Fortunately when I moved into Grants Pass seven years ago I knew many of the firefighters at the new fire station I joined. I had actually helped train many of them to become firefighters when they were still kids, before they too moved away from my old rural community in Cave Junction. Everyone at the new station welcomed me with open arms and big pats on the back, except this one young guy nicknamed (Buttercup). One day he came up to me and said “I’ve heard a lot about you". Continuing, he said “I’m going to kick your ass and leave you in the dust on the next fire”. I had to laugh at him because first I’m more of an “actions speak louder then words” kind of guy and also how could you take a guy with a nickname like “Buttercup” very seriously anyway...
Last winter Southern Oregon was suffering from one of the worst cold spells to hit our area in 25 years. The local roads literally had two inches of ice on them making them almost impassable even with traction devices on. Since it was just a few days before Christmas, even though the weather outside was frightful, like in the song, the adventurous were still scouring the surrounding mountains forests looking for that perfect Christmas tree when disaster struck. A family of five was returning home in the late afternoon, after a day with friends cutting down a Christmas tree. Their car skidded off a cliff on a remote icy mountain road. All the local fire departments, Search and Rescue, ambulance crews and the Sheriffs department responded to assist in the rescue...
For many years now my feet have had to fit into several different pair of work boots at the same time. Currently I am a member of JoCo SAR. On weekends I pull shifts with Rural Metro Fire. I work periodically with the fire boys at G.P. Fire and am a 23 year, past veteran of I.V. Fire, before Larrieann and I moved into Grants Pass to undertake a new job with the City of Grants Pass. My take on the tragic event on Shan Creek are my own thoughts and should not be considered an official statement by any of the aforementioned agencies. I am keenly aware that the victims’ family may read my blog someday. My hope is that if they do read my comments on the events that unraveled that night they will find comfort that everything possible was done to save their dad / husband.
After G.P. Fire shuttled the first load of rescuers and gear to the scene we began preparing for the descent. While I have been in the steep angle business for many years now I have never been one of the people left on top to assemble all the rigging. While I am aware of what rigging needs to be assembled, I am not particularly good at actually assembling it. When the word comes from command “who’s going over” I just always step forward because I know I can do more good down there…
…as Netti, Ben (soon to be called “Thing 1”, (because we ended up with 3 different Ben’s in the dark, on the side of the cliff that night) and myself latched into the stokes stretcher rails, pulling the chin straps on our helmets tight, we headed over the embankment. One of my R.M. fire "buddies" (Buttercup) had arrived at the scene earlier in the evening because he probably is the only person in the county who drives a 4 x 4 who could have gotten up that old road without chaining up first. He had already gone over the edge and was beginning to feed us spotty information from his portable radio. Being the first team over the edge “Rescue 1” we started our decent. It wasn’t too bad for the first 40 feet, while using just the light provided by our headlamps to proceed. Quickly we came to the cliff. Netta said “HOLD”. With her lamp shining brightly in my eyes she looks at me and in a calm voice informs me, “Blaze, we’re not in Kansas anymore”. I began wondering how (Buttercup) had gotten down this fricking cliff when I noticed a tie down ratchet strap attached to a tree next to my feet with the end thrown over into the oblivion. At this time I did not know Ben (Thing 2, a family friend) had tied this conglomeration together trying to reach his injured friends below. If I did know that “Thing 2” had tied this mess I never would have done what I did next…
A rigging change needed to be made on top because of the new found dilemma (the sheer 100 foot cliff) and it was going to take a few minutes to set up. "Rescue 1" waited in the near total darkness listening to the family’s cries for help, still very far below us. Still thinking Engineer Buttercup had tied this self imposed decent line I told Netti “I have to go”. She just looked at me again and said “I know Bill, please be careful”. As I unsnapped from the basket, and down the tow strap, out of sight I slid. All I will say about this part of my evening is it was not OSHA approved. Finally meeting my new nemesis (Buttercup) at the bottom of the cliff he lined me out to where all the patients were plastered to the side of the mountain. As soon as I reached the family, I began doing what we are trained to do; patient assessment and helping re-adjust some of their positions to help them feel safer where they had came to rest on the side of that mountain. It wasn’t long before the rest of Rescue 1 had rejoined me and we began packaging mom and the young boy for their trip back to the relative safety of that slick logging road they had fallen off a couple hours earlier.
