The End Of My World
What would you do?October 30, 1938 About a half mile into the Detroit-Windsor tunnel, I smell oil burning from running the engine so hard. I pat the dashboard of my old pickup. “Hang in there, baby.” I’m struggling to drive while rotating my head like a damn owl, worrying the walls will collapse around us at any moment. The Detroit River would surely swallow us whole. To make matters worse, we lost the radio when we went underground, so I...