One Second of Thoughtlessness, a Lifetime of Agony

It’s been said that God watches over drunks and little children.

If it’s true--as police say--that the man who allegedly ran a red light late Tuesday night in Huntington Beach was under the influence of alcohol, then God had a choice to make at the intersection of Beach Boulevard and Edinger Avenue.

With all due respect, I must question his decision.

Three young women, described as best friends, were fatally injured when their westbound car was broadsided by the northbound car, which police say didn’t stop at the red light. The driver in question, who remains hospitalized in critical condition, was arrested on suspicion of felony drunk driving.

This is my cue to dredge up as much fulminating language as I can, to summon the outrage and condemn this kind of carnage. Believe me, after seeing the family photos of the three dead young women in the paper, I want to.

I can’t. It just seems like such a hollow exercise. Not because outrage isn’t warranted; just because we’ve seen this senseless scenario so many times before. And we know, for a fact, the same sickening drama will unfold again.

All I’ve really got in me is deep-seated contempt for red-light runners. That this particular suspect was allegedly under the influence makes it worse, but only a little bit.

I know that Huntington Beach intersection well. The three victims were locals and perhaps had driven through it, as I have, countless times. Now, for their families and everyone who knew them, a street becomes a memorial site--a permanent reminder of the inhumanity people show to others by cavalierly turning their cars into deadly weapons.

I used to take solace in thinking red-light runners were rarities. In recent months, however, I’ve asked friends whether they’ve noticed that these traffic villains seem to be proliferating, like germs.

A few weeks ago in Anaheim, I had the left-turn traffic signal and was about to make my move when not one, but two cars from the other direction took off. Luckily, I had time to hit the brakes and avoid being crunched. A few years ago, someone in a van ran a red light a block from my house and we collided. I walked away, but a millisecond or a quirk of physics relating to the angle of impact could easily have left me dead.

I wasn’t angry that I might have died. What infuriated me was the effect it would have had on family and friends left to cope with an accident caused solely because someone was daydreaming instead of driving responsibly.

Now, this latest accident. Two 19-year-olds and an 18-year-old woman--just grown-up little girls--will leave behind hundreds of grieving friends and relatives. The challenge of coping will last a lifetime for many of them.

I could have tried to talk to some of them, but didn’t want to. I remember too well sitting in a Westminster home four years ago and talking to the parents of another 19-year-old woman killed by someone who blew a stop sign. The pain and emptiness they conveyed was overwhelming.

People shouldn’t have to sit in their homes and discuss things like that.

I did make one call. It was to Reidel Post, executive director of the local chapter of Mothers Against Drunk Driving. She, too, can’t think of new things to say about the outrage of drunk drivers and the damage they do to society.

In the most recent five-year period studied for Orange County, Post says, 266 people died in DUI-related incidents. Nearly 7,100 other people were injured, she says.

So, what’s left to say? Post says she and her staff, too, have to fight becoming immune to the endless string of deaths.

“I never pick up a phone and hear a family member talk to me about the devastation that driving under the influence causes without me just wanting to scream and cry and rant and rave,” she says. “It never feels less than that.”

So it was again this week when she learned of the Huntington Beach deaths.

“Why can’t I say goodbye to my kids and trust that I’m going to see them again?” says Post, who became active after seeing friends devastated by the crime. “Every time I say goodbye and give them a hug and kiss, I know it may be the last time I may be able to do that. In one way, I wish I were more ignorant of the facts, but in another way it keeps me appreciating every single moment I have with my family.”

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.