I have seen written where those of us over the edge that night were being called heroes. I have never claimed to be a hero before and still don’t think even after this arduous night, any of us rescuers are heroes still. We are all trained to do what we do. We learn how to fight back our personal fears and continue. I had personal heroes that night though. One of my heroes was the mom, for keeping her brood from any further injury while plastered to the side of that cold mountain waiting for the Calvary to arrive. She begged us not to take her on the first lift because she did not want to leave her two other children. We had to forcefully explain to her, your small son needs you most right now, so she allowed us to strap her and him into the basket for the journey aloft. Another hero of mine that evening was the teenage girl, hurt, cold, scared, holding the smaller sister in her lap she begged us to go help daddy, 200 feet farther down the steep mountain side. Leaving her in the darkness with just the dome light from the inside of the car slowly fading, I looked back and asked “Honey, are you going to be ok?” She just said “Please go help my dad” as Netti and I slide away over the mountain farther.
We now had slid so far down that mountain (550 feet) we couldn’t slide anymore because we were standing beside the iced over, Shan Creek. That’s where I met Ben “Thing 2” another of my heroes that night, personally for the first time. He was holding the dad trying to keep him as warm as he could under the circumstances, reminding him to hold on and not fall asleep, using his own body to deflect the rocks that were knocked loose periodically from above. He had sustained a pretty good lump to the back of his own head while shielding the dad. After quite a wait, G.P fireman, Ben, “Thing 3” arrived with the basket. The children’s father succumbed to his injuries as he was packaged for his trip to heaven…
…as we were pulled back up the mountain 200 feet to where the car crash was located, Netti and I peeled off to rejoin the two girls whom were by then sleeping and being held warmly in the arms of their two new best friends, Mr. G. and Thing 1. The Ben from below had helped carry our gear back to the crash site. He took the sleeping little girl in his arms already knowing he would be playing a different role in her life from now on. The rest of us quietly hunkered down awaiting the final lift for the two smaller girls because we too knew our lives will have changed after this experience that night. With the girl’s harnesses on, strapped in, away they went with Netti and with someone else, but I had lost track by now. Not wanting to wait for another shuttle to arrive, the remaining rescue members and Thing #2 began the hard steep walk out around the base of the cliff, back to the road carrying all the medical gear. I literally crawled onto the ice skating rink surface of the road at sometime around two in the morning, seven hours after we first descended over the bank.
...in the several days following the rescue we received several short notes thanking all of us for our efforts that extremely cold night. The compliment I most enjoyed hearing came to me in private though. Seeing Buttercup at the fire station a few days later he too admitted to me that “it was sure nice to see your ugly mug that night”, when I crawled down over that cliff to help him. After hearing that statement from Buttercup I slept very well indeed that evening.
Venture out and find a beautiful Christmas tree this holiday season. But please stay safe for all us rescuers this year.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Lies Reaching around the World
Blog hits from around the world...
United States 2,822
Canada 96
United Kingdom 90
Brazil 50
Russia 34
Germany 33
Pakistan 27 Poland 21
Czech Republic 20
Kuwait 19
Taiwan 19
Netherlands 20
The billy blaze blog stats show my misadventures are being followed from around the world. I don't think I know anybody personally from the Czech Republic so I hope they understand my American humor. All I need to find now is somebody who would like to help me publish a book. We'll start with an English version first.
