Many, many years ago my late husband and I had to make weekly 150- mile trips to his parents' home. The trip became routine, tiresome, boring, and LONG. To relieve the boredom, we would listen to the local stations along the way. Occasionally, we would pick up a hitch hiker. An extra passenger would break the monotony.

         We remembered with affection "Eddie." Eddie had his named emblazoned on his metal roller skate case which doubled as a suitcase when he visited his girl friend down the road. He was a happy-go-lucky kid with 15 cents in his pocket!

         We never learned the name of a one-time fellow traveler. He was simply a man in white clothes standing by the roadside in the middle the night. He trotted up to the car and climbed into the back seat without a word.

         When the invited guest entered the car, we were just miles away from a large state mental hospital. There may have been the criminally insane incarcerated there along with those poor souls that could not manage a life outside a locked-up institution.

         The car radio adruptly switched from music to a 'breaking news' announcement. An inmate from the mental hospital had escaped and listeners were advised to lock their doors and use caution . The escapee was a dangerous man.

          When the announcement was over and the music returned, all of us in the car rode in stoney silence. The driver was sure he was in danger of unwittingly driving a 'get-away' car. I was too frightened to turn around. I did not want to see death riding in the back seat.

          About 5 minutes down the road, the hitch hiker said, "Stop at the next house. Thanks for the ride. I work the 3-11 shift in the hospital bakery and my battery was dead."

         With that, he got out of the car and waved good-bye.