Following a VFW New Year’s Eve Party in Batesville, Indiana back in 1948 my late uncle Harold was driving his brand new 1948 Chrysler back to his home near Ballstown where he was raised on my grandfather’s farm. 
                                                            
Ballstown is just a wide spot along State road 229 between Batesville and Napoleon that has a half  dozen houses, a Lutheran Church and a one-room school that my dad and his seven  brothers and one sister attended.

It had snowed heavily that night and my uncle ran his new car off the road into a snowbank at the top of a hill right across from the former Everett Wilson home (see Photo) and spent the night outside, sleeping in the snow.
                                                                             

When he awoke the next morning he walked across the road, entered the Wilson’s back door, believing he was home,  where he was accosted by the family’s oldest daughter.   “What are you doing here, Mary Lou,” my uncle asked.  “Why, Harold, I live here,” she replied. 

With a llittle help the Chrysler was extracted from the snowbank and my uncle proceeded to the family farm about a half mile away.  He never drank again.