I recently ran into my long time firefighting buddy "Hollywood". He went off on me about only having one story about him on my blog so far. I told him "dude go write your own damn blog, this one's all about me". No... Hollywood and my mom have reminded me of some more stories I had forgotten about, which will follow once the holiday season slows down. I have heard some of my long lost fire buddies are following along on my blog also. Just flash me an e-mail and I'd be happy to add your stories too. Of coarse my version will make me look taller and more handsome then your version of the same story might.
Safe Holidays Everybody
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving
Most of the stories on this blog are about some of my educational adventures over twenty three years as a Volunteer Firefighter with the Illinois Valley Fire Department and the last seven years with Rural Metro Fire in Grants Pass. I have been quite lucky fighting the beast all these years. I have only been seriously injured once in my career—at least so far. In the old days we did not wear the protective Nomex fire hoods all firefighters use today. Before the introduction of the flame-resistant hoods, our face, neck and ears were exposed to the mercy of the fire's heat and flames. Back in the day, we actually used the pain from the heat on our bare ears to indicate when it was getting too hot to be that close to the fire. When the blistering agony radiating from our thin-skinned ears got too intense to withstand any longer, that was when we knew it was time to retreat to a cooler location, normally outside the building.
On one occasion while I was fighting a fire in a fully involved kitchen, I heard something blowup just before I felt an excruciating pain grip me on the side of my face and neck. Some boiling-hot, thick material had just exploded onto me. I’ve heard that burning to death is the most painful way to go and I am inclined to believe it. I turned the fire hose on myself to wash the molten glop from the side of my face and neck. I staggered outside where I discovered the mysterious goo was just a can of creamed corn that had gotten so hot it exploded splattering the mushy contents onto my neck and ear. I loved those new fire hoods when we finally got them a few years later.
Besides the fact the new fire hoods helped protect our bare faces and necks from the flames, they also provided a level of anonymity from the general public when we wore them on a fire or accident scene. I truly enjoyed being able to walk down the street a few days after a big car crash knowing that the person limping towards me from the other direction was the very same person I'd helped get untangled from a car wreck just a few days earlier. But because my face had been obscured by my hood, they had no idea that I was one of the firemen who had helped save them.
During this coming holiday
season be one of those people
who helps a stranger
anonymously.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Memories Etched in Stone
Ever since a grade school field trip to Crater Lake I have been intrigued with stone work. The beautiful rock work guarding access into the steep volcanic caldera at Crater Lake is simply amazing. I had opportunity when I was older to apprentice under a well known stone mason in the valley, Howard Woods. I had a volunteer rock wall project I wanted to complete at Cave Junction's City Hall when I was a City Councilor and Howard agreed to show me the ropes of laying stone...
Placing stone is a hard, slow going labor of love when done properly. First you have to gather your building stone material from the forest or a rock pit. (Note to self: make sure your in the right rock pit before gathering your stone) Unusual shaped pieces are best to work with, remembering that you may have to pick that same stone up several times before it finally fits into your work of art. So too big of boulders are undesirable when working alone, and I almost always worked alone. You need to gather about 1 1/2 times the amount of material that you figure you will need for a particular project because every single stone will not find a home in your project.
There was a small piece of city property at the south end of Cave Junction. I decided one day that Cave Junction needed a more fitting "Welcome to Cave Junction" sign. After getting permission from our city fathers I began the complicated volunteer project. I wanted a rock wall backdrop with a stream of water flowing from it much like happens at the Oregon Caves. My stream would feature salmon fighting their way back towards the headwaters to spawn. A landscaping area would grace a small pool where the water would recirculate from. Simple, right?
I used to wear my old dirty Carhart coveralls when the weather got cold outside. Over them I normally wore some beat up old sweatshirt too. I specifically remember one cold Thanksgiving day I was working on my project before the big thanksgiving feast. A car drove up and a man got out, walked over and offered me a free Thanksgiving dinner down at the local rescue mission. I think I was dressed so shabbily that he actually thought I was homeless. My mom got a kick out of that story when I told it over dinner later that day.
