Father's Day

Father's Day Where would I be without my father. I'm not being factitious at all, its a true to life question I'm posing.Father's tend to be wonderful people. Typically, caring providers who look out for the greater interests of a family. Protectors, disciplinarians, seekers and gathers alike.In my case I have some very profound memories of growing up that, through the years, have provided me with a depth of respect, admiration, and true affection for my father. Over these past 40+ years, life experiences, taught and learned, along with some truly outstanding and commendable actions, have helped me to become the person I am now. Probably more so than I may have ever acknowledged, the guidance, presence and love of my father shed the most light on the paths I have taken. Let me explain...Some of my earliest memories of being in my fathers presence probably arise from archived pictures rather than direct memory. At around age 5 I remember riding around in a pedal powered toy fire truck. About the same time I remember concrete being poured for a garage and lots and lots of gardening work. Baseball mits and afternoon catches. Cringing at those fateful words of "did you finish your homework?" "Yes, Dad." "Bring it to me so I can check it." Then instantly having that sinking feeling because I knew I'd not finished yet or had made an unknown mistake.I remember my father bringing loads and loads of work home with him. He'd always have office work at night and on the weekends as well. He'd lay on the livingroom floor with a yellow legal pad and write for hours on end. Memo's strewn about here and there reviewing all forms of application and background. As I got older I remember him being on the phone for hours on end and wonder to myself how his ear didn't just dislodge from his head.Then the teenage years arrived. I was involved in many activities; boy scouts, swimming, school sports, summer camps, etc etc. I was not exactly an outgoing person at this point. In retrospect I'd gather that all of these activities brought about my eventual personality flip-flop towards who I am now.Some of the most acute memories of my father surround a varied set of happenings:1st - We were on a family trip to California. I'd venture to say it was the early 70's. We visited San Diego, Disneyland, and then started driving up US 1 along the coastline. The views were amazing, the road windy and exciting for a child. At points we'd climb higher and higher above the ocean and could see for miles. At one point it became a challenge to look for cars that had left the roadway and crashed hundreds of feet below. The water now gently rusting the steel hulks and returning them from whenst they came. The underlying reason for those wasting hulks were lost on my sister and me. To my parents though, it must have been blantantly clear.We rounded one turn and suddenly my father pulled off the road onto the dirt shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he'd caught a glimpse of a person in need of help. Ever so casually he walked away from the car, leaving mom, sis, and me behind. Another car came by, my father spoke to them from a distance and they sped away in a fury. For the longest time, I watched as my father stood looking out at the ocean, to me just talking to the clouds and rising surf. At times his hands in his pockets, at others he'd take a very small step further away from us and then stop. He just kept talking. We asked mom what dad was doing and she said he was talking to a nice girl who was watching the ocean. Then, a while later, a police car showed up. The police officer got out of his car, said something on his radio, went to his trunk, casually took his black shoes off and put on knee high boots. He walked over to my father, gestured, shook my fathers hand and then walked away and out of sight. My father calmly walked back to the car and we sat there for a short time. My father began telling my mother a breif story about a girl who was watching the ocean. The girl had been crying and was sitting on some rocks very close to the edge so she could get a better view of the water. Years later, I finally came to understand that a woman had been distraught and resolved herself to end life with a jump. My father, having come across this person in need, calmly went to her and began talking. He tried to reason and convince her not to end her life. The police officer showed up, thanked my father profusely and casually put his climbing boots on. From there he began to interven and try to help this woman as well. It was the casualness of the officers actions that really struck everyone. He'd done this dozens if not hundreds of times. Later that day my parents watched the news and checked the papers for any word of this woman's fate. Nothing. It was such a common occurrence that it wasn't even worthy of black ink. We like to think that the officer succeeded. Later in my life I learned through study that there's a window of opportunity in such a distraught persons life, and most likely the woman decided to step back from the edge and continue her life. It was this moment in time that my father became a hero, forever more, to me.2nd - I was 16 years old. In some form at the family dinner table we started speaking on the subject of careers. My mind was of course all over the place. I loved the thought of firefighting, medical services, heavy equipment operator, newspaper reporter, etc. My father then related a story to me that his father had related to him. The gist of the story was, each and every job/career, at some point, is the most important and powerful in the world. The anecdote provided was that my grandfather was in Staten Island waiting for the ferry to take him back to Manhattan (obviously before the Veranzano Bridge was constructed). At the head of the line was the CEO of a large corporation with a chip on his shoulder. The safety gate at the base of the ramp was drawn tightly closed in front of him. That CEO was running late and he felt that honking his horn would speed the process of getting the ferry to Manhattan faster. The CEO became incensed and began to verbally demean the gate attendant standing to the side. He mocked the gatesman's overalls as compared to his three piece $1000 suit. He mocked the gatesmans shoes with their warn away soles as opposed to his loafers of italian leather. He'd ended each tirade with "Do you know who I am? I have to get to a very important meeting. I have the mind to call the Mayor." The gate attendant, clad in his dirty overalls, holely shoes, unshaven and chewing tabacco non-chalantly walked over to this very powerful man and said, "sir, you can honk and yell and scream at me in your fine shoes, expensive suit, and fancy car, but remember this, you ain't goin' nowhere until I open that gate." The CEO suddenly realized that his title, fancy clothes, the people he knew, or his position in line weren't going to get him, any faster, to Manhattan. With a profound juxtaposition, that gatesman was suddenly the most powerful man in the world to the CEO. It was with this simple story that my father taught me to respect everyone I came in contact with.3. And lastly, out of the many many acts of kindness and respect of others my father has done, its the times he's said how proud of me he is that have meant the most. Whether its because of my medical, firefighting, or daily business exploits, my father is and has always been there to tell me he loves me, gives me that kiss on the cheek, a warm hug, firm handshake or again that expression of his pride which fills my heart with warmth. I will always and forever try to achieve that pride from my father. For it will always be the standard he's set that I will try and equal in all that I do. He's taught me respect, humility, admiration of others, drive, generosity and consideration. In the end, my parents will always be the two greatest stories of my life. Without their daily presence, I would be just a shell of who I am today.I love you dad.

