These things all took place before World War II, and at that time, US Highway 64 ran right through the center of the town of Plymouth. Our regular route made it necessary to cross 64 at least once during the pickup and delivery of my riders. One morning we were returning home from the midnight shift and it was so foggy that you could hardly see your hand before you. I stopped when I thought that I was about to the intersection of the highway. I didn’t feel safe in proceeding with such poor visibility, so I ask James Mizelle to get out and let me know when it was safe to cross. James went to look and immediately returned yelling “for Christ’s sake, Bart, MOVE you’re right in the middle of the highway”. Needless to say, I moved.