Placing stone is a hard, slow going labor of love when done properly. First you have to gather your building stone material from the forest or a rock pit. (Note to self: make sure your in the right rock pit before gathering your stone) Unusual shaped pieces are best to work with, remembering that you may have to pick that same stone up several times before it finally fits into your work of art. So too big of boulders are undesirable when working alone, and I almost always worked alone. You need to gather about 1 1/2 times the amount of material that you figure you will need for a particular project because every single stone will not find a home in your project.
Second it is best to sketch out a simple plan before starting your adventure. Your final project hardly ever mirrors exactly what your rough draft looked like but it gives you a starting point to begin from. Finally after your stones are meticulously placed you have to come back and grout the joints left between the rocks. This at times is the most tedious part of any project, grouting and smoothing your joint seams.
There was a small piece of city property at the south end of Cave Junction. I decided one day that Cave Junction needed a more fitting "Welcome to Cave Junction" sign. After getting permission from our city fathers I began the complicated volunteer project. I wanted a rock wall backdrop with a stream of water flowing from it much like happens at the Oregon Caves. My stream would feature salmon fighting their way back towards the headwaters to spawn. A landscaping area would grace a small pool where the water would recirculate from. Simple, right? 
After the projects footing was poured, pool built, pump installed and tons of rock gathered the "simple" project finally began. I would work on it sporadically after work and on weekends. The weeks gradually turned into months as the rock sculpture slowly rose from the ground. Being positioned right along Highway 199 I received many strange looks, a few motivational honks and occasionally a Dr. Pepper from the passing motorists. Dr. Pepper has long been my drink of choice when creating a master piece.
I used to wear my old dirty Carhart coveralls when the weather got cold outside. Over them I normally wore some beat up old sweatshirt too. I specifically remember one cold Thanksgiving day I was working on my project before the big thanksgiving feast. A car drove up and a man got out, walked over and offered me a free Thanksgiving dinner down at the local rescue mission. I think I was dressed so shabbily that he actually thought I was homeless. My mom got a kick out of that story when I told it over dinner later that day.Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Shattered Memories
Sorry the stories are coming a bit slower lately but I'm busy again doing some more after hours sheet rocking for SAR (Search and Rescue), at our club house...
I clearly remember once collecting an artifact at a fire scene from a two story building. I think the building had once been an old restaurant, but anyway, we had a late night fire call there. We got the fire knocked down pretty quickly on the first floor and headed to the second floor to see what the fire had done aloft. We found quite a bit of heat damage, but no actual fire had crawled up into the second story. In the corner of that upstairs room, we found an old hanging lamp made of plastic. It had gotten so hot it had melted and oozed into molten strips of plastic six feet long, almost all the way to the floor. After we had extinguished the fire downstairs, it had cooled the upstairs enough for the plastic to re-harden. It was a beautiful work of fire art. We asked the property owner if we could have that unique melted lamp and he said, "Sure, it’s all yours."
So, with the fire still smoldering in spots below us, several of us firefighters got a spine-board out and by standing on the first floor's icy roof, carefully, ever so gently we managed to ease this brittle lamp down from it's hanger and lowered it onto its side. Carefully we began removing it out through the second floor window and down the ladder to the ground. That's about when the Fire Chief drove onto the fire scene. I suppose from a distance, in the dark it did look like we were evacuating an injured firefighter out of the building. Let’s just say he wasn't very happy when he found out what we were actually doing. That old melted lamp hung in our training room at my station for years and years before someone accidentally bumped into it one night and shattered it into a million pieces.
I clearly remember once collecting an artifact at a fire scene from a two story building. I think the building had once been an old restaurant, but anyway, we had a late night fire call there. We got the fire knocked down pretty quickly on the first floor and headed to the second floor to see what the fire had done aloft. We found quite a bit of heat damage, but no actual fire had crawled up into the second story. In the corner of that upstairs room, we found an old hanging lamp made of plastic. It had gotten so hot it had melted and oozed into molten strips of plastic six feet long, almost all the way to the floor. After we had extinguished the fire downstairs, it had cooled the upstairs enough for the plastic to re-harden. It was a beautiful work of fire art. We asked the property owner if we could have that unique melted lamp and he said, "Sure, it’s all yours."