A Dog, A Burger, Stuffed Sole and the Hippies

Thursday, June 15, 2006We interupt the on-going story for: A dog, a burger, stuffed sole and the hippies Current mood: creative Category: Blogging Figured today I'd take a short respit from detailing a life I lived for so long to bring you another event. Its one that I couldn't make up if I tried...it happened tonight (mostly)...So, my lovely Mary and I are on our way home from a long day at work. It was especially tough for Mary because plans she has are not coming easily (more next week) and art she composed in Photoshop was not saved properly on a CD. She brought this CD to work with her in hopes of being able to get an 11x17 photo collage printed. She discovered though, while at the print shop, that she had never finalized the CD burn, the disk remains open and, therefore, unreadable.Thankfully, our IT guy lives close by, has the program the disk was created in, and sends Mary to his house so he can remote in to his personal machine, close the disk, make it usable and thereby keep Mary on her tight schedule. 2 trips later (Mary initially grabbed the wrong disk from the office) she comes back and says, Joe (Mr. IT), tried and tried but couldn't close the disk. The disk ended up being bad. Mary at this point is nearly in tears. The day ends shortly thereafter and, as mentioned above, we head out and start for home.Conversations we partake in during commutes are always interesting when I'm around. I find the obscure and inane totally entertaining, which typically forces us to have wild conversational topics spew forth in unrelenting fashion. (She's a saint for putting up with me.)So, the conversation transitions into me describing my travel home yesterday without her. I had been but a few miles from my house when I turn onto a local bi-way and merge in behind a white Mercedes Benz, with sun roof. I'm a bit far behind this car to make it out clearly, but with a little push of a trusty pedal catch up to it. What peaked my interest was a 'blob' of sorts that was stuck to the top of the Mercedes. (I'm always up for answering the unanswered, even if the unanswered questions are a overactive and very creative imagination.) As I get closer to this car I realize this 'blob' is not a piece of space junk or horrific leftover from a bad 50's movie, but in fact it's the head of a beautiful grey weimaraner. The dog seems to be perched on the center armrest between the two front seats with its head out the top of the car. The ears are flopping wildly in the 50 mph wind. I imagine they're making a thip thip thip thip sound as the car travels down the road. After a few seconds I'm trying to find a way to grab my trusty digital camera that's in the backseat directly behind me. No luck, damn. The dog seems to be very behaved and not acting uncontrollably at all. It doesn't have its tongue out flitting in the wind dropping slobber all over the white car. It's head is pointed straight, mouth closed, ears continuing to thip thip thip all along the road. The driver then made a small gesture with his hand and down came the dog. It remained standing for a couple seconds and then sat straight upright in the passnger seat. The driver kept his arm across the armrest and continued to pet this very masterful and well behaved beast. A couple minutes go by and suddenly the turn signal starts to blink. As if the dog was also electrically tied into the car, he pops up on all fours, stands on the armrest and props his head into the wind. The dogs ears begin thipping again, and the car makes a turn off the road onto a side street. As I pass by the intersection I catch a glimpse of the master and dog continuing on their way, towards home I would imagine. The dog again removing his head (and thip thip thipping ears) from the wind and taking his place on the passenger seat waiting, with growing anticipation, for yet another turn to come.Burger, stuffed sole and the hippies.After I finish relating this colorful story to Mary we break into the inevitable discussion - what do you want for dinner tonight? Tonights an especially heavy traffic night on the Southern State. We find, 30 minutes later, what caused the delays as we pass the remnants of police and tow activity at the site of a car crash. (Damn, I think. Another crash got passed me.) Now I must say, I love traffic. When I say I love traffic, I mean I LOVE traffic. I can't do without it in my life. It's my sustinance, my air, my water. I mean, what do other people do who aren't sitting in traffic? I don't get it. Everyone should be as lucky as me and avail themselves to sit in endless, hours long, traffic each and every day of their life. People can't have anything better to do with their time than sitting in traffic, can they? (Obviously my passion for traffic is driving me nuts. I believe I am the antithesis of traffic. I loathe traffic, in all its forms - sunshine traffic, rubber-necking traffic, sympathy traffic (you know, the type of traffic created in the HOV lanes, where the lone - and typically smallest - car has sympathy for everyone else who can't drive in the HOV lane, and as such needs to drive at the same speed, start and stop, along with the single occupancy brethren 5 feet away.... love those people) hill traffic, flashy emergency lights traffic, broke down traffic, ran out of gas traffic, kid puking on the side of the road traffic, rainbow siting traffic, rain, mist, snow, hail, blowing leaf traffic. Traffic of all sorts. I've made, and buried, my point.) So, my blood pressure now elevated about 3000% from traffic and not having the inkling to stay on the road any longer than I need to, I decide we'll eat at home. I move to the right lane, slow down a bit and move through the continuing merge passing the Sunken Meadow pkwy exit, and head towards Hecksher Park and Sunrise Hwy. As I get to Sunrise, what do I find clogging that roadway? More traffic. Aren't I a happy fellow. I merge onto Sunrise and then figure I'll take the 2nd exit and get on the service road passing the Toyota dealership. Hey, this is moving pretty quick. I get back onto Sunrise near the 7-11 in Oakdale, stay on the on/off ramp and get back on the service road, thereby by-passing the traffic light and a whole bunch of stopped cars on Sunrise. I make it through the next light without stopping (this is cool), and then get back onto Sunrise at the carwash, where luckily I find.....the traffic has let up... wow. This is very fortuitous. Thereafter its a cruise all the way towards home. I'm feeling better. A tap on the brakes near 112 and then keep going, full speed ahead. I'm feeling fine again. My blood pressure is down, my anxiety level has subsided, I'm one with the world. At Peace, in total harmony with my surroundings. I'm happy. I decide (because Mary didn't make a definative dinner decision she only offered more choices) that we'll eat at the Royal Oak diner tonight. Bop off sunrise at Hospital Rd and we're there. We walk in and the place is empty. I mean 6 out of 45 tables are taken. Hmm. what's up with this. (Turns out business is down sharply because of all the other new restaurants opening in our neck of the woods.) Anyway, we're here to eat and the lesser people mean faster food.Get a table, sit down and figure our order. Mary - burger (what's new). Me stuffed sole. The waitress is nice, but a bit young. She takes our order and leaves.In walks a mother and three kids (I'd guess 2-1/2, 3-1/2 and 5). I hear her ask the host for a table 'far removed from other patrons.' Where do they put her? 2 tables away. Go figure. (This doesn't look to be shaping up like anything good.). 2 high chairs later, the young mother and 3 kids out to the diner for dinner are seated and a bit noisy. I like kids, get along with them, so its no biggie. Having disorderly kids (sometimes, not all the time, is a part of parenting) As long as they don't START the food fight, I'm okay.My salad comes. Out of the corner of my eye I see a man and woman walk in following the host. Okay, nothing out of the ordinary, just a couple of cool cats dressed in tie dye and sandals. They're being shown my way. I don't pick my head up enough to take in the entire situation. I'm reading an engrossing story in this weeks Dan's Papers. Its a story relating a third hand experience involving a 1990 George Plimpton, at a fundraiser in Montauk, who's waxing rhapsodic on a true tale about a guy in the early 80's (following?) who ties a bunch of helium ballons (the weather type) to a folding lawn chair, and begins to fly into the air. If you get a chance to read it, definatly do, while not the best and a bit scattered, its an interesting story. I'll try to scan and post it here shortly.Having finished the story, Mary and I start talking about the woman embezzler from LI who turned in her boyfriend (I read between the lines as 'ex' boyfriend) who purchased a bunch of US Marshall paraphernalia and was posing as a marshall. He was subsequently arrested (and so was she). As the conversation was getting interesting, I look over and see a table full of hippies. I nearly choked (food actually fell out of my mouth).It was a gaggle. 7 in total. 3 men and 4 women. Seated along the wall were the three men - end guy was a balding thin man in his late fifties, very statuesque. He was wearing a blue tie dye shirt, black hemp pants and open toed sandals. Next to him was an older gentleman, probably in his late sixties/seventies, glasses, full head of grey hair, yellow tie dye shirt,couldn't see what he was wearing for pants but did see the shoes were again, sandals. That's when I noticed everyone was wearing sandals. Next to him was another late 50ish man, full head of black hair, glasses, formalized throw back pressed shirt of wild design, black parachute pants, sandals. Across from the men were the women. On the right end was a woman looked to be 60 with slightly greying hair, airy very light chiffon looking ribbon tied around her head. She was wearing a flowing and floor length period (60's) hemp dress. She also had a colorful riboon tied about her waist. Next to her were three similarly clad woman, with varying degress of tie dye coloring in their dresses. Each though not wearing a similar color to the others. I got the impression the women had either set this dinner up or at least spoken about what they were wearing so as not to clash (if that could be said about tie dye).If a picture could have been taken and cropped, you'd never have imagined that this wasn't taken in the late 60's...........more later.....

