5/9/25 - Friday Forget-Me-Nots by Jim Silcott

Photo Caption: May Crowning

Dear Our Lady of Peace Family,

It was five years ago this weekend that the blue van got me. Like Captain Ahab in his search for the white whale, I continue to search for this blue van but to no avail. It is also the day that my name was changed, not forever, but for about twelve hours.

It was a cooler day on May 9, 2020, after a warmer week. Most of the world was shut down. The pandemic was in its infancy. Despite the tragedy and hardship of that time, I took advantage of a lot of bicycling as the streets were very empty of automobiles. People just weren’t going anywhere.

I was riding down Summit Ave. near campus in what is supposed to be a protected bike lane. There is a skinny curb between the traffic and bicyclists. No need to worry about cars. Except at the intersections. There is a light controlling the two lanes of auto traffic heading one way south. There is a light just for people on the bike lane. There is a separate light for cars who want to turn right at those intersections. When the traffic light turns green, the bicycle lane light also turns green. The right turn light is red and only changes to green when the bicycle light turns red.

In theory it’s a good plan. However, in this day of right turn on red, it confuses many motorists. That is why I always approach those intersections with extreme caution.

That Saturday afternoon I was approaching Chittenden Ave. I noticed that my light was green. I observed that there were two cars waiting patiently for the right turn light to proceed. I figured I was good to go through. What I didn’t count on was the blue van turning right around the waiting cars from the middle of the road. I saw the large van. I felt the large van as it made impact with my body. I saw the ground from up close. As I sat up, I watched the blue van drive on its merry way down Chittenden.

I was conscious the entire time, but I was in too much pain to get up. A man from the gas station across the street called the police who came and called the emergency squad. I felt bad for the cars who had been trying to turn right as I was blocking them with my body and my downed bicycle. I worried about what would happen to the bike which had been my companion for over 20 years. The police graciously took it, and the squad took my body.

On the way to Wexner Center Hospital I called my wife, Kathy. I told her what had happened and that I was hurt but was going to be okay. Because it was COVID time she couldn’t come to the hospital. I told her that I would keep in touch.

When I got to the emergency room, they labeled me as a trauma patient because I had no visual injuries. Many people examined me from head to foot with scans and x-rays. Again, I was conscious the whole time. It turned out that I had shattered my collarbone and broken four ribs but otherwise was in good shape (always wear a helmet! It saves lives!)

I was brought to a room. My phone had died. My wife kept calling the hospital to check on me. They told her that they had no record of me being there. While I was feeling lucky, Kathy was freaking out.

In the early evening a nurse came in, looked at my hospital ID band and said, “You have a very unusual name.” I had never thought so but to each her own. Then she called me “Mike”. I politely told her that my name was not Mike. She looked at the wrist band again and said, “Your name is not Mike Trauma?” I told her that while I liked the sound of that name, it made me sound like a secret agent, my name was Jim Silcott. She seemed doubtful. Maybe I had hit my head. But by doing some checking, and at looking at my own ID bracelet which I always keep on my wrist, she verified that I was not a secret agent named Mike but an old school principal named Jim.

Apparently, I was first identified as “bike trauma,” and then someone hit the wrong key on a computer and “bike” was changed to “Mike”. Finally, someone reached my wife and told her the mix-up, but it was still a while before it was corrected in the system so Kathy would call not to check on Jim Silcott but on the condition of Mike Trauma.

I was back on my bicycle, which survived the accident, by Father’s Day that year. Every time I ride down Summit I keep my eyes open for the blue van.

Jim Silcott