So, with the fire still smoldering in spots below us, several of us firefighters got a spine-board out and by standing on the first floor's icy roof, carefully, ever so gently we managed to ease this brittle lamp down from it's hanger and lowered it onto its side. Carefully we began removing it out through the second floor window and down the ladder to the ground. That's about when the Fire Chief drove onto the fire scene. I suppose from a distance, in the dark it did look like we were evacuating an injured firefighter out of the building. Let’s just say he wasn't very happy when he found out what we were actually doing. That old melted lamp hung in our training room at my station for years and years before someone accidentally bumped into it one night and shattered it into a million pieces.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Annie, Annie are you ok?
For generations of Americans, fighting fire has always been a male dominated sport. Very few women participate in this strenuous and often times dangerous public service. There is a spattering of females in the fire service today, but they are a hardy breed. They have to be, if they want to survive the constant Tom Foolery found within the ranks of fire departments. Participating in and encouraging practical jokes is second nature to longtime firemen. The one cardinal rule is you don’t ever mess with a comrade's turnouts. No sharp objects hidden inside the boots, no hiding his gear, no icy-hot smeared inside his fire hood. Besides not messing around with one of the brethren's turnouts, pretty much everything else in a firemen’s life is up for exploitation and amusement.
It certainly is deemed OK to take the breastplate and cute blue jumpsuit off the "CPR-Annie" training manikin and put them on a live, petite, blonde-haired young lady. Go ahead and remove CPR-Annie’s plastic face mask and carefully place it on our afore mentioned young lady. Add some clean white tennis shoes to her wardrobe and— voilà. Who cares that the CPR test you are about ready to take is 50% of your final grade and one of the last steps before becoming a certified Emergency Medical Technician? How could you feel nervous when taking your final test?
By now I had practiced performing CPR in class till I could do it in my sleep. Following protocol, I would mundanely kneel down and shake Annie’s shoulder and shout, “Annie, Annie are you OK?” That’s when this new, improved Annie sits straight up and shouts back, “YES, I’M OK!” I grabbed both her shoulders and slammed her back down to the floor so hard I knocked the wind out of this new actor, but I did no permanent harm.
Now, standing off to the side in the shadows of the engine bays(having completed this important part of my test), I got to watch other rugged firemen shriek like little girls, and some even started to cry, after getting a huge shock from a very alive Annie— those were the best. Each subsequent, "Annie, Annie, are you OK?" victim would stand off to the side of the improvised training room pretending not to be watching the next classmate step forward to ask Annie if she was OK. We intently watched as one of our most macho fire guys knelt down to shake Annie's shoulder. When she sat bolt upright, he leaped a foot in the air and traveled 20 foot backwards without touching the floor till he slammed into the wheels on one of the fire engines— that was a pretty good one, too.
It certainly is deemed OK to take the breastplate and cute blue jumpsuit off the "CPR-Annie" training manikin and put them on a live, petite, blonde-haired young lady. Go ahead and remove CPR-Annie’s plastic face mask and carefully place it on our afore mentioned young lady. Add some clean white tennis shoes to her wardrobe and— voilà. Who cares that the CPR test you are about ready to take is 50% of your final grade and one of the last steps before becoming a certified Emergency Medical Technician? How could you feel nervous when taking your final test?
By now I had practiced performing CPR in class till I could do it in my sleep. Following protocol, I would mundanely kneel down and shake Annie’s shoulder and shout, “Annie, Annie are you OK?” That’s when this new, improved Annie sits straight up and shouts back, “YES, I’M OK!” I grabbed both her shoulders and slammed her back down to the floor so hard I knocked the wind out of this new actor, but I did no permanent harm.
