2 Dec 2022 Motor Vehicle Collision at the S-Curve in Monmouth, Oregon

 

JUNE 26, 2026, MONMOUTH, OREGON — On the evening of December 2, 2022, I was driving with my flatmate to return cans and purchase a money order for our rent. As we approached the intersection of Main Street and Highway 99W near the S-curve, I noticed that eastbound traffic was unusually backed up, stretching almost to the highway. Something serious had just happened. When we crested the bend, I saw the cause—a fresh two-vehicle collision. One car, driven by an elderly woman traveling east toward Independence, had been struck on the front driver-side quarter panel and door by a younger male heading west toward Monmouth, who appeared to be making a left turn into a residential driveway.

At approximately five hundred yards from the scene, while still in traffic, I activated my hazard lights. Realizing traffic ahead was slowly trying to bypass the wreck—unintentionally blocking rescue access and endangering everyone involved—I engaged the amber-white lightbar on the roof of my BMW X3 in an oscillating pattern, then brought my vehicle to a controlled stop to block traffic entirely. Once stopped, I changed the lightbar to a randomized flashing pattern for maximum visibility and safety. I exited the vehicle, opened the rear hatch, and quickly put on my bright reflective orange vest before heading toward the crash.

The elderly woman in the eastbound car was conscious and breathing but clearly in distress—moaning loudly, holding her forehead, showing classic signs of a head injury or concussion. Her driver’s side airbag had not deployed. A light stream of smoke was visible coming from beneath her hood. Based on how her vehicle looked and the fact that only her running lights were on when I arrived, I believed her headlights had not been engaged before the collision. People with head injuries don’t usually adjust their light settings after impact, and nothing suggested she had done so. Three or four bystanders were attempting unsuccessfully to pry open her crushed driver’s side door. I asked if 911 had been called; witnesses confirmed EMS was already en route. I told the others to step back from the vehicle. I braced into a deep stance, gripped the door by its forward edge, and, using joint leverage rather than just muscle, forced it open into the mud far enough for paramedics to access her when they arrived. The bystanders froze for a moment, looking at each other in disbelief.

The younger male driver from the westbound vehicle was standing nearby outside his own car. He appeared uninjured. His vehicle’s front end was crumpled at a slight starboard angle where it had struck the woman’s car, but it was not smoking. Her vehicle, however, was clearly a total loss.

Only moments after I forced the door open, someone broke the rear right window with a rock or something and gained access that way, and he was getting ready to manipulate the woman's seat when I barked at the entire group amassing around the wreck not to move her; and as if on cue, the first police officer arrived.

The first police officer pulled in behind my vehicle—not in front of it, not beside it—staging as though my SUV were already functioning as the lead blocker unit. As he exited his cruiser, I moved quickly to meet him. I stated, calmly and directly, that smoke was beginning to come from under the hood of the elderly woman’s vehicle and said fire and rescue should be requested immediately. He responded without hesitation, radioed it in, and approached the smoking vehicle to assess it himself.

Having done what I could, I returned to my vehicle, repositioned slightly to aim my high beams and fog lights directly at the crash site to help illuminate it, and left the amber-white lightbar running to continue securing the roadway. One by one, additional police units, a firetruck, an ambulance, and heavy rescue arrived code 3—sirens and lightbars active—and they staged behind my SUV in a straight sequence. No officers told me to move; instead, they integrated my vehicle into their traffic control pattern. Meanwhile, traffic that had been behind me turned around or diverted away entirely on their own accord. Within minutes, it was only me, the damaged vehicles, and emergency responders for hundreds of yards in either direction.

I remained inside my vehicle, heater running, lightbar still activated, until officers returned to take my witness statement. I provided a full accounting—the direction and speed of travel of both vehicles, the impact location, the condition of the cars, the lack of headlights on one vehicle, the non-deployment of that car's airbag, the attempts by other bystanders to open the door, my manual opening of it, and the smoke that prompted my request for fire. The elderly woman was stabilized on scene, loaded onto a stretcher, put into an ambulance, and transported to the hospital. I assumed she would at least suffer a nasty concussion.

Once the situation was secured and I was no longer needed, I went code 4—meaning I deactivated my lightbar—and left the scene. My flatmate and I continued to Waremart in Independence. While they returned the cans, I sat in the car and wrote everything down while it was fresh in my mind. Even now, what stands out most in my memory is the fact that the police units pulled in behind me in sequence. That silent gesture told me everything: I was the first person on scene who took organized action to secure the roadway, establish access to the injured driver, and relay hazards to responding officers. And I prayed the woman would recover. I did my job as a child of God.

written by Keenen T. Davis