Transformative Moments in Life: A Reflection

I kind of sort of answered that question once, but I’m going to take another look at it.

Back in 1982 I was a young deputy sheriff in Conejos County, Colorado. This County covers 1100 square miles of terrain that varies from dry desert to high mountains. We’ve several small population centers. To make life even more interesting, more often that not, the whole county was mine along to patrol.

It was 27 December. We’d had our first good snow, and it was ice cold outside (about 14 degrees). At the Sheriff’s Office, the Christmas Tree the jailer had put up was still lite and Merry Christmas was still on the windows. It had been a quiet night so far, but I’d learned long ago that changes in a heartbeat.

I’d just walked into the Sheriff’s Office for a cup of coffee and as I was pouring it, I heard the phone ring. Dispatch answered and before I could add cream and sugar to my coffee, he was yelling that there was a bad wreck in front of the Rainbow.

A semi had hit a car.

The Rainbow Nightclub was about a mile away on 285.

I put the coffee on the counter and yelled, “10-76.” (enroute). Before I’d even backed out of the parking lot, I was already calling State Patrol, requesting a CSP trooper (it was their jurisdiction) and EMS to be paged out.

I was there in less than a minute and as I rolled up on the scene, I saw the initial call had been wrong. The semi hadn’t hit the car.

It had run over it.

My overheads were on and so I put the car sideways in the road about twenty yards away, turned on the emergency flashers, and jumped out.

The truck was jack-knifed in the road and a quick check told me the driver and his wife were (husband-wife team) were okay. I then rushed over to the car.

It was every bit as bad as it looked. The front of the car, running from about where the driver sits and across the engine compartment was crushed. Oil and antifreeze pooled in a growing, almost psychedelic mix across the space under the car. The tires were flattened and bent out.

I could see the passenger and he was in bad shape. He was non-responsive and was having trouble breathing. There were two girls in the back seat and amazingly, they seemed unharmed, They were just trapped inside and terrified out of their minds.

I knew if I waited, the passenger might die and I needed to get the girls out.

But I needed help. The door was wedged shut and no amount of pulling on it would make it open. I looked around.

The first person my eyes landed on was Pat Rice. Pat had been an inmate in my jail a few weeks before, and he had a rep for being a tough guy. But once you got to know him, he was OK. We, of course, made him a trustee. A few weeks before his release date, the Red Cross came down to get us all recertified in First Aid and CPR. Watching us and the class, Pat said, “You know. This looks like something I need to know.”

I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “Pat, if you really want to take it, I’ll pay for you take the class and get your certification.”

“Really.”

“But I’m doing it on the proviso that if I ever need you, you’re there.” I’m all about making better human beings and if this would help, great.

It would turn out to be the best twenty bucks I ever invested into another human being.

“Pat,” I said seeing him. “I need your help.”

There was a large crowd standing around (the Rainbow could easily hold five or six hundred people and all thing considered, it looked like SRO tonight). Up to that point, like everyone else he been standing three stunned by what had happened.

“Rich, what do you need?” he said, stepping out.

“We need to get this door open and get the girls out.” That would also position us to help the passenger should we have to.

I grabbed to door handle and popped it open and we started pulling on the door. It was stuck. The body of the car had warped around it from the impact.

“Where’s your night stick?” he asked.

“In the car,” I answered.

Pat ran to the car and came back a moment later with my nightstick and gloves. “We might need these,” he said handing me the Well’s-Lamont leather gloves.

The passenger door glass was drooping out a little and Pat pushed the night stick through it and then winched the glass down. It drooped even more, and I started tearing at the glass with my gloved hands to pull it out.

With a crack, the window came out, hung for a second, and then fell onto the road where it fragmented into hundreds of chunks that glittered like diamonds at Tiffany’s.

Now, we could really grab at the door. I pulled that handle and with one hand on the door frame, I pulled. Careful not to cut himself, Pat pulled also and the door wouldn’t budge. Several onlookers came over, they grabbed hold.

“On three!” I said. “One. Two. Three!”

We all pulled and with a screech of damaged hinges the door opened. I had to move fast least the passenger topple out. I didn’t know how bad he was hurt and wanted to move him only if I had to.

The girls were screaming, “Get us out. Please!”

“Hang on, ladies,” I shouted back. “We’re almost there.”

I grabbed the back window (the car was a two door) and pulled. The window cracked open and fell out. A few shards remained and Pat and beat them out with the night stick.

I took off my patrol jacket and draped it over the busted window and reached in for the first girl. “I’m going to have to get you out through the window,” I told the girl. “Put your arms around my neck and I’ll pull you out.”