Now, standing off to the side in the shadows of the engine bays(having completed this important part of my test), I got to watch other rugged firemen shriek like little girls, and some even started to cry, after getting a huge shock from a very alive Annie— those were the best. Each subsequent, "Annie, Annie, are you OK?" victim would stand off to the side of the improvised training room pretending not to be watching the next classmate step forward to ask Annie if she was OK. We intently watched as one of our most macho fire guys knelt down to shake Annie's shoulder. When she sat bolt upright, he leaped a foot in the air and traveled 20 foot backwards without touching the floor till he slammed into the wheels on one of the fire engines— that was a pretty good one, too.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Without a Face
Because the sidewalks actually do roll up at 5 o’clock on Friday nights in small rural towns, you are left with just two options if you are looking for some evening action as a young adult. Option one, go to the local bars and carouse. Not being a drinker that wasn’t an option for me. Second option, attend the local high school football games and cheer them on. It was on one of those typically cold and quite foggy fall nights just after the football game was over when the call came in—a reported M.V.A. (Motor Vehicle Accident) on some deserted stretch of country road. I rushed up to the fire station and climbed into my cold turnout gear hanging on my hook waiting for me before I climbed into the driver's seat of the extrication truck and waited… Being that we were a volunteer department, no one ever knew how many firefighters would show up for any particular incident. Unlike me, our other volunteers actually had lives beyond the fire department and would go to the movies, or would be enjoying a nice dinner with their wives on a Friday night—all located in other towns several miles away. Some volunteers, heaven forbid, would actually crack open "a cold one" with friends, making them ineligible to respond to emergency call outs because they had been drinking. So, with the extrication rigs engine running, I sat and waited for anyone else to show up. We were trained to wait for five minutes for reinforcements to arrive before charging out on your own to any emergency. Fortunately, going solo didn't happen often, but this was one of those calls where I left the station alone with my overhead lights reflecting off the foggy darkness. Knowing the streets and lanes in my community like the back of my hand, I still had to drive with extra caution that night due to the dense fog.
Seeing someone’s four-way flashers illuminating the roadside where the accident most likely had occurred, I pulled to a stop and grabbed my "Streamlight" (a powerful flashlight) anchored next to my drivers seat. I stepped into the cold night, seeing my own breath in the headlights of my truck, — a bystander points into the woods. Aiming my beam of light into the forest I could see the rubble of a pathway left by a vehicle that had left the roadway out of control. Walking towards the wreck I could hear, but couldn't see, some man screaming, “She is dead! My sister is dead!” while he ran in circles around the crash site just beyond my view. On reaching the center of the chaos, I could see that a small Volkswagen beetle had caused all this carnage. Shinning my narrow beam of light through the smashed-out front windshield, I screamed. I’m not sure to this day if I screamed only in my mind or if I actually screamed out loud. Sitting slumped over in the passenger seat was what appeared to be a girl, but without any features to her face—no eyes, nose, or mouth, just raw flesh and lots of bloodied hair.
Gathering my composure, I slowly inched forward in the darkness to see what, if anything, I could do for her. Feeling for her pulse through the crushed side window, I got one! Looking more closely at her injuries, I saw she had been partially scalped and the loose hair and skin had fallen over her face covering up her facial features. The car doors were squashed shut and I could not get to her directly, but I finally squirmed my body (I was thinner in those days) through the small, almost undamaged frame of the back window that now had no glass in it. Kneeling in the back seat behind her, reaching round and over her seat I held her neck (C spine immobilization) and assured her that real help was on the way. She was bleeding badly from her serious head wounds, so like feeling for holes in a bowling ball, I placed my individual fingers over the spots that were bleeding most profusely to help stem the tide.
