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1401/02/25
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Olga Veracruz came to America with a dream….

The timeless dream that has transcended the centuries…

The dream of an adventurous spirit searching for a better life….dream that makes us all Americans.
Olga made her new home in the New England area. It was there, through friends, that she met the love
of her life, Bo Ventura Furtado — another adventurous spirit that had made his way to America a few
years earlier.
Bo Ventura had embraced the life of a long-haul truck driver. He had come here to see America, and
from his big rig, he had a front row seat. With a few days off, Bo Ventura pointed his rig and his heart
north.

He was on his way to Olga’s.
Olga had been watching the Discovery Channel and a film about Kentucky dairy farms. She knew that
Bo Ventura’s next run would take him through Kentucky on his way to Amarillo, Texas. And although Bo
Ventura didn’t know it yet, Olga had made up her mind that she was going along. She wanted to see
cows in the fields of Kentucky.
They had spent a few days together, and when it was time for Bo Ventura to leave, there was Olga,
planted firmly in the passenger’s seat of that 18-wheeler.

He told her that she couldn’t go along, but she
had already made up her mind. She was going to see Kentucky and nothing was going to change that.
They headed for the open road.
From high up in that rig, Olga was seeing the breathtaking sights of America. She was now sharing in
the adventure of Bo Ventura’s front row seat. As the couple continued south for Texas, they crossed the
Kentucky line, and there, Olga saw cows in the fields, and for that, she was happy.

Olga had decided to take a break from it all and climbed into the sleeper cab. Shortly after, is when Bo
Ventura’s truck hit that icy patch of highway.
As the truck jackknifed, Olga was thrown forward from the sleeper compartment and through the windshield.
She was dragged by the wheels of the truck for a short distance, and then thrown to where her
body would hit a signpost along the edge of the road. The truck and trailer overturned, making a loud
crashing noise heard by people in their homes nearby.

Bo Ventura climbed out of the wreckage and went searching for Olga.
Seventeen-year-old Patricia Welsh, found him kneeling there, beside Olga, with his face in his hands
sobbing. For everything that had just gone so horribly, horribly wrong on that wintry stretch of Kentucky
highway — just four days before Christmas — something was about to go very, very right. For, lying
there, on that snowy bank beside Olga’s lifeless body — still attached by the umbilical cord — was the
baby boy she had carried for eight months, torn from its mother womb in the violence of the accident

Young Patricia Welsh had the good sense to wrap the baby in a blanket. Some fifteen minutes later
when paramedics arrived, the baby was blue. But when they cut the cord and touched the newborn, it
began to cry. Had Patricia Welsh not wrapped the baby in a blanket, paramedics said there would have
been no chance for its survival.
As the father and baby were whisked away, Bo Ventura made it a point in the mist of his shocking grief
to find out the young girl’s name.
The baby was rushed to a nearby hospital and then transferred to Kosairs Children’s Hospital in Louisville.

For all the careful examination, the only thing doctors could find wrong with the little baby was a
tiny scratch on its knee.
It was a miracle. The baby was perfectly healthy.
When Bo Ventura was finally able to hold his son, he cradled him in his arms and beamed as the tiny
baby smiled at its daddy.
Bo Ventura would name the baby Patrick, after Patricia, the young girl that had saved his life.
Broadcasting from the Juniata Valley, I’m the American Storyteller.

Text Version of Audio Story: Baby Patrick