She did and I pulled. Close up, I got a good whiff of her. She smelled of cheeseburgers, perfume and fear. We got her out and she almost collapsed. Several of the guys who had helped us open the door caught her. A coat went over her shoulders.

“Miss,” I said to the other girl. “Just like we did with your friend. Put your arms around my neck and we’ll pull you free.”

She did, but when I started to pull, she cried out in pain.

“I’m stuck,” she said. I shone my flashlight on her legs and the back of the seat. She was stuck. The impact had pushed the front seat back into her legs.

“I’m coming in for you,” I said. I crawled in through the broken window and felt the seat. “Okay,” I said. “I think we can do this. This is going to take all of us. I’m going to push the seat forward with my legs. You put your arms around Pat’s neck. Pat, you pull her out.”

“Got it,” he said, leaning through the window. She put her arms around his neck and I braced my knees on the seat. “On three!” I said.

“One, Two, Three!” I pushed as hard as I could with my knees, back and core against the seat. Amazingly, I felt it move and with a cry of pain, Pat pulled her over me and out of the car.

“What now, Rich?”

I looked at the girls. They were shivering in the cold. “Put them in my patrol car. Turn the heater up for them.”

Later, I’d think how strange that must have looked. A veritable jailbird helping a cop and doing exactly as he asked. Any other idiot might have taken off in the car to go joyriding.

Now we’d gone from full speed ahead to slow ahead. It was enough that I felt the icy bite of winter invade the car. Covered with sweat, I started shivering.

Do something, I thought.

I looked at the passenger, he was alive and while he seemed to be having trouble breathing, he was breathing. I still didn’t want to move him unless I had to. So I reached through the smashed down roof, and snaked my arm through the crannies to find the driver.

Amazingly, he was still alive. I could feel him breathing.

Pat came back. “Done.”

“Stand by,” I said.

I started checking the passenger. He had a pulse. Then I’d go to the driver. Still with us. Back and forth like that for what seemed forever (it was probably no more than three minutes). I’d just checked the passenger, then the driver, back to the passenger.

Nothing. No pulse. And he wasn’t breathing anymore.

“Pat,” I yelled. “He’s in full arrest. Pull him out!”

Pat did and pulled him away from the car. I don’t remember squirming out of the car, but I was kneeling next to this man on the ice-cold asphalt.

I looked at Pat and said, “Just like they taught us.”

We began doing CPR.

Want to find out what kind of shape you’re really in? Do CPR on someone. It was the end of December with a 14 degree temperature. Pat and I were working like machines and sweating like we were running a marathon in July.

After what seemed an eternity, EMS arrived. The driver jumped out and yelled “Who’s worst.” I point down. “He is.”

Pat was pretty much wasted by this time and as the driver took over the compressions, I pushed Pat out of the way and took over breathing.

I was getting ready to administer a breath when the EMT did a compression. Vomit mixed with blood, cheeseburgers, and beer flooded into my mouth.

And all at once, just like that, I was finished. I started throwing up. When Pat saw me start throwing up, he started throwing up.

Now, like I said, Pat had a rep for being a tough guy and as he’s wiping the vomit from his mouth, a guy laughs and says, “What’s wrong, Rice. Can’t take it?”

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Pat was totally emotionally invested in what was going on and his anger and frustration was shoved right over the top by the comment. He decked the guy right in front of me, knocking him flat on his can. I jumped up and pushed Pat away from him, and telling him to calm down.

He got this vacant look in his eyes, and he looked at me like he’d never seen me before and said, “Christ. You look like hell!”

The guy Pat had decked was on his feet and screaming he wanted Pat arrested and charges pressed.

I looked at him with anger and spat out, “Where the hell were you when we needed you?” I asked. “When he needed you?” I gestured at the man who the EMT had stopped working on. There was no hope for him and he was dead.

The guy went pale. “But . . .” he started to stammer.

“Get out of my face before I shoot you,” I heard myself say.

A hand came down on my shoulder. It was Trooper Al Boss with the State Patrol. “Rich,” he said. “Why don’t you and Pat go to the Sheriff’s Office. I’ve got the scene.”

By this time fire and more rescue units had arrived. I felt weak as a kitten.

“Al,” I said. “You’ve got the scene.”

We moved the girls to one of the ambulance units and Pat and I did as Al suggested. We drove to the Sheriff’s Office, not a word spoken between us.

When we walked in the Dispatcher took one look at us and his mouth dropped open. “Christ, are you guys okay?”

Neither one of us answered but walked into the kitchen and just sat down at the table there. I could finally slow down enough to look at Pat. He was covered from head to toe with blood. I got up and went into the patrol office. We had a large mirror in there and I could look myself over. I looked like I’d walked out of a Slasher film.