So here I was— alone, scared, on a dark, dark foggy night, squished in the back seat of a Volkswagen, trying to keep the precious, life-giving fluid in this young woman. Outside the vehicle I could still hear the man running around in the woods screaming, “My sister is dead!” I could actually hear him thud into a tree now and then, but he'd get back up and resume his panicked screaming—I never did see or find out what his injuries were. Finally, far off in the distance, I could hear the wail from the siren of the ambulance coming to my aid. I begged my young lady to hang on, “Help is coming!” She had bled so much by then that she had stopped bleeding as the ambulance crew jabbed her with two trauma IV lines, one in each of her arms. To my delight, while still kneeling behind her, holding her neck and head she began to bleed again indicating she had regained at least some blood pressure. As more firemen finally began showing up, they started extricating both of us from the wreckage. The young lady was loaded onto the gurney and placed in the back of the ambulance; the rear ambulance doors were slammed shut. A hard slap on the back door signals the ambulance driver to take off. With the interior lights in the ambulance illuminating the goings-on in there, they drove out of my life and into the stiff darkness toward the hospital.
On another Friday night several years later I was again walking into my local high school football stadium to see the annual, homecoming football game. By this time in my life I had gone through a divorce, I had ridden almost ten thousand miles on my mountain bike to help ease the pain of that time and I had met a new lady friend, of course at a Firemen’s Conference in some distant city. That evening was our first quasi date since we'd met, she had traveled to my little community. I was taking her to the local high school homecoming football game for our “special night” out. As we walked by the front of the overflowing crowd in the grandstands on the way to our seats, not even holding hands yet, I hear a woman yell my name from high up in the bleachers. Looking in her direction, a young lady jumps up and yells my name again, but this time even louder, “Bill!”
Firemen are the most notorious practical jokers known to man and my fire buddies knew this new girl friend of mine was coming to town. Looking anxiously towards the quickly advancing young woman (I had no idea who she was) screaming my name from the bleachers, I was searching for my firemen-culprits, giggling in the shadows, who had put her up to this stunt. The young lady pushed herself through the Cougar fans, ran down the bleacher stairs and leaped into my arms hugging me while gushing tears. Being the “gentleman” that I am, I caught her and held her for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, all the while I’m glancing at the new girlfriend eying me from the sideline. Finally the sobbing woman stepped back and said to me, “You don’t know who I am, do you?" I replied, “Miss, I am so sorry, but, no, I do not.” as the new girlfriend narrowed her glare towards me. The young lady asked if I remembered a particular wreck that had occurred a few years earlier on a dark foggy night and I said, “Yes.” She then informed me “I was the girl in that wreck and you saved my life that night.” Stumbling backwards I said, “Oh, my God, you look so much better then how I remember you.” (They call that Firemen's tact,) I began pushing her long dark hair back away from the side of her face and admiring how the doctors had been able to hide the scares from the accident. We laughed, she smiled and we hugged a few more times before she ran back into the bleachers.
To this day I have no idea how she found out that I was holding her together on that cold foggy night. With my attention now drawn back to the new girl friend who was almost in tears by now, she asked, “Does this happen often?” I took a long pause… and said, “Oh yes, this kind of thing happens to me all the time. I’m a fireman”.
Seeing someone’s four-way flashers illuminating the roadside where the accident most likely had occurred, I pulled to a stop and grabbed my "Streamlight" (a powerful flashlight) anchored next to my drivers seat. I stepped into the cold night, seeing my own breath in the headlights of my truck, — a bystander points into the woods. Aiming my beam of light into the forest I could see the rubble of a pathway left by a vehicle that had left the roadway out of control. Walking towards the wreck I could hear, but couldn't see, some man screaming, “She is dead! My sister is dead!” while he ran in circles around the crash site just beyond my view. On reaching the center of the chaos, I could see that a small Volkswagen beetle had caused all this carnage. Shinning my narrow beam of light through the smashed-out front windshield, I screamed. I’m not sure to this day if I screamed only in my mind or if I actually screamed out loud. Sitting slumped over in the passenger seat was what appeared to be a girl, but without any features to her face—no eyes, nose, or mouth, just raw flesh and lots of bloodied hair.
