Reframing the Death of Ronnie Daniels

HICKTOWN DIARIES — TALES OF APPALACHIA

I think my dad caused his death

*names have been changed to protect the innocent

My best friend in grade school (elementary school) was Johnny. I didn’t know what to say to him, when his brother died in a tragic car accident.

The man that I had to call dad, was really my stepdad. He was the first one to find him. He saw headlights shining and disturbance at the edge of the road that alerted him to look more closely. It was Ronnie’s car down in the steep ravine. When he got to him, he was already dead. His neck was broken. There must have been more injuries.

I remember Ronnie being a big guy. But we were much younger than he was. Of course, he was on the football team. I remember him being warm and jolly.

Ours was a very small rural community and this was a stunning tragedy. I still feel the sadness and pain of this even now. This was in the late 1970’s and Ronnie was sixteen. He must not have had his license long. But growing up in the country, there are endless opportunities and equipment to drive, in wide open space, long before you are old enough to legally drive.

He was on his way home, but never made it. His family was calling around trying to find out where he was. I guessed they thought maybe he stayed over at a friend’s house.

Karl, my stepdad, talked endlessly about the event and details, as is typical of him to do.

The idea was that Ronnie was driving home late at night/ early morning hours and that he likely had been drinking. It was so easy for people to assume it was his youth and indiscretion. And so, the label that it was his fault, was slapped on. And we lived with the horror of it all.

There was a long hollow (where I’m from, they say holler, with a bit of rural twang), that ran a long stretch from my house to the next. The roadway through it was about a mile through a wooded area with a high hill up one side of the road and a steep ravine down the other. There were no guardrails.

But what I know about the tragedy was Karl’s story. I was a child who would not have imagined her parental figure would be deceptive and depraved…

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