In my childhood, my parents drove us kids around in Lady B. Originally a classic and stately 1935 Buick, she sported running boards, and a spare mounted on the back. The back seat was enormous, with wide forward facing rear doors. But in 1953, old Lady B was a sad relic of her former glory days. I remember the “suicide” doors were always hard to shut, so occasionally my big brother would open the door a little and slam it hard to latch it whilst rolling. One day, I was alone in the backseat on our way to town, I noticed the left door was not shut tight. I knew what to do, but as soon as I twisted the handle, the wind caught the door and whipped me out onto the highway, right into oncoming traffic. Mom stopped in terror, ran back and scooped me up, and then drove me straight to the nearest hospital for X-rays. The next thing I remember was the smell of Ether.
