Evening star., 1935-09-15

OeaLnS-neNeT SeIS W llISI
base in Earring the motorist into a
realiza alton of the appalling risks of
motoring. He does not translate dry
statistics into a reality of blood and
agony.
Figures exclude the pain and horror
of savage mutilation-which means
they leave out the point. They need
TO be brought closer home. A passing
look at a bad smash or the news
that a fellow you had lunch with
last week is in a hospital with a
broken back will make any driver
but a born fool slow down at least
Temporarily. But what is needed is
q vivid and sustained realization that
every time you step on the throttle
death gets in beside you, hopefully
waiting for his chance. That single
horrible accident you may have wit
messed is no isolated horror. That
Sort of thing happens every hour of
the day, everywhere in the United
States. If you really felt that, per-
haps the cold lines of type in Mon
days paper recording that total of
% local citizens were killed in week
end crashes would rate something
more than a perfunctory tut-tut as
you turn back to the sports page.
An enterprising judge now and
again sentences reckless drivers to
tour the accident end of city morgue.
But even a mangled body on slab,
waXily portraying the consequences
of bad motoring judgment, isn't a
patch on the scene of the accident
itself. No artist working on a safety
poster would dare depict that in full
detail.
That picture would have to include
motion picture and sound effects.
too-the Topping. pointless efforts OF
the injured to stand up: the queer
grunting noises; the steady. painting
groaning of human being with pain
creeping up on him as the shock
wears off. 1t should portray the slack
expression on the face Of a man,
drugged with shock, staring at the
Z-twist in his broken leg, the insane
crumpled effect of a child's body
after its bones are crushed inward,
a realistic portrait of an hysterical
woman with her screaming mouth
opening a hole in the bloody drip
that fills her eyes and runs off her
chin. Minor details would include
the raw ends of bones protruding
through flesh in compound fractures,
and the dark red, ooZing surfaces
where clothes and skin were fayed
off at once.
Those are all standard. everyday
eequels to the modern passion for
going places in a hurry and taking
a chance or two by the way. If
ghosts could be put to useful pur-
pose, every bad stretch of road in
the United States would greet the
oncoming motorist with groans and
screams and the educational spectacle
of ten or a dozen corpses, all sizes,
sexes and ages, lying horribly still
on the bloody grass.
Last year a State trooper of my
acquaintance stopped big red
Hispano for speeding. Papa was OBJ
viously a responsible person, obviously
set for pleasant week end with
his family-so the officer cut into
papa's well-bred expostulations: I'll
let you off this time, but If you
keep on this way you won't last
long. Get going-but take it easier"
Later a passing motorist hailed the
trooper and asked if the red Hispano
had got ticket. mo" said the
trooper, II hated to spoil their party"
TOO bad you didn't" said the mo-
torist. Il saw you stop them-and
then passed that car again so miles
up the line. 1t still makes me feel
sick at my stomach. The car was
all folded up like an accordion
the color was about all there was
left. They were all dead but one of
the kids-and he wasn't going to live
to the hospital"
Maybe it will make you sick at
your stomach, too. But unless you're
o heavy-footed incurable, good look
at the picture the artist wouldn't dare
paint, a first-hand acquaintance with
the results of mixing gasoline with
speed and bad Judgment, ought to
be we'll worth your while. can't
help it if the facts are revolving. II
you have the nerve to drive fast and
take chances, you ought to have the
nerve to take the appropriate cure.
You can't ride an ambulance or watch
the doctor working on the victim in
the hospital, but you can read.
The automobile is treacherous. just
as cat is. It is tragically difficult
TO realize that it can become the dead
hest missile. As enthusiasts tell you,
1t makes 65 feel like nothing at all.
But IS an hour is 100 feet second,
q speed which puts viciously un-
justified responsibility on brakes and
human refiexes, and can instantly
turn this docile luxury into mad
bull elephant.
Collision, turnover or sideswipe,
each type Of accident produces either
o shattering dead stop or a crashing
change of direction-and, since the
occupant-meaning you-continues in
the old direction at the original speed,
every surface and angle of the cars
interior Immediately becomes bat
tering, tearing projectile, aimed
suuarely at you-inescapable. There
Is no bracing yourself against these
imperative laws of momentum.
It's like going over Niagara Falls
In q steel barrel full of railroad spikes.
The best thing that can happen to
you-and one of the rarer things
Is to be thrown out as the doors
spring open, so you have only the
ground to reckon with. True, you
strike with as much force as If you
had been thrown from the Twentieth
Century at top speed. But at least