Gathering my composure, I slowly inched forward in the darkness to see what, if anything, I could do for her. Feeling for her pulse through the crushed side window, I got one! Looking more closely at her injuries, I saw she had been partially scalped and the loose hair and skin had fallen over her face covering up her facial features. The car doors were squashed shut and I could not get to her directly, but I finally squirmed my body (I was thinner in those days) through the small, almost undamaged frame of the back window that now had no glass in it. Kneeling in the back seat behind her, reaching round and over her seat I held her neck (C spine immobilization) and assured her that real help was on the way. She was bleeding badly from her serious head wounds, so like feeling for holes in a bowling ball, I placed my individual fingers over the spots that were bleeding most profusely to help stem the tide.
So here I was— alone, scared, on a dark, dark foggy night, squished in the back seat of a Volkswagen, trying to keep the precious, life-giving fluid in this young woman. Outside the vehicle I could still hear the man running around in the woods screaming, “My sister is dead!” I could actually hear him thud into a tree now and then, but he'd get back up and resume his panicked screaming—I never did see or find out what his injuries were. Finally, far off in the distance, I could hear the wail from the siren of the ambulance coming to my aid. I begged my young lady to hang on, “Help is coming!” She had bled so much by then that she had stopped bleeding as the ambulance crew jabbed her with two trauma IV lines, one in each of her arms. To my delight, while still kneeling behind her, holding her neck and head she began to bleed again indicating she had regained at least some blood pressure. As more firemen finally began showing up, they started extricating both of us from the wreckage. The young lady was loaded onto the gurney and placed in the back of the ambulance; the rear ambulance doors were slammed shut. A hard slap on the back door signals the ambulance driver to take off. With the interior lights in the ambulance illuminating the goings-on in there, they drove out of my life and into the stiff darkness toward the hospital.
On another Friday night several years later I was again walking into my local high school football stadium to see the annual, homecoming football game. By this time in my life I had gone through a divorce, I had ridden almost ten thousand miles on my mountain bike to help ease the pain of that time and I had met a new lady friend, of course at a Firemen’s Conference in some distant city. That evening was our first quasi date since we'd met, she had traveled to my little community. I was taking her to the local high school homecoming football game for our “special night” out. As we walked by the front of the overflowing crowd in the grandstands on the way to our seats, not even holding hands yet, I hear a woman yell my name from high up in the bleachers. Looking in her direction, a young lady jumps up and yells my name again, but this time even louder, “Bill!”
Firemen are the most notorious practical jokers known to man and my fire buddies knew this new girl friend of mine was coming to town. Looking anxiously towards the quickly advancing young woman (I had no idea who she was) screaming my name from the bleachers, I was searching for my firemen-culprits, giggling in the shadows, who had put her up to this stunt. The young lady pushed herself through the Cougar fans, ran down the bleacher stairs and leaped into my arms hugging me while gushing tears. Being the “gentleman” that I am, I caught her and held her for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time, all the while I’m glancing at the new girlfriend eying me from the sideline. Finally the sobbing woman stepped back and said to me, “You don’t know who I am, do you?" I replied, “Miss, I am so sorry, but, no, I do not.” as the new girlfriend narrowed her glare towards me. The young lady asked if I remembered a particular wreck that had occurred a few years earlier on a dark foggy night and I said, “Yes.” She then informed me “I was the girl in that wreck and you saved my life that night.” Stumbling backwards I said, “Oh, my God, you look so much better then how I remember you.” (They call that Firemen's tact,) I began pushing her long dark hair back away from the side of her face and admiring how the doctors had been able to hide the scares from the accident. We laughed, she smiled and we hugged a few more times before she ran back into the bleachers.
To this day I have no idea how she found out that I was holding her together on that cold foggy night. With my attention now drawn back to the new girl friend who was almost in tears by now, she asked, “Does this happen often?” I took a long pause… and said, “Oh yes, this kind of thing happens to me all the time. I’m a fireman”.
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