Saved - Or, What Its Really Like

Wednesday, June 14, 2006Saved (the TV Show) - or What it's REALLY Like to be a Medic? Current mood: energetic So, I've been asked a couple of questions in the theme of SAVED (the TV Show) and feel the best way to answer this would be through some form (knowing how I tend to express myself) of multi-part exploration of life to date. So, to everyone its going to be either - here it is for your reading pleasure, or here's your turn to scream in agony.What a REAL medic does in his/her day. I'll use first-hand experience. There are so many days to pick from so I guess I'll need to adjust a bit and go for the partner type first and then maybe go into things on an individual basis later on. But, we'll see.Let me describe my close friend Joe (we were partners for the better part of a year, with each describing the other as the best partner we've ever had.)My first day with Joe - We started at 5AM, so we met outside the shop at 4:45 or so. We were working a 24 (one day) together. Joe and I had known each other from lifeguarding at the beach. We seen each other in passing and had seen each other at a few parties here and there. That though was about 10 years before we were ever formally introduced, but we had a general understanding of each other.Some back story. Joe's a smart guy, really smart guy. He's a pain in the ass as well. His philosophy in life could be summed up to be, do as little work as possible while also getting paid as much as possible at the same time. Enviable in certain aspects, in others not-so-much. I guess we each have strong and soft points. I'm perfect, so I don't have any soft points (yeah, imagine that). He's a medic for say 10 years or so prior to this day. Me at the time of our first meeting, 18 years.Today is a day that we are put together because Joe's regular partner bangs in sick. We're staitioned out of a small sub-station in Amityville, NY. We punch our time cards at 5 on the dot, go up on the air (radio) and say we're in the process of doing our starting rig check. (This process involves going through the rig in detailed format to make sure we not only have every piece of equipment the State of NY mandates we have, but also the equipment we're supposed to carry prescribed by our medical director, and finally the equipment we, as medics carry with us for our personal edification.) The basic equipment is: O2, splints, backboards, stretcher, bandages, BVM, suction, light medical kit with tape and airways, sheets, linens, etc, etc. You get the picture. Then the advanced equipment, needles, IV solutions, 87 medications, narcotics/triplicates, intubation kits, etc etc. You again get the picture. Then its personal equipment. For me that meant carrying my own stocked and fully equiped supply bag. It contained everything I knew I'd need in a grab and go format soft sided case. It was used for emergencies and auto-accidents only. The remainder of the time I'd use the cheesy bags the company would supply.The check-out process would typically last about 25 minutes as I said. We'd then radio 'available' and receive our scheduled 'critical transports' for the day. The firm we worked for had been contracted by various hospitals and cardilogy teams to do all of their in-bound critical transports from ICU's/CCU's at smaller surrounding hospitals (which could mean up to 90 miles away) and bring them to the larger heart centers (Winthrop University Hospital and St.Francis Hospital - both on Long Island). Our first 'job' of the day would be scheduled for 6:15 pickup so we could have the patient into the various cath labs or surgery by 7:30.After having received our initial assignment, it was off to breakfast, which typically consisted of either a bagel place or a deli.That first morning Joe and I started at the same time and location along with another crew in another rig. We were assigned to the same hospital and therefore had the same in-bound pick-up times. The sending hospital was fairly local, so we had about 25 minutes to grab a bite and go. Joe and his 'friend' in the other rig decided we'd go to a local bagel place. We wore flight suit type uniforms. Pockets all over the place (legs, thighs, knees, chest, arms, etc.) Most of us kept an IV line and various needles, medications and IV pump tubing, Steth and personal BP cuff, scissors, hemostats, on our person all the times. On a good day we'd start out weighing about 28lbs more than when we arrived because of all the equipment we carried. These flight suits were the all the rage, grey with reflective maroon banding on them. (If I find a pic of me in one I'll post it). Underneath our uniforms we'd typically wear something season dependant. Typically though we'd have a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, or mock turtle neck on, and finally paratroopers boots.So, in we pull to the bagel place. 2 white ambulances with a maroon stripe down the side in a not-so-good section of town. In we walk and look at the counter. The three others (we were crews of 2) got behind me and let me order first. It wasn't an appealing place, but I'd seen worse, (I figured this place was tradition for them). The lone storeowner goes and puts my buttered bagel and OJ into a bag, I pay and turn around to find no partner, no ambulance, no other ambulance. Gone. WTF. I walked outside and looked up and down the blvd. Nothing. - So THIS is how things are going to be? I walked inside and called disptach and asked them to have my rig return to pick up the needed partner.20 minutes later here come 2 ambulances and they think its the funniest thing ever. Hahahaha. I climb in and Joe is beside himself laughing. Its now daylight, so I have my shades on and give him the 'beware' look over the rim of the glasses. We're off to the hospital.At the hospital I get out and say to Joe..."That's 1, you don't want anymore, believe me." To which Joe responds with a chortle and then a general laugh at my expense with the other crew. If he only knew.We grab the patient. Joe's playing medic on this one so he checks my every move. Lines set up right, he reminds me how to bleed an IV line (which I glance at him with a 'DUH' and then follow it with a dirty look. But fine I say to myself, he doesn't know me and there are a few weasles out there.) Joe is acting a little apprehensive (for all I knew though he could've been like this always) because the guy were transporting is getting 180 mgms of Tridal. ( That's liquid nitroglycerin, going striaght into his veins and vaso-dilating anything it comes in contact with. Mind you, the highest amount I'd ever seen given in all my years was 220 mgms. The stuff could stop a bull in its tracks. It managed considerable heart pain by opening the arteries bringing needed blood and oxygen to the heart muscle, the the muscle could get more O2, and therefore stop hurting) He doesn't want that amount of medication interupted even for a second. Fine, I'll deal with Joe later. We'll then play the 'what we know and don't know' game. (for info, we typically carried a 4 channel Imed pump as standard equipment, always mounted to the stretcher).The patient is a little apprehensive about what he's about to go through - turns out a CABG-5 - and starts getting a little chest pain. I'd already looked through the orders while Joe was flirting and find he's able to get as high as 190 mgms, so I up the med a bit and the pain clears. Joe sees me do this and asks what I'm doing. I tell him and he starts to ball me out for upping the meds without him there. I said, "you're getting report, I looked at the chart while you were flirting, then cleared it with his nurse, so get your facts before you speak." He returned an "oh" and gave me the look of 'sorry'. (I thought that one look was pretty cool because we all tend to be the type 'a' of type 'a's.') All the way through the hosp I'm doing my normal thing of talking up the patient and trying to figure a way, or subject matter, that would work to calm them down. Joe on the other hand is always reviewing the passing crowds. He was a flirter. It was always stop here for this or to speak with that nurse. I was fine with that, but I wasn't of the same midset. I was doing this because I LOVED emergency medicine. I got a kick out of it. I got my jollies from it. The sicker the patient the more interesting the call. I wanted to do every single job I could get my hands on. This was the biggest 'issue' Joe and I would have with each other. He'd rather sleep. Since I could NEVER sleep in a rig, down time was torture to me. But I did bring books with me and would be studying for some new medical test, class, or seminar, so I put the time to good use. (I also washed the ambulance which Joe would NEVER bring himself to do.)So, we were off. The drive to the other hospital was uneventfull. Bring the guy up to the OR, drop him off, give a couple of reports, strip the stretcher, get new linens, abscond with some padded chucks (you could never have enough of them), and we left.We go available. Another in-bound job from further out, Stony Brook to Winthrop. Joe grabbed some zz's while heading out to the other hosp. Get to the CCU, the guys fine, no lines to speak of, we grab and go. I'm speaking with the guy as Joe is driving. History, meds, report, report, report (I tended to write allot about each patient because of the ever growing litigious nature of society. I'd always be ordering more continuation forms.) My chicken scratch novel over, I sat and talked with the patient face to face (another rarity in the business. Most medics sit behind their patient in a jump seat and talk to the back of the patients head.) During this conversation Joe has this puzzled look on his face which I see when his eyes cast to the back of the ambulance through the rear-view. I scoot up to the pass-thru door in our van 'bus' and ask why the funky face. He says "you're talking too much." "What?" "You're talking to your patient. What's up with that?" "I always talk to my patients." "Weird," he says.Get to the hospital, transfer the patient over, give report, new linens, hi hi wave wave and we leave. Its now about noon and we're cleared for lunch. Joe gets on the radio and arranges to meet his friends (you remember, the two dorks we started with that morning) to meet at a diner in Farmingdale on 110. So, we go over there and sit in a booth and order lunch.Joe starts into this technical conversation with his friend about medical terminology. They're spouting this and that and laughing all the time. I chow down on my chef salad. I'm starting to get the feeling like they're carrying on with this inside discussion. Almost to the tune of, we're smarter than him and our antics will put him in his place. They then ask the stupid questions, going around the table, trying to stump me. They ask the trick questions on drug interactions, and then launch into a whole diatribe about how you should be able to use morphine more heavily in conjunction with pressors, turn to me and say, what do you think. I said, 'Sure, sounds good." They start to laugh like hienas....until I interject "that is of course until you consider the contraindications, let alone the admonition from our medical director, or for that matter prior clearance from the attending. Then its just a flat our STUPID idea in that setting. (score one dropped jaw for me). They needed to shake that one off.Then it became the very quick but intense battle of "I went to this college and worked under him," game. Around the table they went. Smirking, they get to me. Where'd you learn. I answered with "give me a time frame gentlemen and I'll list them all for you, but understand this, I've been at this a lllooonnnggg time." Then, intrigued, they compared cert numbers. "Lowest number doesn't have to pay his portion of the bill." I retort with "Thanks guys, lets do this again." Stunned, they say "prove it." Which I do.Then the looks change a bit. They want to querry me on science. Politics, current events. We sat there for an hour. By the end of this initiation, I'd been granted entry into their 'club' of sorts. Little did they know how much of a mistake that would be.Joe and I spent the remainder of the day handling emergency jobs in private homes, nursing homes, transports between hospitals, transports into the city. He was exhausted. By shifts end we'd done 22 jobs and we didn't sleep at all (other than for a few zz's while one drove).As we handed off our rig to the next 24 crew, Joe turned to me and said, ya'know, you're not that bad to work with." I returned the gesture but added "remember, you still have 1 strike. 2 more and the shit is going to fly hard and fast." He looked puzzled and then got this impish grin as if to say, "I'll work on that in 2 days when we're back together during our 12 hour tour." stay tuned, more on the real medics, Joe and a typical day.

Saved

SAVED - FX Monday's 10PM what can I say except UGH.Let me start out by saying the first episode seemed like a re-write out of the movie Mother Jugs and Speed (1978), Harvey Keitel, Bill Cosby, Raquel Welch. If this is where the writers are going to take us, I can only say don't waste your time watching it.The premise of Daddy's an overbearing doctor, the kid was on the right track to become a doctor and then passions (and habits) took over and steered the nubile chosen one on a different course, is a weak and totally predicatble theme line. You can imagine where that relationship is going and the conflicts the writers will develop from here on out. As such, the apple hasn't become an orange, yet, and has just fallen down the hill a bit to become a nutured crab-apple - read 'paramedic'. And so the story is set. Gung ho, semi know-it-all with gambling habit kid grows up to become the 2nd best thing (if you think of things with an operational/field tone.)I'll have to watch it again with a more discreet eye, but lets see where to start:1.No seatbelts, WTF2. 02 kit with a mask attached, open, regulator on, tank cracked, sheesh.3. They need to get their code 1's and 3's straight. What's the use of having a code status if everywhere you go is lights and sirens.4. Who in gods name is playing their dispatcher. That must be one slow company to hand out all that verbage over the radio.5. The lack of hustle, I can understand. You don't run to everything. You speed walk fine, but they seemed to mosey their way around. The letters and nasty phone calls one would receive if you did that in the real world would get you a severe thrashing by the higher ups.6. Leaving the bus running with the lights on at a scene? WTF again. Un less its an auto-accident, you never leave keys, and the bus running.7. Keys, again. You park at a city hospital and leave the keys in the rig, and the rig open? Yeah, let's see how long those narcotics in the drug pack last.8. not making family events, yeah, happens all the time. 9. driving around with stuffed animals in the rig, yeah, happens.I'll talk more this weekend. If they need a technical adviser I'm here, but THEY NEED A TECHNICAL ADVISOR who's not ancient (that's a supposition on my part that they actually might have one...which I doubt.I'm calm, I'm calm.. where's my happy place. Find your happy place.Ugh, I'm all upset now just thinking about it.

