Tex Star Detail
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Doris Dresner has been driving for 62 years — she got her license when she was 16 — and she has never had a ticket.
Her son, Thomas, is the assistant police chief in Columbia, Mo. He once told his mother that he might follow her some night until she did something wrong just so he could give her a citation for something. She said to him, "That would be harassment."
She grew up in south St. Louis. Her father owned Al's Market, a small grocery store at Lemp Avenue and Utah Street. She graduated from Nerinx Hall high school in Webster Groves.
Her husband, Chuck, ran the photo department at Monsanto. He was also the volunteer official photographer for the St. Louis Zoo. In his final years, he suffered from Lou Gehrig's disease, and Doris drove a wheelchair-accessible van. Shortly after Chuck died in May 2005, Doris bought a new Toyota Camry.
"I didn't want to drive that van anymore," she told me when I visited her Thursday at her home in south St. Louis County.
About once a month, Doris drives to Columbia to visit her son and his family. She was visiting them in December 2005. She decided to take the Camry to a carwash. Her two grandchildren were with her. Will was 5. Emma was 4. They were in the back, buckled into their restraining seats.
The car went through the wash in neutral, its tires in the runners. When the Camry reached the end of the carwash, a light turned green and Doris stepped on the brake and put the car in drive. She says it accelerated and lunged forward. Doris stepped on the brake, but the car continued to accelerate. Very rapidly.
Doris swerved to the right to avoid a fireplug, but was unable to miss it completely. It took off the left fender and damaged the front door of the driver's side. Continuing to accelerate, the car shot across the street, jumped the curb and went airborne over and through some bushes before landing in the parking lot of a McDonald's restaurant. Three of the tires blew out on impact. The driver's airbag deployed. The engine shut off.
Doris turned around. The children were unhurt, still in their restraining seats.
Nevertheless, Doris was badly shaken. The thought that the children had been in danger was unbearable. And, of course, she could have hit somebody. It was sheer good fortune that she had not.
The car was totaled. Her insurance company, Liberty Mutual, accepted her explanation and wrote her a check. "They couldn't have been nicer," she said.
Although there was no need to contact Toyota, Doris did. The company sent an inspector to look at the car. Doris and her son went to watch.
"He didn't even get in the car," she said. "He went under the car for a few minutes and came out and said, 'It wasn't the computer.'"
Doris was not satisfied. In January, she sent a letter to Toyota. She described what happened to her. She also asked to see the report the inspector had submitted.
She received a letter back. "It is our understanding that while you were exiting a carwash, you shifted from Neutral to Drive and you said that the vehicle accelerated on its own and would not stop ... In order for the accident to have occurred as you reported, two different systems within the vehicle would have had to fail, those being the throttle linkage and brakes. For both systems to fail simultaneously is virtually impossible."
The company also said it was not policy to release internal reports.
So that was that. Doris got another car — not a Toyota — and life got back to normal.
Sometimes she'd tell her story about the sudden unintended acceleration and people would dismiss it and suggest that she had mistakenly stepped on the gas pedal.
But more and more incidents of unintended acceleration with Toyotas were reported, and the company has now recalled millions of vehicles because of the problem.
Doris felt vindicated.
Last Wednesday, Toyota's president, Akio Toyoda, appeared before the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee. Before taking questions from the legislators, he read a statement. "We never run away from our problems or pretend we don't notice them," he said.
Doris isn't so sure of that. And who knows? I suspect there were people like Doris all over the country — one here, one there. Had the company paid more attention to them years ago, perhaps this whole story would have played out much differently.
Doris Dresner has been driving for 62 years — she got her license when she was 16 — and she has never had a ticket.
Her son, Thomas, is the assistant police chief in Columbia, Mo. He once told his mother that he might follow her some night until she did something wrong just so he could give her a citation for something. She said to him, "That would be harassment."
She grew up in south St. Louis. Her father owned Al's Market, a small grocery store at Lemp Avenue and Utah Street. She graduated from Nerinx Hall high school in Webster Groves.
Her husband, Chuck, ran the photo department at Monsanto. He was also the volunteer official photographer for the St. Louis Zoo. In his final years, he suffered from Lou Gehrig's disease, and Doris drove a wheelchair-accessible van. Shortly after Chuck died in May 2005, Doris bought a new Toyota Camry.
"I didn't want to drive that van anymore," she told me when I visited her Thursday at her home in south St. Louis County.
About once a month, Doris drives to Columbia to visit her son and his family. She was visiting them in December 2005. She decided to take the Camry to a carwash. Her two grandchildren were with her. Will was 5. Emma was 4. They were in the back, buckled into their restraining seats.
The car went through the wash in neutral, its tires in the runners. When the Camry reached the end of the carwash, a light turned green and Doris stepped on the brake and put the car in drive. She says it accelerated and lunged forward. Doris stepped on the brake, but the car continued to accelerate. Very rapidly.
Doris swerved to the right to avoid a fireplug, but was unable to miss it completely. It took off the left fender and damaged the front door of the driver's side. Continuing to accelerate, the car shot across the street, jumped the curb and went airborne over and through some bushes before landing in the parking lot of a McDonald's restaurant. Three of the tires blew out on impact. The driver's airbag deployed. The engine shut off.
Doris turned around. The children were unhurt, still in their restraining seats.
Nevertheless, Doris was badly shaken. The thought that the children had been in danger was unbearable. And, of course, she could have hit somebody. It was sheer good fortune that she had not.
The car was totaled. Her insurance company, Liberty Mutual, accepted her explanation and wrote her a check. "They couldn't have been nicer," she said.
Although there was no need to contact Toyota, Doris did. The company sent an inspector to look at the car. Doris and her son went to watch.
"He didn't even get in the car," she said. "He went under the car for a few minutes and came out and said, 'It wasn't the computer.'"
Doris was not satisfied. In January, she sent a letter to Toyota. She described what happened to her. She also asked to see the report the inspector had submitted.
She received a letter back. "It is our understanding that while you were exiting a carwash, you shifted from Neutral to Drive and you said that the vehicle accelerated on its own and would not stop ... In order for the accident to have occurred as you reported, two different systems within the vehicle would have had to fail, those being the throttle linkage and brakes. For both systems to fail simultaneously is virtually impossible."
The company also said it was not policy to release internal reports.
So that was that. Doris got another car — not a Toyota — and life got back to normal.
Sometimes she'd tell her story about the sudden unintended acceleration and people would dismiss it and suggest that she had mistakenly stepped on the gas pedal.
But more and more incidents of unintended acceleration with Toyotas were reported, and the company has now recalled millions of vehicles because of the problem.
Doris felt vindicated.
Last Wednesday, Toyota's president, Akio Toyoda, appeared before the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee. Before taking questions from the legislators, he read a statement. "We never run away from our problems or pretend we don't notice them," he said.
Doris isn't so sure of that. And who knows? I suspect there were people like Doris all over the country — one here, one there. Had the company paid more attention to them years ago, perhaps this whole story would have played out much differently.
