Unexpected Kindness of
Mike and Cathy Buker (Church of God)
My 51st Birthday on an American Highway
Vanam
Jwala Narasimha Rao
Nearly three decades have passed since that memorable August
evening, yet the images remain vivid: a birthday celebration in Cincinnati, an
unexpected breakdown near Williamstown on USA Interstate 75, the anxiety of
being stranded on a busy American highway, and the reassuring presence of
strangers who appeared when hope was fading. America's interstate highways impressed me with their engineering,
discipline and efficiency. Their design minimizes many of the risks familiar to
Indian travelers, with dedicated shoulders, clearly marked exits, rest areas
and strict traffic enforcement.
Yet, that evening also revealed a
different side of such efficiency. On a highway where thousands of vehicles
sped past, we found ourselves surprisingly alone. In a country where systems
function remarkably well, human assistance may not always arrive as quickly as
one expects. India, by contrast, has traditionally depended more on human
interaction than on infrastructure. Although modern highways in India have
improved enormously in recent years, a stranded traveller invariably finds help
from fellow motorists, roadside vendors, villagers or passers-by. The
assistance may be informal and unorganized, but it is often immediate and
heartfelt.
This is not a comparison of superiority. Undoubtedly, America
excels in systems. But India often excels in spontaneous human response. Both
have strengths and limitations. My experience on Interstate 75 taught me that
while efficient infrastructure can make travel safer and more comfortable, it
is human compassion that gives travelers confidence during moments of
uncertainty. American highways are fascinating in their scale, speed and
discipline. Vehicles cruise through multiple lanes at speeds of 55 to 65 miles
an hour, guided by strict traffic rules and vigilant highway patrols.
Though India's National Highways have developed rapidly in recent
decades, the American Interstate system remains distinctive for its design,
extensive facilities and emphasis on safety. It was on one such highway that I
experienced an unforgettable lesson in human kindness nearly three decades ago.
It was a memorable experience in August 1999. The
American Interstate Highway System. Designed for speed, safety and efficiency.
They are divided by wide medians, eliminating head-on collisions. Vehicles move
in multiple lanes according to speed, and lane discipline is strictly observed.
Prominent signs remind drivers to ‘Keep
Right Except to Pass,’ while seat-belt regulations and traffic laws are
rigorously enforced. Unlike many highways in India at that
time, American interstates were equipped with dedicated shoulders for
emergencies, clearly marked exits, regular rest areas, fuel stations,
restaurants, lodging facilities and medical services. A traveler could drive
hundreds of miles with confidence, knowing that facilities were never too far
away. Yet there was another side to this impressive
system.
The highways often passed through long
stretches with little roadside activity. Unlike in India, where villages, shops
and fellow travelers are usually within sight and help often comes informally,
an American highway can leave a stranded motorist feeling surprisingly isolated
despite all its sophisticated infrastructure. It was on such a highway, Interstate
75 connecting Ohio and Kentucky, that I learned how, in moments of difficulty,
human kindness can be more valuable than even the most advanced transportation
system.
Despite all its impressive infrastructure,
a vehicle breakdown on an American highway can be a frightening experience, as
I discovered on 8 August 1999, my fifty-first birthday. My daughter Kinnera,
who gave birth to my first grandson, Yashwin Koniki, celebrated the occasion at
her home in Cincinnati, Ohio. My relative Gannamraju Venkateshwara Rao and his
wife Shailaja, who were living in Lexington, Kentucky, for barely a year and a
half, joined us to greet me. After the birthday celebrations, Gannamraju and I,
and his two children, set out for Lexington to spend the weekend there.
Shailaja stayed back with my daughter.
Gannamraju was driving. About halfway
through the hundred-mile journey on Interstate 75, near Williamstown, our
vehicle developed a mechanical problem and came to a halt. We stepped out and
looked around helplessly. As vehicle after vehicle sped past, no one stopped to
offer assistance or even a lift. With no immediate solution in sight, we pushed
the car onto the shoulder and wondered what to do next. The roar of speeding vehicles
was almost unbearable. Darkness was slowly descending, and before long the clock
struck 8 PM. Our only hope was that a highway patrol vehicle might eventually
come by. With no other option, we decided to walk towards the next exit.
Just then, we noticed a vehicle stop about
a hundred yards behind us. Later, we learned that another motorist had alerted
them that the luggage strapped to the roof of their car appeared insecure and
might fall off. To us, however, their arrival seemed nothing short of
providential. We approached them and asked whether they had a mobile phone so
that we could inform my son-in-law in Cincinnati about our predicament. Mobile
phones were not yet common by then, and they too did not have one either.
Instead, to our surprise and immense relief, they offered lift to take us to
the next exit.
Their car was already packed with
passengers and luggage, yet Mike and Cathy Buker cheerfully rearranged
themselves to accommodate us. During the journey, they told us that they
believed they had been sent by Jesus Christ to help people in need. Members of
the ‘Church of God’ and deeply committed to their faith, they were travelling
to London, Kentucky, about fifty miles beyond Lexington. We had no words to
express our gratitude. They kindly dropped us at the next exit, nearly ten
miles away, enabling us to seek further assistance.
From there, we telephoned a friend in
Lexington, Sreenivasa Rao, son of Jaganmohan Rao, an Indian Forest Service
officer then serving the Andhra Pradesh Government. Accompanied by his wife
Lavanya, he drove over and took us safely to Lexington. Thus, my fifty-first
birthday came to be celebrated in three places: Cincinnati, a shoulder on
Interstate 75 near Williamstown, and finally Lexington, over rotis,
conversation and a celebratory drink.
What touched us even more was that Mike
and Cathy Buker sent an e-mail the very next day to inquire whether we had
reached our destination safely. Such concern from complete strangers was both
unexpected and heartwarming. As the years turned into decades, we gradually
lost contact, but the memory of their kindness never faded. Recently, while
searching the internet, I came across references to Michael and Cathy Buker, a
respected couple associated with Parkway Ministries Church of God in Corbin,
Kentucky.
I learned that Michael Lee Buker passed
away on August 6, 2023 at the age of seventy, while Cathy continues her
association with the church and its community activities. Whether they are the
very same Mike and Cathy Buker who came to our rescue on Interstate 75 that
August evening remains impossible to establish with complete certainty. Yet the
names, location and church affiliation closely match my recollection, and in my
heart, I would like to believe they are indeed the same people.
If that belief is correct, this article is
a small tribute to two Good Samaritans whose kindness left an impression far
greater than they could ever have imagined. For them, it may have been a simple
gesture, offering help to four stranded travelers on a busy highway. For us,
however, it was a moment of reassurance when anxiety was giving way to
helplessness. Nearly three decades have passed, but I still remember their
compassion, their humility and their willingness to inconvenience themselves
for complete strangers.
Roads, vehicles and journeys eventually
fade into memory. What endures is the humanity we encounter along the way.
Every time I recall my fifty-first birthday, I remember not the highway
breakdown, but the kindness of two strangers who stopped when everyone else
drove on.
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