Yesterday

Saturday, June 10, 2006yesterday Current mood: cheerful so, i went to my niece's moving up day yesterday. it was a cute ceremony and a couple of funny things happened: one girl fell off the stage while trying to come back down the stairs; another (who I found out reads my blog) lost her shoe on the way up onto the stage and didn't miss a beat. She was going to walk through without letting it affect her. Unfortunely, her teachers felt otherwise and proceeded to follow her across the stage to give her the shoe back. At the end of the stage, she stopped, takes the shoe, sticks it on her foot, waves to the audience and proceeds down the steps (to applause). When on the floor, she again gives a curt wave to the audience, who again responds with applause; When Amanda's turn came, I, as usual, felt the need to scream at the top of my lungs "AAAA_MMMM_AAAA_NNNN_DDDD_AAAA" (yes, everyone turned to me and gave a frown-full look - but I'm used to that). I also found I was able to make the rubber soled shoe squeeking sound against the tiled floor. That entertained me for the better part of a 1/2 hour. (I'm just this very proud unc who tries to take an active role in her and the others lives).I also was speaking with my nephew when he heard that I have a blog. He asked what it was about and I explained it to him. The look on his face was very strange. He couldn't make the connection that I had a life before he was born and what that life had encompassed. He was also very struck by the fact that 2 of his uncles could end up at the same place (plane crash) and him not know about it. Then he was further struck by the fact that I referred to it as a very sad event in my life. I believe he knows me best for being that fun-loving, no holds barred type of guy who always wants to do new and exciting things and be somewhat....irreverent, I guess would be the best word. I think the seriousness of what I said really sank in. Strange how life runs in circles sometimes. Old events become new again.I was then struck by a rememberence of events gone by. The most prominent thought was of my 40th b'day party, where the kids all attended and I ended up sobbing, uncontrollably, because of 1 gift. Its a great and treasured memory, that night.Mary (wifey) set up this shindi for me, but kept me in the dark. All I knew of what was going to happen was that I needed an overnight bag with clothes. I said sure, why not. We left a car at the parents house and were picked up, late no less, by a car service. Off we went down the southern state and belt parkway. Here's where things started to go whacky in my head. To this point, I'd firmly believed that I couldn't be surprised. I'd certainly express surprise with whatever happened, but I'd be able to figure things out ahead of each step. As we approached JFK, I thought, hey, we're spending the night at Disney (my favorite theme park to this day - always had a desire to work there in some capacity, probably facilities designer, project manager, property manager, or EMS Systems director). Its a fun place for me to be. Maybe someday I'll explore my inner workings to figure that one out. so anyway... We pass JFK...hmmm, what's happening here, I thought. Maybe we're flying out to somewhere other than Fla. Maybe we're headed to Newark to go to Vegas. We continue on and head past the Veranzano. Hmm, okay we're going to a show, and she's tried to put me off the path by asking for an overnight bag. We head into lower Manhattan. Then we're in the southern tip of the island in front of the South Street Seaport. But we don't stop, we make a left to head west. Then we pull up in front of a hotel. Wow, doorman service.. Its the ... I can't remember, but anyway, its now defunct. Walk into this plush lobby and check in. Hmm, nice place. We're staying in a suite on the 4th floor. The bags are brought up to the room for us and we're given a tour. (Mind you, I've stayed in some nice places before where you get the tour, but nothing like this. The tour consists of taking us through the 4 room suite which includes a parlour, the master bedroom, the sitting area, in-room business center, and grand bath (with true marble jacuzzi) 2 double basin wash areas, 2 standing showers and 2 wash closets (thanks britan). Oh, it also includes a makeup area in-between the 2 full size clothes pantries, with each one containing a warming rack for the over-sized complinetary monogrammed terry cloth bathrobes. Sheesh, she really slurged on this one. Our view from the 8' tall french windows was of an interior courtyard, which in more temperate weather was used as an outdoor lounge with fountain.I was very much impressed. It takes allot to impress me, but very little to make me happy. This was first rate. While not being on a presidential suite level, it was one that'd be used for royalty and high government officials.Our first thoughts of the early evening were where to eat. She felt we'd play it by ear. We were in the financial district which placed us close to some very good food. Chinese restaurants, steak and fish houses let alone the 24 hour deli. I'd always wanted to take Mary to Fraunce's Tavern. Its a great little restaurant near the battery with a great deal of history and really good food. Its one of those "George Washington Slept Here" places. The tables next to the windows have these awesome over-stuffed wing-back chairs at ach table. You get to watch the neighborhood through great reproduction windows.We had a great dinner, finished it off with an awesome '83 Taylor Fladgate. We went back to the hotel and visited the bar. Had a decent Dow with some cookies. The bar was wonderful. Each table was a board game table. Chess, checkers, cards of all types, books and papers were there for your enjoyment. Service was very attentive but invisible (the best kind). Then we went back to the room for some enjoyment. (While I wasn't feeling all to well because of RA, I was able to take a 45 minute hot bath. My 6'5" frame fit fully into this massive marble jacuzzi. I also used each and every bath and body product they had layed out. Bath beads, toning lotion, facial peel, cucumber extract, you name it, I used it. I was toned, perfumed, moisturized, peel and rejuvinated. Swung one of the bathrobs onto me and exited looking like I was in spa heaven.)The next day we left the room late morning for some breakfast in the lounge. What a wonderful menu they had. Fresh bakery, oatmeal, fruit, mixed drinks. It was all so enjoyable. Back up to the room for a short nap. Then we were picked up about 1 for a trip to a show. Now, the car service we hired was supposed to be there a little before 1. They didn't arrive. Mary was beside herself. The driver had gotten lost, his car broke down, they didn't have the amount of drivers they needed. Any excuse was made until we couldn' wait any longer. Mary turned her bitch mode to full strength, walked away and came back and said they'd fix it by the time the show had ended. We asked the conceirge to arrange for an immediate car. The car arrived 2 minutes later and we were off in a flash. Arriving 5 minutes before curtain, we entered and had 3rd row isle seats at Mama Mia. It was wonderful. Up dancing around throughout the show, toe tapping, knee shaking, sing-a-long. Its my favorite show to date on the great street of lights. (My runner up is Wicked).As the show finishes, Mary gets on her phone and calls the car service. They promise us the car is at the theatre, directly across from the entrance. We exit and don't see anything. She calls again. This call is to the driver's cell phone. I'm looking. As Mary places the call, I see a black tux'd driver standing in front of his limo pick up his phone and gesture towards our theatre. Couldn't be. Turns out the company sent the biggest baddest super duper stretch limo they had. The thing had to be clearly 45' long. Champagne and full stocked bar was offered to us. There we sat looking at this huge thing. We walked across the street quickly and the driver quickly went around to curbside and opened the door. Since he was parked in front of another theatre (which was currently cueing for the next show) the people standing about seemed oddly curious. As we approached, cameras started flashing and I could swear I heard the word 'autograph please' over the din of passing traffic. I couldn't do anything but break a smile.We started through Manhattan. Its an odd experience being in one of those limos when its not prom season. People always tend to try and look inside. Its even stranger when you roll down the rear window and fawn like you're in the midst of a power call. People staring to see who's inside. I got a kick.The driver then asked if we were still going to dinner. I wasn't especially hungry at that time and Mary shot back, yes. She said she'd made reservations at one of our favorite restaurants, Cafe Grappa, on Hempstead Turnpike and Front Street. It was now 5ish and we were leaving the city for Long Island. I put up a bit of a tuss since Cafe can get a bit crowded for tables from 6-9. I relented though, since Mary stated the owners (she knows them from previous lifetimes) had constructed some unique dishes for me for that evening for my birthday dinner.We pulled up in front of Grappa at about 5:45 ish. Mary had been oddly nervous throughout the trip home, but I'd chaulked it up to her whole car service issue - she tends to hold onto those things for a period of time until she lets go.We pull into Grappa and head inside. We're greated by the hostess who knows Mary as well and proceeds to grab 2 menu's and walk us towards our table. I'm looking around taking in the people that are there. Its weird because they're all looking at me. Hey, I'm a big guy and these things happen all the time. 6"5" and you stick out.We're now walking toward the back of the place and I figured they've set up a table in this semi-private area for us to eat. Mary can be devious sometimes and her talents were in full tilt this weekend, I had to admit. It'd been one of the best birthday surprises I'd ever had. (She'd tried to pull of some surprise birthdays in the past, but each had to be cancelled because of bad weather (sucks to be bron in December).I get about three steps from the doorway leading to the rear private room and I notice a face I hadn't seen for a long time. Eileen Tublin was there. Hmm, that's odd. My mind now reeling a bit trying to place this face, a name and then trying to reason through what was happening, then I hear "Surpise". I had to stop. My feet wouldn't let me walk another step. What the heck was going on here. I said to myself, there's a couple people I know... No more than a couple... What the heck. I've now realized that Mary has put something small together. I'm not recognizing all the faces in the room, and I figure she's invited a couple tables worth of friends for a celebration. How's the restaurant going to fit us in this rom with the other party going on. Then I inspect all the faces in the room. I'm slowly figuring out that I can put names to each face. Then it strikes me... I know everyone. The room is full of my closest friends and family. 75 of them. I'm dumbfounded. I'm litterally, for the first time in my life, speechless.Other than saying hi and shaking hands and giving kisses, I'm at a loss. I just can't believe what this turned out to be. I find Mary's eyes and gesture my amazement. She says at that point she knew she'd surprised me. I'd been oblivious to the entire weekend. She'd conspired with everyone not to let me know a blessed thing. (If you ever need a surprise party planned and thrown, Mary is the one to call.)The night was spent visiting each and every table and spending time speaking with everyone. I had a blast. There were gifts galore and people traveled from far and wide to be there. The two crowning events of the night were the following:1. Amanda - My dear amanda. She'd recently gone down to DC to vii the supreme court. It wasn't a class trip or an excursion, but the result of a formal introduction to a supreme court justice. Amanda in the 4th grade had started taking afterschool classes in science and law at the local university. She's a bit...advanced. She's in fact the smartest person I interact with. During these college level classes she's needed to interact with scientitsts and lawyers towards completing her semester ending reports. A very close friend of the family Mel (Eileen's husband) even went so far as to go to the class and conduct in-session lectures and study sessions. He's a well established maritime attorney. He went to Kings Point and is part of their board of alumni. He interacts with senators, congressmen/women, generals, admirals, etc. Through coincidence, my fathers friend is an alumnus of Kings Point as well, who is personal friends with Justice O'Connor. One thing leads to another and a personal meeting with Justic O'Connor is set up with Amanda, during the 6th grade. Amanda met personally, and alone, for about 45 minutes with the Justice in her chanbers. Then the went into the court and sat while arguments on two cases were heard. She got to sit in the Justic's reserved seating area.When this experience was in the planning stages, I had wanted to be the person to bring her to DC. I'm enamoured with the Supreme Court and the Justices. I tried anything I could. Dropped hints, causually brought the issue up...etc etc. Just wasn't in the cards. My father and sister went down.A week before they left, I asked Amanda to get me a post-card from the court and have a picture taken outside the courthouse (because they d not allow any cameras inside the courthouse) for my edification.At my party Amanda hands me a wrapped package. I opened it to find its a picture of Amanda and Justice O'Connor in the justices chambers. Also, there's a picture of the exterior of the court. And finally, an embossed note card from the 'Chambers of Justic Sandra Day O'Connor'. Inscribed on the note card is "To Douglas Metzger, Best Wishes, Sandra Day O'Conor." Thi package is framed in a very statuesque antique frame with red white and blue matting cut -ins.I couldn't help but read it and begin to weep. I then sobbed.. Then full on bawled my eyes out in front of everyone. (Amanda became frieghtened by this and it took me a few months to convince her those were tears of joy rather than sorrow.) It was and is the nicest and most precious gift anyone has ever given me. Its hung proudly in my house where each day I come by and still look at it.2. Food fight. It started early in life. I think I was 9 or so. My maternal grandmother had a streak in her. She was german to the core. One thanksgiving we're at her house for dinner and she's in an awful mood because my grandfather (my mentor) was making these below the breath comments to her about this and that. We're sitting down and eating and grandpa makes a comment about the lack of mashed sweet potatos. Grandma abruptly turns around and says, " no sweet potatos...I have potatos here... Have some.. " and with that takes a whopping spoonful and launches them across the table at my grandfather. SMACK . In the face they hit him. That started what will be my first food fight. Those became so inrained in our future habits that each family dinner would include some form of flying food-stuff. I have now carried forward with this tradition (and in so, added my wife's family to the fray).So, here I am, drying my eyes from crying and the cake is presented to me. A decent looking sheet cake (though I personally hate sheetcakes). I go to the front of the gathering, make an off the cuff speech and toast and proceed to cut the cake. Mary is assisting and as Mary takes the first piece, traditon holds that she feeds it to me. (I guess this traditon was founded on the premise that if the cake is poisoned, the host will be the first to die sampling it, and therefore show the attendees its either fit for sustinence or doom.) Now as she goes to feed it to me, she needs to hold the plate close to my mouth for fear the piece will fall to the floor. We exchange that knowing glance which says, 'no tricks tonight or else' look. Then WHAP. The entire piece of cake and plate smacks me in the face. I was both confused and blinded by icing. Mary and I had this non-verbal communication going and she returned the message of 'I won't play tonight' glance back. I reached down to grab a napkin and wipe away my face. My hand ended on top of a head, then a shirt, then a napkin was placed there. I took it and cleared an eye. Through the gauzy flitered light because of thick whipped cream in the eyeball, I saw Mary with a horrified look. This conveyed to me that she didn't undertake the antics. I looked around and found my other two neices now laughing to no end. Turns out, they sneaked behind Mary and I and succinctly and firmly smacked Mary's hand upwards and into my face.Well a short chase ensued with the two girls in their 20's now hiding under tables with napkins over their heads. The short but ferocious cake battle took place, confined only to the participants.So, that was my best birthday ever.

