ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Friday, December 15, 1995 TAG: 9512150101
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MIKE HUDSON STAFF WRITER
NOTE: Below
HE LIVED THROUGH the crash of his tractor trailer and the fire that incinerated it. But nature had a little surprise ...
David Morris lost a lot of things when his tractor-trailer skidded out of control, crashed and burned on Interstate 81 in Roanoke County.
His eyeglasses, his cell phone, his leather bomber jacket, his shoes, his clothes - all were incinerated in the dramatic crash that blocked the interstate for more than nine hours Dec. 3.
Worse, the crash splintered and crushed the left side of his pelvis. It'll be a good while before he can walk, and he may never drive a truck again.
But for all he lost that Sunday afternoon, he hung onto what was important - his life and his good nature. He can still look up from his hospital bed, where he's in traction, and talk about what a lucky man he is: "I don't have any complaints I can think of about anything."
Morris is thankful to be alive. He's grateful to his driving partner and to passing motorists who saved his life by dragging him away before the diesel-fueled flames got to him. And he raves about the hard work of firefighters, paramedics, nurses and doctors who have helped him - and the kindness of strangers who have wished him well.
"I was overwhelmed by the goodness of people here. I really was," Morris said this week. "And I want the rest of the world to know about it. If you ever have a bad accident, it's nice to know that there are people out there who'll take care of you."
Morris, who lives in Yadkin, N.C., isn't kidding himself about the long road of recovery ahead of him. His right pelvis was broken when a truck hit a car he was in, back in 1967, and it took him five years to get better. He knows what he's up against.
"It'll be a long, drawn-out affair," he said. "It takes therapy and time. Therapy and time."
But that doesn't worry him.
"I've got faith. I'm handling it well," he said. "I've prayed about it. The good Lord will take care of me."
Morris, 53, has been a truck driver for 32 years, since he got out of the Navy.
Twelve days ago he and his driving partner, Luke Sain, were rolling up I-81 to Montreal, hauling a cargo of electrical equipment from Morganton, N.C., for their employer, Leviton Manufacturing.
They were fresh after breaking for lunch in Fort Chiswell. Just after 1:30 p.m., Morris crawled into the sleeper to get some shut-eye.
He was still awake 20 minutes later when the crash came. Sain had passed a car and was moving back into the right lane as they approached the I-81 bridge over Interstate 581. State police say Sain apparently went too far to the right, and the truck's rear wheels hit a concrete slab that juts out from the guardrail. The big rig skidded sideways and slammed into the left guardrail. It slid the length of the bridge before it flipped over - nearly tumbling off the overpass down onto I-581.
The crash sheared off the top of the cab. "The sleeper wasn't there anymore," Morris recalled.
He was lying in the wreckage on the side of the road. Sain was still in the driver's seat.
Sain turned and said, "Where are you, David?''
"Right here," Morris said.
Sain got out and wandered around in shock. Then he and two motorists who had been right behind the truck went to help Morris, who was conscious but unable to move.
Morris, a big man, was too much for them to carry. Someone suggested they slip a scrap of truck insulation under him and slide him away from the wreckage.
But there was no time for that. Morris could smell the diesel and see the flames coming at him.
"Boys," he said, "let's get out of here. It's getting hot."
So they dragged him across the gravel and away from the truck. After a while, other motorists helped get him off the road and up onto an embankment.
Soon the whole truck went up in flames. It would take firefighters 31/2 hours to smother the inferno.
Whatever had shattered Morris' pelvis - he thinks it was a guardrail - also gouged a hole in his leg. Paramedics worked to stem the bleeding.
"I was leaking pretty good," Morris said. "There was difficulty plugging a hole that size."
A county firefighter - first name Joyce, last name he can't remember - held his hand and talked to him to keep him from going into shock.
"He was a wonderful patient," said Hollins Volunteer Fire and Rescue Capt. Joyce Harper. "He was very cooperative, especially for what was going on with him." Morris even had enough wits about him to tell paramedics the name of the high blood pressure medicine he was taking, she said.
Roanoke Memorial Hospital's helicopter made a tough landing on the bridge and whisked him to the hospital. "I was in pretty bad shape by the time I got here," he said. "Near as I can tell, I almost lost it."
He remembers the helicopter landing on the hospital's roof, and he recalls being taken into a trauma unit. "After that, time is nothing. I lost a few days here."
Morris spent four days in intensive care before being moved to a room in the orthopedic unit. Since then, he's had get-well calls and visits from people he didn't know. A Roanoke Valley prayer group sent him a card. The helicopter pilot has stopped by twice.
When he's well enough to travel, he'll probably be moved to a hospital in Winston-Salem, N.C., for surgery and recovery, so he can be closer to his friends and his son, who is 30.
He won't be bored during his long convalescence. He describes himself as a "small-time political activist" and a "computer nut" (his business card describes him as a "Cyberspace Cowboy''). He loves to talk about his fully loaded computer setup, which includes voice-activated software. One of his big crusades is fighting government censorship on the information highway.
He doesn't have money worries. "I work for a good company. There'll be no problem with my hospital bills and all that. They'll take care of me."
He got his wallet back - a reporter found it at the accident scene and gave it to a paramedic. But he'll have to replace his credit cards, because the heat warped them.
With the fire burning hotter and hotter, his first rescuers decided they'd better move him off the road and onto the weedy hillside.
Four days later, he started to itch. Angry red splotches rose on his arms, chest, all over.
Poison ivy.
Turns out he was deposited in a big patch of the nasty stuff. The hospital gave him shots to fight the outbreak.
He's not complaining.
LENGTH: Long : 122 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: MIKE HEFFNER/Staff. David Morris has been ``overwhelmedby CNBby goodness'' during his stay at Roanoke Memorial Hospital. color.