I knew Steve from the 5th grade on. One story I remember was when a number of us thought Steve killed himself in a car crash. We were at Bottomless Lakes having car races. Steve was at the finish line, we at the starting line. Johnny Schmel had a fairly fast, new Dodge (yes, his parents first bought him a 1958 Corvette then this brand new Dodge). Johnny raced someone who I forget who but possibly Jimmy Head. Steve had an unusally fast 1957 Chevy. I say unusally because nothing was done to enhance the stock 283 cubic inch engine, but it ran like a cheetah. So apprarently Johnny and Steve were going to race back to the starting line. Only one problem, there was a big curve at our end. That was why we were racing the other direction. Here they come balls to the wall. Johnny saw the curve first and started slowing down and negotiated the curve; Steve did not. His car started flipping end over end, rolling numerous times, dust everywhere. We all, some barefoot, started running to his car which finally landed on its right side with Steve's body pinned in those few inches between the right side of the bench seat and the door frame. We pushed the vehicle right side up, pulled out Steve and took him to the hospital for a severe cut on his arm. Otherwise, he was okay.

The state police were not happy for two reasons. We called and stated a car accident and we were taking a person to the hospital. It was interpreted as "car accident and someone needs transported to hospital." So as we are flying on Highway 380 towards town (hospital), the state police were flying by us going the other direction with lights and sirens on. They were not happy campers when they caught up with us at the hospital emergency room. By then, they had seen the accident scene, the skid marks, the demolished car and all.