OMG

Thursday, June 01, 2006OMG!! Current mood: Puzzled So, I just received an emergency phone call from a client property. Turns out that a bush in front of the building where they live is "smoking" with 'small bits' of fire visible. The caller wanted me to dispatch a maintenance person to the building to put the smoking bush 'out.'Now, you have to understand, I'm 2 states away at this point. A maintenance person at this time of day is 45 minutes away.I, calmly now, asked "did you call the fire department?" To which was responded to me, "no, should I? Can't someone come by and dump a pot full of water on it, its only a bush." Me - "Ma'am, again, anyone I could send is 45 minutes away. I'd call the FD."Her - "I'm afraid to call the FD, because I don't know how to do it." (she owns the apartment and is 35)Me - "Ma'am, its very easy, hang up with me and dial 9-1-1"Her - " but that is for crimes, this isn't a crime."Me - " Ma'am, they handle any type of emergency, even fire's"Her - "when did they start putting fires out, I thought they carried guns"Me - "Ma'am, there's a fire outside the building you're in right now, you're calling me. I'm trying to help. Please hang up and call 9-1-1."Her - 'click'I wish I was making this up.

Band of Brothers

I'm sitting here watching Band of Brothers. I've seen it a few times now and each time it makes me respect those WWII hero's even more. To witness what they went through, for another people, in another age, is both amazing and heart-breaking.200 years has so changed the world. People hate us, love us, want to be part of us so much they risk their lives to get here. My neighbor was one of those. During the trek he lost his brother in the Rio Grand. Now he's made himself a great business with a great family. Props to him.Then there are those people who don't believe in the good, kind, things we do, or attempt to do. They don't believe in history or want to try and change the history they don't believe in. Iran's president is this way. It makes you think, especially while watching Band of Brothers, how someone could deny 12 million people died for a cause, as dishonest and tragic that cause was. There are pictures, film footage, first person accounts, diaries, etc etc and still there are people who don't want to believe.Its tragic.My (our) morals are no better than anyone elses, other than the fact that I(we) have compassion and understanding, and TRY and do things right, for the right reasons, at the right times.To anyone in (or out of) uniform, THANK YOU.

The Military

I wish to extend my deepest and most heartfelt thanks to everyone who is serving or has served in the military in any capacity. It is with your sacrifice and fortitude that I am allowed to continue my everyday.I am a believer in the fact that our country has been built upon the freedoms that those who serve(d) helped to construct. Built upon the foundations of their accomplishments and sacrifices, I get to lead my life in freedom and happiness.Thank you. You will never be forgotten, always remembered in the fondest terms, and thoroughly cheerished.To all those serving, send me a note, come visit and I'll buy you a beer.

Moo Car

My first car. Far from a dream car.A hand-me-down from Mom.It was banana Yellow.2 doorsRound headlightsI was a Ford Maverick.My aunt, rest her soul, passed away from intestinal cancer. It was a 1976 version, with AM radio and black pleather interior. Two venting back seat windows, and a small trunk. The engine was under a huge hood.When my aunt died, the car was passed along to my father, who in turn gave it to mom as our first 2nd car in the family. She drove it here and there for a few years until at the end of 1980 I received my driver's license. Then I started 'borrowing' the car.Vanity plates had just started being offered in NY a few years prior to my getting the car and my mother had the NY plate 'MOO' created and the car so adourned. It then became known as the MOO car.Moo - my fathers nick-name for my mother. The story behind this was that earlier in the 70's he was on a business trip to Japan for the launching of an oil tanker. While there, he purchased my mother a silk evening coat/dress thingy, a Moo-Moo. He brought it back and she loved it. She wore it day and night. Years went by and she continued to wear it after rising in the morning and just before retiring for the evening. She wore it to tatters.Because mom wore it so much and loved it (and frankly, wouldn't part with it even in its dish-rag ending state) Dad began to kid her about it and called her Moo as a joke. Another year went by with him calling her Moo. She wouldn't throw it away. Another year, then another. Finally, one day he slipped. He called her Moo when she answered the phone. That was it. The name had finally sunk into his psyche and became his pet name for her. To this day that name continues to be used.When I received the car, I drove it to school. Yes, I received a good bit of ribbing and admonishment, but hey, unlike many other kids in my grade, I was driving a CAR. They were driving a ..well....., they weren't, and needed to take a school bus. I on the other hand would pile my friend Doug into the car and we'd make a Taco Bell run (bean burrito's with plenty of hot sauce) or to BK (chicken cutlet sandwich) for lunch. Since they were both located a few miles away, we'd make it back in plenty of time.The first thing the car needed was a radio, a REAL radio. I went to Crazy Eddie's in Westbury (on Old Country Road). Doug (my friend - I'm not into referring to myself in the third person) knew Crazy Eddie's salesman trick. The SKU stickers on the shelves were coded in a fashion so that any salesman could walk up to any in store component, look at the sticker and immediately know what the base price was. Anything over that base price was additional commission in their pocket. Since we knew the 'system' we walked in and in my first buiying experience without my parents around, I began to haggle. (I settled at $1 over their base price). Hey this was a fun experience when you knew the system.Then Doug and I went home and began to read the directions. (For a few years, this was the last time I read any directions. For a male, this tends to be a big thing. I don't know what it is about directions (in any form), but men aren't programmed to read or ask for them. Then later in life I realized I was better prepared for things if I read directions, so that's what I do know, though admittedly, in a perfunctory fashion.)Cars in those day had a lot of room in them. They were built like tanks for the most part with heavy bumpers and plenty of room around the engines. In fact I remember this car because when opening the hood, I could actually see airspace around the engine. So much so that I could see the pavement below in 4 areas without even moving my head. You could have passed a small child through those spaces.Inside the cabin was no different. Under and behind the dash was so much space I could stick my head under and into that gap. Then I started removing knobs and screws. Back then, radio's were held in place by their selector knobs, which had threaded posts on each side, with nuts hold the entire radio unit in place from the front. The radio had to be fed into the dash from behind. A few snips of some wires that I had no idea what they did at the time, and the radio came out.After three days of trying and a few more trips to radio shack for testers, wire, a fuse, set if crimpers and some connectors, the radio blarred to life. I immediately turned it up as loud as it would go and summarily blew out the 2 door speakers. Off to Crazy Eddies to buy some speakers (4).Three more days of removing door panels and running wire and I had some kick ass sound from the doors and 2 new 6x9's in the rear deck. I must hve had a huge 10w per channel pumping through this sound system. It was beautiful. It was a $69 top of the line Kenwood. (Obviously the top of the line statement is relative to a 16 year old kid with mostly bare pockets. My top of the line purchase was part of Kenwoods bottom of the line 'consumer-priced-to-sell-millions-of-units' offering range.Once finished we cruised. Windows down (45 degrees outside) Foreigner pumped up on the new tape deck.Couple weeks later it was, hmmm, I think I ....NEED...fog lights. Off to the auto-parts store. Install fog-lights. These things were installed so effectively and with such care that the light beams they cast showed signs of every bump on the road by spraying the tree tops and the front tires with pointed beams of light. After about 10 seconds they'd settle down and finally point straight aimed at the roadway where they were supposed to be. (To my credit, the next version I installed after these fell off the car at highway speed about 2 weeks later, were very secure and needed to be cut off with a grinding wheeel a couple years later.)This car took us everywhere. (Mom had a couple brushes with deafness after getting in to HER car and trying to go to the market. I never could understand why she wasn't a fan of Blue Oyster Cult).In later offerings I'll get back to fun times had in the car with friends, road trips to Great Adventure, cruising, etc.That's the MOO car.

