.
The Hyatt had only been built two years earlier. The roof of the hotel had collapsed during construction. Two Skywalks, one on the second floor and one of the fourth floor, proved to be a bad design that progressively got worse over time until both collapsed as Chance Collinsworth was providing his credit card to the young man behind the desk. Vaulting over the desk and seeking shelter from the falling debris under the granite counter is the only thing that saved him from joining the 114 people who died in the walkway collapse.
Refusing medical attention, Chance ran to the rented Regal and drove straight through to Fort Stockton on nothing but adrenaline, No-Doze, and hot black Folgers. Fort Stockton looked to Chance what American soil must have looked like to a prisoner-of-war after years behind bars. He returned the Regal to the rental company and vowed to never leave town again.
After that he tried to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. Most people focus on making a living, getting married, and having kids. The money he’d received from Eastern Airlines, PEOPLE magazine, and selling his interest in organic farming allowed him to forgo the worry of making a living. The trauma of losing Connie ate at Chance and kept him from wanting to ever marry. That negated the ‘having children’ part of the equation. He’d dated, even had some long term relationships. But the connection was never there like it had been with Connie. It seemed like most of the women who came his way were more focused on his assets rather than himself. He resigned himself to being a bachelor and grew accustomed to not having to worry about anyone or anything other than himself.
With the number of brushes Chance had with fate, he eventually found himself a public speaker in demand. He gave talks at the Optimistic Rotarian Lions Club of Fort Stockton. Sister Thelma convinced him to be the featured speaker at several Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern graduations. Brother Bob asked him to come speak during Tithing Week at Second Baptist of Fort Stockton. “Nothing opens up wallets like the fear of death,” Brother Bob told him. “And nothing stokes that fear like seeing the Grim Reaper face to face a few times.” Brother Bob offered him a cut of the collection plate on the Sundays Chance spoke to the congregation every year, but he politely declined.
Chance remained a loyal customer of Frontier Ford-Lincoln-Mercury, “Home of the Straight Shootin’ Deal”. From the Torino to the Thunderbird, to all the others that followed, Chance was solid Blue Oval through and through. And he tended to stick with models that had plenty of good old American steel wrapped around him when he drove. “Nothing is going to survive a collapsing building or an exploding volcano,” he told Roger, his salesman. “But I like my odds better in something big.”
“This is the one for you then, take it from me.” Roger pointed Chance in the direction of a 2019 Lincoln Navigator L Reserve 4×4 over in the corner of the showroom next to the Men’s Room and Parts Department.
“This 2019 Lincoln Navigator L Reserve sends power to all four wheels via a twin-turbocharged 3.5-liter EcoBoost V6 paired with a 10-speed automatic transmission. It’s finished in Diamond Blue Metallic over Dark Slate leather and was specified with the Technology package in addition to a Panoramic Vista Roof, a 360-degree camera, adaptive suspension, and machined 22″ 16-spoke wheels. On the inside, heated and ventilated front seats and heated second-row captain’s chairs are accompanied by a head-up display, tri-zone automatic climate control, and a SYNC3 infotainment system.” Roger was pretty proud of the Lincoln. He didn’t get the chance to sell many of the high end models.
Of course, it was an easy sale to make. There was little to no haggling on the price. Chance had the means to afford the best. Roger appreciated his loyalty and gave him the best price he could right off the bat, knowing he’d make it up on the back end in the service department every time the Navigator came in.
Pastor Peterson firmly believed the verse in the New Testament where Jesus explains that it is easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter heaven. But even he was a little envious of the Navigator L Reserve 4X4 every time he rode in it. The Lincoln was larger than a dromedary and had almost no chance of ever fitting through the eye of anything other than two car garage, much less a needle. But after the first time he rode in it he told Mrs. Peterson, “I’d be tempted to valet park the thing over at the K-Bobs if I could ever afford one. The Diamond Blue Metallic paint reminds me of your eyes.”
Not one to ever be seduced by the trappings of wealth, Mrs. Peterson was nonetheless appreciative of the compliment.
Of course, a Lincoln Navigator L Reserve 4×4 is not just an automobile any more than the New Testament is just another book, or the Salad Wagon over at K-Bobs is just another salad bar. A Lincoln Navigator L Reserve 4×4 is designed to carry heavy loads luxuriously.
And there is no heavier load than fate.
3 responses to “ONLY BY CHANCE, Part II”
Still bleary-eyed early this morning, before My Folgers was brewed, the profile pic of Lee Ann Womack looked too much like a scary Georgia member of congress MTG, nearly causing a bowel-emptying reaction, along with a pacemaker spike. A strong cuppa’ rectified the situation, but it took the better part of the day to get over the initial shock. Hopefully, there are better pics of Lee Ann. If Chance’s 2019 Lincoln Navigator L Reserve is anything like the Ford Expedition my daughter sold cheap, or the Eddie Bauer Explorer (Exploder?) our grandson dealt with, there’s a better than even chance that Chance will become a “Regular” at Frontier Ford’s Service Department. My daughter and grandson each now drive a Tahoe, each showing better than 200,xxx trouble-free miles. I have had the anticipated repair/replace items on my 2000 4-WD 7.3L Excursion, but with more than 410,xxx miles, and probably half of it towing my car haulers, I’m not bitchin’.
The story of Dick Lasher pulling the Yamaha IT Enduro behind the Pinto is a fascinating and exciting read. You’re moved to the edge of your seat, just like when you’re reading about Chance
I am not a country music fan overall, but I ABSOLUTELY LOVE Lee Ann. I have a bunch of her stuff. ’nuff said.