“Thirty miles south of Paso Robles the road is straight as an arrow. At this part I could see for many miles ahead, and I noticed what seemed like some kind of a roadblock far off in the distance. As I came closer, the obstruction took form. It was a sedan, not badly damaged, in the middle of the highway. I strained to look around the immediate area – I was looking for the other car.
Off in a ditch to the right, I suddenly saw what had been the sleek, silver Porsche - now it was like a crumpled pack of cigarettes. But where was Jimmy? My heart screamed. I leaped from the car, only to be confronted by a highway policeman asking questions.
Then I saw it all. Rolf had been thrown clear of the car: Jimmy was dead in his seat. The impact had thrown his head back too far.
The ambulance came and I instinctively began taking pictures. I begged the attendant to keep Jimmy under oxygen on the way to the hospital, but it was no use. Neither was the fifteen-mile race against time to the hospital. Jimmy was dead.”
- Sanford Roth