Weeks Events

So, I just finished a very cathartic blog/journal whatever you want to call it. I'm enjoying the experience. I like Myspace so far and think it'll end up offering a wide varity of services and advantages over other similar sites. I may get to a point of taking this blog to a personal web page run and hosted on my own server, but who knows. We'll see where this all goes.Long week. Stress up the ying yang. In my business life, I had a great accomplishment today. I was able to keep 6 families in their homes and the local government at bay in their attempts to move them out. A very bad developer converted a small building in NJ. He had plans and specifications drawn up and delivered those to the building department and after renovating the building, had an inspection and received a Cert of Occupancy. He then, without telling the building department, performed construction on the building and substantially changed the buildings configuration prior to a set of new owners purchasing into it. These changes created conditions of blocking fire exits and escapes, installing faulty equipment and shoddy construction practices. The owners of this building hired an engineer about a year after they moved in because they discovered these problems. The engineer confirmed their findings. I wrote a letter to the buildings developer and asked for a meeting. He turned me down. The owners hired an attorney. He wrote a letter to the developer, again turned down. Finally the owners asked the attorney to write a letter to the State. The State responded by asking for a meeting (yeah). The meeting was held at the building today.The local building code official looked around, and then not wanting to admit he did something wrong, he b lamed the owners for the problems he noted (in front of 2 State building inspectors). He proceeded to say that he issued the certificate to the building as it was designed. The modifications he found today were obviously (?) made after the fact and as such it would be the owners responsibility to fix them immediately. In fact, these are serious findings and the building needs to be shut down right away.I was dumbfounded. A person would want to cover their ass by foresaking the homes of 6 families. I intervened and asked if I could get the fire department to sign off of the building would he still condemn it. YES. Son-of-a.... If I have my crews start work here right now to correct the most urgent of problems, will you still condemn, , well... okay, start getting stuff done and expect my letter next week. He walked out as if nothing had happened. Sheesh. what a day.

Crash - Finale

.........I went home and showered. I'd washed up at Mary's house pretty thoroughly. I still though felt as if I had 'it' on me and was trying to wash that feeling of dread and death off. I stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out.I called in to 'work' and told them what I'd been involved in and that I wouldn't be in today. I grabbed a bite to eat and went down to headquarters. There I picked up the phone and called dispatch. I knew the county would be running some debrief's of the incident as well as putting together field based PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) support teams. I wanted to make sure we got those services to my quarters. Dispatch said they'd had some small teams in the area visiting individuals, but nothing for us as a department yet. There was though a debrief group site available at North Shore University Hospital and they had current availability. I told dispatch to put a notice out to all of our members that they should call immediately if they wished to attend.I received responses from 16 of our members and a couple hours later we headed to the hospital. It turned out to be an 8 hour session. Included in our group were fireman, nurses and the general public, all with varying degress of involvement in the crash. After awhile of talking things through as one large gathering, they broke us down into smaller groups, segregated by the level of involvement in the crash. Some of the lay people had had issues with hearing the plane go down. Some saw the plane go down. Some walked over and tried to help but were confronted with the walking wounded and couldn't handle that sight. Others were firemen who were putting fires out and were stressing over seeing a plane on the ground with the thoughts of the unseen victims playing in their heads. Finally, others like me, had been involved over our heads. This is not to say anyone's feelings were any more or less powerful than anyone else's. Its just that we were made up of different groupings of people with differing needs. The medically trained people who'd been involved in care of the crash victims had (supposed) training for this type of thing. They therefore were able to process this incident in a totally different fashion than the non-trained, etc.We talked, and talked, and talked. That day ended, I tried to get on with my life. I was finding that I had the slightest of tremors in my left hand. I knew I was also facing other issues, less physical. I'd found my reasoning capabilities were slightly slower on the uptake. Snap processes, which had always been spot on, were delayed a bit and being replaced with the need for consciously guided thoughts and internal proddings. I hadn't felt this way since I was 14 years old and it was upsetting.I went to the memorial services held at St. Dominick's Church. I met the head father of the church and he blessed me and layed his hand on m y shoulder, effectively the hand of god if you will. After the service I was interviewed by every TV station covering the event. By the conclusion of the 3rd interview the savage nature of the news service had become apparent. They'd invariably end up asking the same probing questions in order to get that 'good' footage. They wanted emotion, they wanted you to ball your eyes out or they wanted to see that stark unrelenting stoicism on you face when compared to one of the other 'rescuers' as the final counter-point shot to sum up the media event. Anything that would keep the viewers tuned in so they could make more money in ad sales. It turned my stomach. I'd made it through 7 interviews before one of the crews from News 7 asked a very horrible off color question about blood and gore, I looked stright into the camera (they don't like that) raised my right hand and flipped them the bird. Over the next week I spent any available time I had going for counseling. I was typically joined by 6 of my brethren. Each time, the psychologists would help put pieces together on why I was feeling this way, why WE were feeling this way. It took a great deal of effort by the physchologists to get me personally to realize I was not alone in my feelings or reactions. Further, that my 'ailment' wasn't unique to anyone or any group of people. These were typical of many people who experienced traumatic issues daily.This fact was a hook for me. I was finally able to feel a part of something and that I wasn't going 'nuts' as they say. (who the hell is 'they' anyway, I've always wanted to meet the "they's"). This feeling of being part of a group was important. It allowed me to re-build empathy for people and understand that these feelings were every day feelings many many people experienced. In our case, they all hinged on a single, very traumatic incident. My issues began, as I would later learn from introspection, with that first phone call to Mike at my headquarters earlier in the evening. I had somehow processed that simple task of picking up the phone and getting people together to dive into this horrible incident as guilt and feelings of responsibility for everyone who was with me that night. More so that their feelings of pain, loss and emotion were on my shoulders. It took me many weeks to get passed those feelings. I was programmed to help. I couldn't help but try and provide services and support in a time of need. This time the tables were turned 180 degrees and I needed the help from the community.My second patient of that horrible night had been the bruised and battered little girl, with nothing wrong with her other than scrapes. It was my interaction with her that was found to be my 'trigger' event. Her simple statement of 'Daddy?' had smashed through any mental preparation barriers I'd erected in the short drive to the crash site. The event then became personal for me. I 'knew' someone, a victim no less, who had been hurt and their family was most likely hurt, or killed, in this crash.This single interaction with my 'patient' might not have been a trigger at all if it wasn't for the fact that I'd gone through two (2) previous incidents in the very near past. I'd had no time to dwell on those events, reflect and retrospectively decide what I'd done right and wrong and how to do better the next time. I didn't have the needed mental processing complete which would allow me to add those direly needed mental shields. The night of the crash I was still, vulnerable.Then there was how the bodies were being handled. With little emotion, with little reverence, without the guidance of a higher power (who ever that might be). In one fashion, stacked ontop of one another just like the images captured in a far away land the result of those death squads.Finally, there was the ultimate of short circuits. All of my training and throughout my career a 'call' always had a beginning, middle, and end to our contact with our patient. A call started with our pagers going off, or radio blaring, then responding to the ambulance, getting on, arriving at the patient, stablizing them, then taking them to the hospital where we would transfer them to doctors and nurses. I'd always been very empathetic to my patients. Always tried to express that I understood their pain and discomfort. Tried to go the extra mile or two to help make them more comfortable, to check in on them later on, to provide whatever guidance I could to them. In this case though, there wasn't a middle or an end. In some cases I did nothing more than carry them from one point to another and place them gingerly on a colored tarp. No one was around to receive them or take a report. In most cases I had no names, and a very limited understanding of their plight. I'd always transferred care to someone as qualified or more qualified than myself. This night was different. This night all of my conditioning and very structured training broke apart at the seams. This small, very tiny, incidental almost, factor litterally brought me down and consumed me. It changed my life forever. To this day I'll occassionaly wake up to the images of that night. Sometimes heroic, others definitive and brutal. I'll probably still carry them 'til the day I die.Years later now and I've learned to be proud of my actions that night. Proud of the hurdles I overcame and comfort in the knowledge that I helped to save lives. I also know it made me a more complete person, worldly in some ways.And, I'd do it again tomorrow.---------------------------------------------------------------------------It was a funny incident that occurred a few months after that fateful night in January. My fiance's family put together a trip to Disney World for all in the family to experience. A great gathering for a great family. I had the honor of being invited with the plans made well in advance. I was still very apprehensive about life in general and the happenings around me due to what I was fighting internally.The day of our depature arrived. We we went to the airport. Flying out of LaGuardia. The day was brisk and a front had blown through. We checked our baggage and cued for the flight. I started to sweat. Our seat assignments were called, we boarded the plane. I sat next to my lovely counterpart and immediately buckled up. I didn't settle in, didn't look around to catch the eyes of everyone sitting near me as I always had while offering a brief smile. Didn't try and crack the typical joke or make light of whatever the situation. I was white knuckling every second. The poor armrests were taking a beating. I stared ahead.Mary touched my wrist and asked if I was okay. Curtly, I replied...Sure and stared straight ahead. She gave me her heand to hold, knowing inside her what I was going through. We'd spoken about what might come of this day in advance. She was caring, responsive, compasionate, understanding. She'd helped me through my issues with as much love and attention as I'd let through. She broke the bond of our hands only once, when my grip became over-bearing. She then slipped her index finger to my pulse point to see what my heart was doing. 160. They announced we'd be pulling from the gate. 180. We taxied to the runway. 186. We sat behind a couple of planes, their engines idling. The pilot made an announcement. We'd be here for a while, weather delays down south...200. They put Regis and Kathy Lee on the in-plane video system. I was dying inside. (Not only was my mind racing through all sorts of bad flying scenarios, but I disliked Rege and KathyLee) Nearly 2 hours later we tookoff.....226. We landed in Orlando with me at 110. I've flown many times since then, now my heart rate never reaches 100.

