Rusty Saber: Driver finds himself in the hot seat

People have told me that the story is a topic right down the Rusty Saber's alley. It took place early in January; it's almost an old story.

I've hesitated because I couldn't muster up a burning (read on, the pun will soon make sense) desire to relate this fiery tale. But, what the heck, I'm fired up. Maybe I can spark reader interest.

It was one of the few nice days in early January you remember the December snow that refused to melt away. I was driving my wife's SUV, because it moved better than mine on side streets that were still snow-packed. An old friend and I had lunch together. After running a few errands, I headed for home reveling in the rare balmy winter weather. I had no premonition of the misfortune that lay around the corner.

I must digress here to note that earlier in December, my wife had reported a problem with the electronic thingamajig (a highly technical term) that operates the automatic seats. It seems that she detected the odor of smoke as she attempted to change the placement of the seat.

It was a miracle, I tell you, a miracle. The gizmo healed itself, the smoke odor went away and the seats worked. We took the car to the shop for an inspection of the doohickey (there's no limit to my mastery of technical jargon). Since it wasn't acting up, there was nothing to fix.

Later, an alarm should have gone off in my head when, for a second time, my wife mentioned smelling smoke and the seat-moving gizmo was again dead in the water.

I should have known there had to be a short in a doodad somewhere. Technological wizard that I am, I assumed it would once again heal itself. Sure it would!

Back to the thrill-a-minute narrative. The weather was serene; my mind was on the imminent trip to Maui when I detected the odor of smoke not ordinary smoke, mind you, but electrical fire smoke.

It was the sort of smoke that a mechanical Einstein like me recognized as resulting from a short in a doofloppy switch. It's one thing to smell smoke; it's another to see it. Smoke began to billow up around me. It was crystal clear: The car was not about to heal itself.

At this moment of crisis, an odd thought passed through my head. I reverted back to my days as a Navy air control tower operator. Next to Mayday! I remembered that the most chilling message a pilot could send to the tower was "Fire in the cockpit!" which meant clear all air traffic, get the crash crew to stand by while tower operators moved heaven and earth to get the airplane on the ground.

Well, I heard myself yell to no one but myself: "Fire in the cockpit!" Unfortunately, there was no control tower to help me out. In the time it took to turn right from Cherry on to Glenstone, the smoke was so thick I could hardly see. I was looking for a place to land.

I managed to turn into an Arby's Restaurant, which was the best choice I could have made. As I piled out of the car, smoke shot out the door engulfing me. No, it wasn't going to heal itself. I ran into the restaurant and said quietly: "My car is on fire!" This is where I got lucky.

An employee was about as cool as they come; she ran from behind the counter with a fire extinguisher in her hand, shouting for someone to call 911.

By this time, flames had engulfed the seat where only moments before I had been sitting. Several blasts from the fire extinguisher apparently appeased the fire gods; the flames abated. A thick layer of fire extinguisher foam covered the interior of the car.

The seat was only a charred memory when the firemen arrived and made certain the blaze was out. The SUV didn't exactly heal itself, but it was no longer burning.

Had it not been for the fast thinking lady from Arby's, the car would have been a barbecued cinder.

I phoned my wife to say: "Honey I burned up your car; call the tow truck and come get me."

The story has a happy ending. All repairs have been made and necessary doohickeys have been replaced; the car is as good as new.

From this experience I learned that when there is smoke there is fire; when there is fire in the cockpit, bail out as fast as you can! Words to live by.

(Joe McAdoo is former chairman of the communication department at Drury University and a Springfield public relations consultant.)