We were driving home from the supermarket recently, and I noticed that the indicator on my dashboard showed that the right rear door was not closed properly. So I put on the flashers, stopped on the side of the road, got out and closed the door.

(This new car drives me crazy: It comes with an 800-page-long user’s manual; it talks to me when I get in even before I start the engine; beeps when I cross the white or yellow line; signals when there is another car next to me and I turn on the directional signal; and slows down by itself when I have the cruise control on and catch up with another car, etc.)

What happened afterward was something that typifies America: Within seconds, another car stopped in front of me, put on the flashers and the driver got out to ask me whether I needed any help.

This redefines the term “ugly American” or a “rude New Yorker.” While something like that could happen in other countries I am familiar with, I contend that in America it happens quite regularly. Over the last 50 years, I have helped other drivers several times, particularly with changing a tire.

It happened to us also last year on the interstate in Pennsylvania when our poorly designed Chinese roof rack gave way and our kayak almost fell off the roof. A pickup stopped nearly immediately in front of us, and the driver took our kayak home until we could show up the following day at his home with a better roof rack.

The first summer in New York we went to the New York Aquarium with our aunt. When we were leaving, we found that our rental car had a flat tire. Suddenly, a pickup truck with two men in overalls appeared, and one of them said, “You are not going to do this yourself!” They changed my flat tire, did not accept any money and left.

I know what I am talking about: Fifty-five years ago I was standing on the side of the road from Kolín to Prague in communist Czechoslovakia, by a car with a dead battery as the alternator gave up. This was a major artery. Not only that: nobody stopped to help me, but truckers passing me were making long noses at me.

I have not lived in Czechoslovakia for 51 years, but I think things have changed for the better. I would be interested in knowing whether that has been the case.

Ivan Orisek
Forestburgh, NY