Crash - cont'd

...........As I continued looking around the yard, I noticed another high-vis jacket moving about near the MacEnroe's front door. It was one of my female commrades, Karen. She looked worse for the wear, her makeup and eyeliner had been disrupted by tears and had run badly making her look like the female version of Alice Cooper. I caught her eye and she came over immediately and then fell into my arms. She'd been tasked about 30 minutes prior to work with property owners on the block (if this area actually could be said to have 'blocks') to secure fresh drinking water for the rescuers, with possibly a warm garage to cycle those rescuers that needed to rest or decompress. She was now sobbing uncontrollably, almost to the point of hyperventilating. She'd found mostly locked doors (owners weren't home and the police had initially refused to commandeer anyone's property because of the areas tawny nature.). She did though get a response from the MacEnroes and as such had tried tirelessly, and tearfully, to get them to approve the use. In her mind each minutes that went by was a further failing of life in general for the victims of this crash. The last thing they needed was further adversity entering their lives, or what was left of them. These owners had resisted to the bitter end until I came along. At 6'5" and 250lbs my stature somehow proved to allow additional avenues to be opened for us that night. These people were not happy by any means, but finally relented when confronted with reality, and explanation of the need and a small dose of "you have no choice." As I dwas with the other owner up the hill, I was very empathetic to their predicament, always trying to put myself quickly into their shoes. They had not chosen to have this happen, litterally in their backyards, but were thrust by stupidity into it. They had to forever deal with the fact that many many people died on or across from their property. Not a good thing to have happen for property values, or for that matter, if you believe in an after-life.There was a small split rail fence that had to go. We took it down. We tried as much as we could not step in flower beds or disturb bushes. As the rescuers were being booted (FBI) from the plane, they were asking for new assignments and then tasked with the gruesome duty of bringing the dead to our 'main' deceased staging area. You could see it on their faces as they approached, body in tow. We told them where to place the filled bags or bulky blood stain covered sheets. Earlier in the evening these hero's wore faces of determination, concern and bravery. Now those masks had been replaced by sallow, blank, even pained expressions. Outer jackets were opened to the cold air as they walked, four to a backboard, down to us. Having been in over-drive for the better part of 2 hours now, the firemens internal temperatures were abusive. Their coats unbuttoned, heat and steam were being released into the cold and moist night air. Karen had finally found the strength to compose herself and looked back up the hill at this never ending line of bodies coming to us. She turned to me and said " it almost looks as if the deads souls are fading away in whisps as they get closer to us." I could see her eyes moving between the broken plane and broken bodies, and again she fell apart and crumpled to the ground.I'd tried hard to find the most resilient looking men as they dropped bodies off to us. We had the gruesome task of trying to begin identifying the dead. We'd need to look for any identification, if it was on their person. We looked on necklaces to see if their were inscriptions, for obvious tatoo's, something, anything we could put on our reports to try and begin the needed paper trail. About the only saving grace at this point was that the triage tags being used had been consecutively numbered. Someone else had begun the process of placing these tags on the toe of each victim (if there was a toe). Its very disconcerting to see those triage tags, which start out all firm and intact, varying colors and numbers printed on them, arriving at our location with all but the bold black section (death) ripped off. These people had become, at least for our needs, numbers. Internally I started striving to put the 'person' back in place of that number. I didn't want any one of these victims in my charge to be John or Jane Doe, or worse yet, Unknown #45632.Within about 30 minutes of us starting the body repository, the ME showed up with his staff. Seeing us, he thanked us profusely and said he'd take it from there. It was surprising to me when he showed up. I had been hunched over slightly aligning one of the new deliveries to us. (In death, I didn't want anyone to look like an outcast. I guess I wanted them to be part of a family, even if only of my mental creation. As unusual as that sounds, to me, they needed to be part of something, even in death, rather than that anonomous five digit number.)I'd been able to assemble a team of 15 by that point. It was made up of firemen, paramedics, EMT's and general passers-by. (As a further aside, my future brother-in-law lived in Oyster Bay. His brother had been out that night when the crowd he was with heard the commotion of the plane crash and went on their own (neither firemen or medical person among them) and just jumped in to help in any way they could. Jeffery was an exceptional man for doing that.)Upon being relieved, we sought further tasking from the incident commander and were summarily released for the night. Our three ambulances had finally gotten through to the crash site and had made three trips each back and forth to area hospitals. The other chief I had arrived with had long ago gone home. Luckily, trucks were packing up and going over to the Oyster Bay firehouse for coffee. The Ladies Auxillary there had opened up and were running full catering in their firehouse. I heard that, being such a small town, they'd contacted the owner of one of the local upscale restaurants that wasn't open that day. The owner in turn called in all of his staff and opened the kitchen and began making food for the rescuers. Chafers were out, plates, forks and everything one could possibly imagine was there for our taking. For the most part though, the hot food remained in the chafers. Coffee and tea were the choice of the night to try and quell the chill in our bones (and minds). One of my ambulances had waited at the firehouse for the remaing crew members still in the field. Everyone now assembled and brought together it took us home.The ride back was mostly quiet. Unlike after most calls, this night we did very little talking or after action exchanges. We were consumed with the aweful images playing in our minds. Upon arrival back at our headquarters, we found that some family members had opened our kitchen and put out coffee and donuts along with the beginnings of some hot food. We debriefed a bit, contacted dispatch to have the local 4 fire department chiefs give us a call because we decided to go out of service until 8AM. We did this for a couple reasons. First, the amulances had no supplies left. We needed to restock. Next we didn't think we'd have anyone ready to go on another emergency that evening after having been through such an incident. The cheifs, me included, and the line officers (all of who made it to the crash) meeded a break. We filled out paperwork, assigned patient numbers for those transported to hospitals, spoke briefly about the next days needs to start formal debriefs as soon as possible and then started heading home.For me, I'd begun to experience something I'd not come in contact with before. It was a strange feeling. A numbness, indifference, had set in. I'd started to replay certain images in my mind over and over again. I noticed the slightest of nervousness in my voice. Something, I knew, was amiss inside me and I could feel it coming like a freight train. I did the only thing I instinctively knew how to do at the time, call my beautiful fiance and wake her, and her family, up.Mary - a rock and a hell of a shoulder to cry on. Now still my lovely wife of many years. Why she's put up with all of my antics in that time I'll never understand, but she, like a trooper, always does. (That story is for another day.)We were engaged to be married. Mary lived at home, I lived in Merrick next to the railroad. Mary was raised catholic with a rather strict set of rules to abide by established by her loving mother. Whenever I went over to the house we'd spend most of the time talking or watching TV in her room (the door had to be kept open at ALL times so the risk of hanky panky could remain low.) Usually my curfew for visiting at the house was 11PM. After that, the hallway light would flash on and off to let us know it was my time to leave innocent Mary for the night. The house rules were established. I could not call after 9PM for fear of waking her father up or disturbing her older sister with her boyfriend John.Me on the other hand, a young and vibrant type A male living on my own.This night though, I woke the house up. Earlier, I'd advised Mary that I was going to this crash. She wished me love and care and we hung up. When I called now much later, she'd been the first to pickup the phone and answered ahead of her mother. I said I was headed up because I didn't want to be alone. I arrived at the house a few minutes later and Mary greeted me with open arms and much tenderness. I tried to explain to her what I had seen that night, though making every attempt I could to maintain the 'male' composure and not let too much detail out for fear of sharing my now on-rushing deamons. She made me food and drink and we layed together in her full size bed for a couple of hours. She tried the best she could to be supportive, hold me and try any way she could to comfort me. I think I fell asleep for about an hour. I had too many bad images keeping waking me up and then keeping me awake. Not wanting to exacerbate things in the house more than I already had, I got up and and left about 6AM.The next 2 days were the beginning of the hardest period of of my life........

