Geneva was a very strange girl that no one seemed to care about. She attended Fremont Jr. High School in Pomona and was in one of my 9th grade classes. I can't say I didn't like her, she was just sort of a non-person in my life. Her clothes were kind of scroungy and I'm not sure she ever washed or combed her hair. She was very quiet and didn't do well in school which was probably the reason she chose not to go on to high school.
There were times when I did think about her and inquire about her life. I found that her family was very poor, apparently poorer than mine (and I didn't realize really how poor we were until years later), and she had a lot of older brothers. Geneva always seemed to be more like a boy. Not that she liked girls, it was just that she thought it would be better to be a boy and just do boy things.
During my High School years, I would still hear about Geneva now and then. She had become friends with a gang of motorcycle riders that were friends of her brothers. They were all older than she was and apparently she was often in and out of trouble with authorities. Never anything really serious, just more like mischief and mayhem stuff. She had smoked since she was a little kid and now she finally was happy to live like a rough and tumble guy. When I saw her at a distance down town or passed her riding a motorcycle on the road she still looked a bit grubby. I swore I would never name a kid of mine Geneva.
On a Monday morning when I was a Senior in High School, the talk among all my friends was about "the terrible motorcycle accident at Fifth and White avenues late Saturday night." No one seemed to know exactly who the people were except that "it took hours into Sunday morning to clean up the mess."
As you may have surmised by now, it turned out that the two victims were Geneva and her boyfriend. Apparently they approached the intersection with the green light in their favor traveling at full speed since they hadn't had to stop and start. Both avenues were four lanes and they were in the fast line continued south on White Avenue to where Geneva lived far below the railroad tracks. To their right a huge 18-wheeler was making a right turn onto Fifth Avenue heading west. The driver, sitting high in the cab listening to his radio, had no clue that the motorcycle was coming up on his left so he made a 'farmer's turn' to accommodate his large rig and in doing so side-swiped the motorcycle sending both Geneva and her boyfriend under the big double tires.
All this information was in the Progress Bulletin's Monday and Tuesday editions. The reporter had interviewed the truck driver, others who were in their cars at the red light on Fifth Avenue as well as some people standing on the street corner across from the accident. And, it was termed an "accident" so no one was to blame.
It was the Tuesday edition of the newspaper that really brought tears. By this time the reporter had talked with her elderly parents and her brothers who were all mourning the loss of an only daughter and an only sister: "We loved her so much. She was a good girl, so thoughtful," said her mother. The gruesome part of the accident had begun to travel through the gossip at High School. "Did you know that the girl was caught up over the truck's tires and torn into pieces?" "I guess the motorcycle is a complete loss and her boyfriend and his cycle were run over by every set of wheels on the left side of the truck." "It took hours to pick up the pieces and hose off the highway." I felt the tears roll down my face and I cried and cried.
What had I learned? I learned that I had never even tried to be a friend to Geneva. I learned that she had a good family who cared for her and that I should not have judged her. From that moment I vowed to never judge anyone and to take time to be a friend no matter what their position in life. As I write this I can say I have honored that vow. I am no longer 'miss goody two shoes' who looks down at anyone, anytime. Talking with my parents about all this back then, they were amazed I had ever thought of being better than someone else and were thankful to know that I now had compassion to last a lifetime.
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