Tow truck drivers unsung heroes

Jenelle Hansen remembers spinning out on an icy bridge near Edgewood, about eight or nine years ago.

When the excitement was over, she found herself facing the wrong way, just off a busy highway, with cars and trucks whizzing past “way too fast.”

Stuck on the shoulder, unable to get back on the road, she called for a tow truck. When the man arrived, he pulled her 200-300 feet to where her Ford Ranger could regain traction.

Moments later, she noted the tow-truck driver was on his way to another call.

Hansen has gained a deeper respect for the profession in the past three years, getting to know several drivers through her job selling auto parts in Tucumcari.

“They’re so confident about what they do. It’s kind of easy to forget they work on the side of the road,” she said.

“They’re always on call and never get a day off and they’re always willing to get out no matter the weather. They put their lives on the line for our safety and nobody ever complains about the price ... until after they’re safe.”

One of those tow-truck drivers Hansen came to know was Tucumcari’s Bobby Unruh.

“He was very outgoing and he absolutely loved his job,” she said.

“I know just from helping him at work that he loved that little car of his. I remember when his turbo went out, he was obsessed with fixing it.”

Unruh, 37, was killed Feb. 19. He was struck by a vehicle while attempting to tow a vehicle on Interstate 40 near Montoya.

Hansen was moved to memorialize him, and others like him, with a poem.

She called it “Tribute to a Tow Truck Driver:”

Cold, snowy afternoon or a hundred degrees in the shade,

But there is no shade on the side of the interstate.

Dead battery? Failed alternator? Faulty fuel pump?

The car won’t start! The car won’t start! THE CAR WON’T START!

Stranded on the side of the road, with no one to turn to but the phone.

The smell of exhaust is up your nose and the rumble of Jake brakes pounds in your head.

The traffic is so close, the wind from the semi-trucks shakes the vehicle mercilessly, and the kids start to cry.

Why won’t they move over?

Don’t they see the car with the hazards on,

Sitting dead in the water,

On the side of the road?

The yellow lights flickering ahead of you on the flat-bed tow truck are a sign of warmth and safety.

The driver is calm and self-assured.

Just a few more minutes, and you will be safe, and the driver will be off to another call.

The driver’s job is never done.

On call twenty-four hours a day,

In the most wretched of weather,

For the smallest or largest of problems.

Close to home or far-away road trip,

The tow truck drivers are on call for you,

Risking their lives every day to bring stranded motorists from the brink of despair and chaos

To the calm, peaceful state of mind called hope.

Hansen said she wrote the poem to thank all the drivers who willingly place themselves in harm’s way to rescue those who have been let down by modern technology.

And she offers a special thank you to Bobby Unruh, “who will be watching over his fellow drivers, for now and into eternity.”

David Stevens writers for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at: [email protected]