Death Came Knocking Seven Times—Frayne Salac Answered with Luck

Some people coast through life with barely a scratch. Others, like Frayne Salac, seem to dance with danger at every turn. Over decades, Frayne survived not one, not two, but seven brushes with death—each more harrowing than the last. His story reads like a Hollywood thriller, yet it’s all too real. From derailed trains to fiery car wrecks, here’s the extraordinary account of a man who’s either blessed with luck or cursed with chaos.

1962: The Train That Took a Tumble

It was a frigid day in 1962 when Frayne’s life first veered off track—literally. He was aboard a train, the carriage jolting wildly as luggage tumbled from the racks. Then came the passengers, thrown into chaos, followed by the train itself. The entire thing flipped, screeching across an icy field toward a canyon. With a deafening crash, it plunged off the cliff at 80 miles an hour, landing in the icy river below. Water—or maybe shards of glass—stung Frayne’s face as he struggled to breathe, his arm snapped and useless. Numbness crept in, but not enough to dull the certainty: this was the end. Yet, just as the cold tightened its grip, sirens pierced the air. Voices shouted, hands yanked him from the wreckage, and he blacked out—alive, somehow. His first dance with death had ended in a draw.

1963: Falling From the Sky

A year later, Frayne faced a new trial. His mother was gravely ill, and he was desperate to see her. Flights were booked solid, but he sweet-talked his way onto a budget airline. It was his first time in the air, marveling at the view from beside the emergency exit—until the plane shuddered. “Just turbulence,” they said. Then, with a deafening boom, the door tore open. Sucked into the void, Frayne plummeted toward Earth, the wind scorching his skin. His eyes squeezed shut as fractured memories flickered—scraped knees from childhood bike falls, his mother’s face. No time for prayers. The ground rushed up, and—bam—he landed in a haystack, dazed but alive. A trail of smoke marked the crashed plane in the distance. Death two, Frayne zero.

1966: The River Reunion

By 1966, Frayne was on a bus, rain and snow slicking the road. The speed felt eerily familiar, a grim echo of that train disaster. Ahead, a river swelled from the downpour, and a sharp turn loomed. Predictably, the bus skidded, plunging into the icy water. But Frayne? He’d been here before. Drawing on his train-wreck instincts, he swam to shore, emerging with just cuts and bruises. “Me two, icy rivers zero,” he’d later quip. Third time’s the charm—or so death hoped.

1970: A Fiery Escape

Public transport lost its appeal after that. In 1970, Frayne was behind the wheel of his own car, cruising the highway when his windshield blurred. Wary from past ordeals, he slowed down. Good thing, too—his wiper-less car was spewing smoke, not steam. He pulled over, unbuckled, and bolted just as the vehicle erupted in flames. Standing roadside, he watched it burn, grateful for his caution—and another narrow victory over fate.

1973: Flames Through the Vents

Three years later, in a new car (this one with wipers), Frayne sensed trouble again. No smoke this time—just the sharp whiff of gasoline. Then, where cool air should’ve flowed, flames shot from the vents. He screeched to a halt, leapt out, and watched yet another car blaze. His hair didn’t survive, but he did. Five escapes down, and he was still standing.

1995: The Bus That Didn’t Brake

By 1995, Frayne had sworn off vehicles altogether. Walking seemed safer—until it wasn’t. A screech split the air, and he turned to see a bus hurtling toward him, the driver’s panicked face framed in the windshield. Thirty thousand pounds of metal slammed into him, knocking him flat. Miraculously, as he lay there tallying what wasn’t broken, he found only scrapes and bruises. The sixth chapter of his saga closed with a collective gasp from onlookers.

1996: The Mountain Plunge

Tempting fate, Frayne gave driving another shot in 1996. On a mountain road, all seemed calm—until a truck roared around a bend, barreling straight for him. No room to maneuver, he swerved through the barrier, his car tumbling down the slope, smashing trees and rocks. In a split-second decision, he flung the door open and leapt, the impact hurling him free. Clinging to a branch 300 feet above his mangled car, he dangled until a voice called, “Need a hand?” The truck driver, apologetic and shaken, pulled him to safety. Seven brushes, seven survivals.

2003: A Million-Dollar Twist

Fast forward to 2003. Frayne, now 73 and newly married, felt luck finally tipping his way. Two days after his birthday, he bought a lottery ticket—and won a million dollars. After seven miracles, this felt like divine compensation. He splurged on a house, a boat (“just in case”), and insurance, but the windfall weighed on him. So, he gave most of it away—to friends, family, and strangers in need. “I’ve already lived quite a life,” he reasoned.

Luckiest or Unluckiest?

Frayne Salac’s tale defies belief. Is he the luckiest man alive, dodging death’s grasp time and again? Or the unluckiest, forever in its crosshairs? That’s for you to decide. One thing’s certain: his story is a testament to resilience, a wild ride through a life that refused to end quietly.