December 24, 1990

Dear Father in Heaven:  Twenty four years ago, Lord, my life was changed and spared by You.  I want to thank You again for that and for all that the accident taught me.  Please be with Chief Robert Lee Coburn this day and all the first responders from Colonial Park Fire Company and keep them safe and bless them, Lord.  In Jesus' Name, I pray.  Amen.

To Bob Coburn, Chief, Colonial Park Fire Company, and all others who read this today.  This is an extra.  My Christmas message on The Big Trip will follow.

On December 24, 1990, yes, Christmas Eve.  At about 1:00 PM, I climbed onto my big white Honda Goldwing, pulling a trailer full of stuffed animals and candy canes  to toss to some kids and have some fun.  I was dressed, well, in a Santa suit, and I was headed first to the Dauphin Deposit Bank near K-Mart to put in the deposit for the service station in the night deposit.  I pulled out of my service station in Penbrook, PA, and headed out Jonestown Road.  I was stopped at the traffic signal at South Houcks Road and was first in line.  I was in the left lane, because I would be turning left, and traffic was very heavy.  I rode about a block and traffic was backed up, so I stopped, put both feet to the ground and was holding in my clutch and hand brake.  I had already shifted back to first gear.

It was then I heard the squealing of brakes behind me.  Watching in my mirrors, I could see it coming, then there was a crash, and I was standing, and then the car that was hit,  hit the back of my little trailer.  From there everything went into slow motion.  I was sent flying through the motorcycle windshield and onto the ground.  I know the lanes of traffic on both sides of me were moving, and I was not hit by a moving car.  (Thank You, Jesus.)   My right arm went under the truck in front of me, rear tire, and the driver of that truck did not move, he heard the crash and just parked and got out to see what happened, had he moved, my right arm would have been crushed.  (Thank You, Jesus.)  I must have been out of it for awhile, but I came alert enough to hear a cry from the car that hit me.  "Grandpa just killed Santa Claus."

From there I was taken by ambulance to the Community General Hospital.  What I did not know at the time was "Bob Coburn," who I think was an Assistant Chief at that time, was on one of the fire engines out of then Station Two, who when other trucks were told to return that he would come on in, for he knew in his gut it was me on the street.  (Some about he did not know any other person dumb enough to be riding when it was 20 degrees.)

From that time on, "Bob" took charge, he took care of my cycle and had it taken to the fire station, then called Dolores and then stayed with her being comfort to her, having the full reports when she arrived at the hospital.

A couple of things happened that day besides me getting beat up by a big old Oldsmobile.

First, I could hear as plain as day God speaking to my heart that He wanted me working for Him full-time.

Second, from that day I learned to really respect "Bob" and what he did all his life.  He ran into buildings when others ran out.  Today I want to "thank him again" for helping me up and helping me grow up.  Today we can pray together and love each other like "Christian brothers" should do.  He also gave up his Christmas Eve to help me.

So, my dear brothers and sisters, all who read this, please take time this Christmas Eve and on Christmas and each day and ask God to protect all of our first responders.

Thanks again, Bob, I love you.  Please be safe and have a Merry Christmas, and I pray God will bless your every move.

Dan