After several minutes, Pat expressed hunger. I got up, washed my hands, and made us both ham sandwiches and chips. That was probably the most unreal part of it all. Covered with blood and not a drop of it ours. And we ate sandwiches.

When Al came in, he said they’d had to take the car apart to get the driver out and that he was in very bad shape. He was being Flight for Life’d to Denver. He got statements from Pat and I then said what looks to have happened is the kids in the car went to do a U-turn at the intersection. Either they didn’t look or didn’t stop when making the turn. The truck was almost right behind them and hit them broadside.

Pat was still so shaken Al gave him a ride home. I drove myself home but before I did, I had the dispatcher take a picture of me with the Polaroid. I took the picture home and put it on the kitchen table. I put my jacket and uniform in the washing machine and let it soak in cold water overnight in a vain attempt to get the blood out.

A couple of days later, the driver passed away in Denver.

My folks had said the week before that I had a cake job, that all I did was drive around and look important. When they saw the picture the next morning, I was able to tell them, “The next time you think I have an easy job, pull that out and look at it.”

About a month later I was working a basketball game at one of the schools. It was extra money, and you can always use extra money. I’d gone out to look over the parking lot and when I stepped in, there was little cheerleader standing in front of me. She put out her hand, introduced herself, and thanked me for trying to save her brother.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the night changed me. Before the accident, I was seriously thinking about hanging up my guns forever. Turn in my badge and go flip burgers someplace.

That night, I began to realize I could make a difference in people’s lives.

Don’t believe me.

Flash forward about five years and to Fort Riley, Kansas/

Myself and two MPs (who reported for this duty dressed like Don Johnson in Miami Vice) are patrolling the Custer Hill housing area. We’ve had a peeping tom in the area and we’re trying to catch him. Now, to catch a peeper, you don’t get in a warm car with a radio and dress up to catch them. You put on your PF Flyers and get in the weeds with them and run them to the ground.

But this night, while we’re driving around, a call comes over the radio. EMS is needed because a child wasn’t breathing.

I heard the address and said, “Guys. We’re a block away. Let’s go!”

We rushed over to the house, stopped, and I jumped out with my creds held high. The girl’s parents were standing outside in absolute terror.

“Military Police,” I shouted. “Can we be of assistance!”

The father cries out, “My daughter. She isn’t breathing.”

We rushed into the house right behind him. Lying on the kitchen floor was a young girl. I dropped on my knees next to her. I did a quick assessment. She wasn’t breathing, but I had a pulse. I did a sweep, and tried to give her a couple of rescue breaths.

I couldn’t get anything in her. “Did she swallow something?” I asked.

“No,” the father answered.

I finally got her hyper extended enough to get air into her. I was thankful for that. I was about to ask for a knife and do a trach on her.

We worked for several minutes before EMS got there. They intubated her and transported, and we went back on patrol.

The next day I had off. It was also payday and my then wife and I went and did our shopping and decided to go into town and have supper. We were living in military housing on Custer Hill at the time and as we’re driving down the road, I see a car behind me flashing its lights. It was my buddy John at MPI and so I pulled over.

I got out and so did John. He was doing a really good job of staying upwind of me.

“Hey, John,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Rich,” he said, concern in his voice. “Where have been today?”

“All over Manhattan, Main Post, and JC. Why?”

“Well, you know that little girl you worked on last night?”

“Yeah. What about her?”

“She’s got some kind of highly infectious disease. They want you and your family at the hospital right now.”

My blood went cold hearing those words. Had I just infected my family and several communities with something they didn’t want to be part of.

“Shit,” I said. it wasn’t a curse. It was an explanation of what I’d just stepped in. “Heading that way.”

“Go through ER. They know what to do.”

We went straight to the hospital, reported, and they put us in a room along with the two MPs from last night. After a little while, a doctor came in and gave us a list of symptoms. If you get them, get in here he said.

Of course, we never did get any of them.

A few weeks later I received an award. I’d put the two MPs in for the medals, but they gave it to me because I led the team that saved the girl.

So, getting back to the question of this prompt. How did it influence me? For years I’d looked at the wreck as a waste of life. I couldn’t understand what good would come out of it.

But that night, as I mentioned, I’d been seriously thinking about walking away from Law Enforcement. That night made me take another look and think that I was doing some good after all.

Had I walked away the night, I would never had a good career in law Enforcement and would never enlisted.

I wouldn’t have been there to save that girl.

Hopefully someone would have.

But this I know. I wouldn’t have been me.