Crash - Cont'd

.......... I'd watched over the handling of probably 60 crash survivors. As I said, I'd intervened medically in the case of 17. I'd had my tasks set for me by the scene commander, and was performing my duties as best I could, under the circumstances.As I started backing away from the weenies, I turned and, for a brief moment, began processing what I'd been involved in for the last hour or so. A plane had run out of gas and fell from the sky. (The run out of gas portion I wouldn't find out and connect until days after the crash when the air to ground transmissions were reviewed, and context was added by the introduction of the in-cabin black-box recordings.) I was, for the moment, somewhat free to begin clearling my head take a physical perspective look at the over-all scene. This didn't help at all. It was strangely surreal. (I realized weeks later that it was at this moment that my brain began to short-circuit.)I passed the pile of bodies that had been placed in the area I had designated earlier. Just before the FBI intervened, and with a mounting body count and need for expedience, the firemen had taken to bringing the bodies to the pile. Initially they were able to place the bodies side by side. Then it was full, and with no other area available they started to make a pile. One on top of the other. This was disturbing to me. I had a mental image flash to the fore-front of my conscious thought. Recently, further images had been released on news reports from Nicaragua, where the death squads had operated. They'd gone around and killed many people at once and tried to hide the bodies in mass graves. One of those images resembled this, but of course, this pile was made out of necessity and with as much respect as could be offered. (At the top of the pile was a child's very mangled body.)As I got further away from where I'd been staged, flashlight asked if I was okay. I said "yeah, just a bad night." He responded with something that held me together through the remaining hour I was there..." No shit Sherlock." I had to crack a smile, my statement hadn't been the most brilliant observation around. We were dirty, covered in all sorts of bad, and had just nearly gotten arrested due to a nose to nose incident with the FBI.We passed the poor homeowners front door. It was open, shades drawn wide, lights on. The police were inside looking like they were interviewing him. Flashlight said "I wonder what in god's name this guy is going to say to his insurance carrier..."Ummm, my house was hit by a plane. I need to have a tow company or somthing come out and haul it away." I tried and failed to imagine the call center employee handling that one. Then we came to the rear of the house and found triage full. We'd been here an hour and triage was still full? This was bad, very bad in fact. What the hell was going on?People were being carried down the hill on backboards by teams of six. "What the Fu#@! Where are the ambulances." We had access to hundreds of ambulances in the county, we needed at least 200 by my impression if the injured were taken out individually. Where was the screw up? We headed over to the triage supervisor to find out what in heavens name was going on."We're trying to get people out, but have only successfully transported about 20. There are vehicles blocking the streets coming in and that stupid satellite truck is still in the way so any rigs that can make it through to this side street can't make it the last 1/4 mile." "Holly Shit," I said aloud. I then asked "You have somebody working that?" He said, "yeah, I found an NCPD Highway cop and he ran off with his hand on his gun." ((I later heard 2 versions of a 'story' on how that truck was moved. One had it that the cop threatened the crew at gun point to which they immediately moved it to a spot where it got lodged in the mud and needed to be towed away 2 days later. The other was where a FD heavy rescue truck had nosed into the TV truck and proceeded to force it off the road enough for ambulances to get through.) Personally, I like either version)) As I had left the fuselage site and re-entered the triage area I had noticed, about 40 yards away, that this house had a respectable 'yard' that had been cleared of all trees. Relatively clear of any obstructions it seemed to be kept nicely and had grass planted. By my rough estimates, the yard was about 75'x75', and had very large oak and pine trees ringing it. Other than that, there were no obstructions on it at all. It also leant itself to be a parking area for some of the initial emergency vehicles.I asked "can medevac's get in there? What about the weather?" I was told that the NCPD Air Bureau had tried to land a helicopter a few times but the clearing wasn't judged to be large enough and the fog had krept in and brought the ceiling down below approved FAA flying levels. Shit I thought, this was shaping up to be be even harder on the injured and dying than I'd first imagined. The injured would now need to be hand carried past the TV truck to van type ambulances (box ambulances couldn't get through at that time due to the parked cars blocking the access roads a mile away - when compared to each other, box ambulances were about 2' wider than van types.) Hand carrying the injured 1/4 mile was slow, and van ambulances also had a drawback of not having that additional interior floor space where ambulatory patients could be placed for the trip to the hospital.Then a very loud and hulking helicopter appeared overhead. A spot light came on blazing from the sky and literally blinded everyone on the ground. It sounded like a military helicopter had arrived and was taking in the scene from above. I'd thought the county executive was here and making himself a pain. No sooner had I finished that thought than watched as a HUGE Bell helicopter transitioned into a hover and began to settle into this tight clearing. Closer and closer it got. It hesitated a bit, then lowered all the way to the ground. I swear I saw leaves and tree branches being cut away by the helicopters spinning rotors. I couldn't believe my eyes. When it set down and cut its spot-light, the ambient light in the area illuminated the markings. "Way to go NYPD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" We all jumped for joy, then ran to its side door, released it and slid it open on its track. The pilot looked at me and said "I heard someone needed air transport. I was in the area getting Pizza and thought I'd come and take a look. Bring me four stretchers and any who can walk..." I turned and was about to wave for assistance, but found many had thought much faster than I. There was an immediate stream of people flowing towards the craft. We got them loaded and shut the doors and before we could be away from the zone, he'd spun up the engine and was lifting off. This one pilot did a remarkable thing. Not only did he and his crew take it upon themselves, unauthorized (so I was later told), to launch from their HQ at Floyd Bennet Field (near JFK Airport), AND fly in very bad weather to get to us, AND then land in this landing zone that no local chopper thought possible. They, more importantly, showed their bravado. Once the locals saw this, they weren't going to be shown up by an outside department. Higher-ups got on their raidios begged, pleaded and admonished their underlings to get the local choppers to come in. 2 NYPD choppers had landed in succession and were taking people away to local hospitals, without the involvement of the locals who knew the area better. Within minutes, not to be shown up more than they'd already been, here came the NCPD, SCPD, more NYPD craft, Life-flight from Ct also arrived. All bouyed (and trounced) by the fact that the biggest and most lumbering of all helicopters (and one awesome pilot) had shown them up and done the deed first, they knew they could (had to) now do it. I'd swear that as each chopper would take off their blades would just miss the skids of the next incoming chopper. I think the longest break between choppers getting in and out was 5 minutes. I also believe all but 1 'immediate' patient was taken out by chopper, and then all 'Amber' patients were taken out this way as well.Here I'll take a break and relate another story that went around, though because I didn't see it happening for myself, I can't vouche for its accuracy, other than to say I did see ambulances, police and fire vehicles with NYC markings on them at or near the scene....The side-by-side counties of Nassau and Suffolk have a 'mutual aide' policy in place. It says that if asked, the two counties will combine resources and help one another in time of emergency need. Similar agreements are in place between NYC and Nassau as well. Oyster Bay was pretty much on the border between Nassau and Suffolk, so a good many resources were sent from both areas. New York City (NYC) is still close, 15 miles, I'd say, by road. NYC listens in to all of Nassau's communications. By NYC I mean the individual ambulances and fire stations. (I'm sure communications/dispatch also eavesdrops every now and again as well.) A great deal of those workers live and volunteer in Nassau and Suffolk. Whenever any large incident happens in Nassau, you inevitably start seeing NYC EMS ambulances and NYFD, NYPD assets showing up unannounced.This night was no different. I was told that NYC had received a call from Nassau asking for some ambulance assets. NYC in turn dispatched 5 ambulances to the scene. Well, by the time these 5 ambulances had arrived in Oyster Bay (4 miles away from the 'Cove') they had grown in numbers to 20, not including 9 highway police cruisers giving escort and running traffic clearing, and 10 pieces of fire apparatus. (All but those first 5 ambulances were now 'freelancing.') Once they made the turn out of Oyster Bay proper, they made another 3 miles and encountered local ambulances waiting in line because no one could get past all of the cars parked on the non-existent shoulders. Without being asked, the NYFD and the highway police went to work. They didn't care about vehicles at all, they had a task to do and were going to do it. (In NYC, if a car is parked in front of a fire hydrant or in front of a burning building, the firemen will do whatever is necessary to remove that obstacle. If its breaking all the windows of the car to pass hoses through, or mangling the car to get it out of the way, they do it without a thought. This is exactly what they started doing.) First the highway cars with huge and sturdy push bumpers mounted to the cars nose went to work. Slamming into these obstacles and bulling them into the woods or worse yet, the bay. 37 cars and 3 TV trucks got very wet and banged up. The firemen, not to be out-done by their sheilded brethren, physically over-turned and toppled another 12 vehicles BY HAND.It was around the time that I saw an NYPD police cruiser pulling toward Triage that I realized box ambulances were now arriving up the hill near Triage to start taking patients. Could it have been a coincidence? Sure I guess..................

Crash - cont'd

.....after watching the fireman being led away, my waining mental focus was brought back to reality by another tug.."Doc, they need you again." It was my partner -flashlight. This guy to his credit stayed at my side or around me and played a fantastic role in the bigger picture. He liased perfectly with me and we were covering the bases together. I had yet to become a fireman, but worked in enough dual incidents and with extrication to know what to call out for and how to direct assets. That's when I finally got it.Some people call it the 'zone', some people call it 'being in the moment.' Others say its acheiving focus. To me it was always the same and gained only after taking a deep breath. I guess it was the calming effect of a simple deep breath and being able to mentally image what I needed to do next. Suddenly, I had the impetus and...bravery I guess...to overcome the dwelling harsh images of my first 15 minutes working at a crash scene. Thank god this happened when it did. In those few seconds I was able to erect those emotional barriers, tap into any remaining mental strength I had and trudge onward. What I'd face next sometimes wakes me in cold sweats at night, to this day.I headed back to the fuselage. As a side note, I also picked up on a mood of the area. People seemed to be getting into a rythm, settling in to the tasks at hand. I also noticed some worried looks on faces as firemen and medics were making the journey back to triage and returning. I didn't though have any time, for the moment, to ask what their looks were for. That was coming later."Doc, what do we do with the bodies?" I tired to explain that there was an area set up by triage that was taking the dead. A few of the firemen were able to carry some of the bodies back to triage, but when they returned they said "triage is full, there's no room. They're starting to place the injured next to the dead, they need the space." I sent 'flashlight' back to triage. This guy was a rock. He knew what to do, how to do it, and when faced with complicated taskings from me, he found fast ways to punch holes through any barrier he met. I told flashlight that when I first trudged up the short driveway of this house to the top of the fuselage, I noticed a double garage on the back end of the house. Triage was set up right outside these garage doors. I said 'Find the owner of the house, tell him we need to get into his garage, but for god's sake don't tell him why.' Flashlight looked at me and began to ask why we'd need his garage then then it hit him as he started to mouth 'Wh...?" "Oh, got it." Off he went. How could any homeowner in this situation, having just been awoken by a plane litterally falling from the sky into his front yard (because it ran out of fuel), be expected to comprehend any request with 300 strangers scurrying about. Let alone a request to open his garage so we'd have somewhere to put dead bodies.I returned to the matter at hand. There was a 6x8 patch of earth next to the break in the plane where I was. It was left pretty much in tact and unobstructed. It wasn't in anyone's way of operations and we needed to get at more of the survivors and not waste assets. If we could place the dead close to our operations area, the firemen would be able to keep close and be more effective. Here is where I chose to start housing the deceased in what would eventually become a pile of 13. Of the 17 I physically medically assessed, 14 were dead, 3 were alive - all children.Ladders were going up to the cockpit. They were removing the pilots from that section fo the plane to my right. A woman was hanging unsupported in the crotch of a tree, her arm thought to be wedged between 2 branches. She had been ejected from her seat when the plane split apart when it hit the side of the hill. She was now dangling about 15 feet off the ground. Up to that point, no one thought to look high into the trees for victims. (I later on heard that another person similarly ejected was also found perched high in a tree near the bottom of the wreck.) Another ladder went up and two firemen started to extricate her. She came away from the tree easily, thought to be unconscious, but her arm remained behind. She'd bled to death within minutes of the crash.Most of the dead were intact. Since I'd never worked a plane crash before, I'd expected to be looking for parts of people. That's what the books and training predominantly said. Some though had been decapitated or severed, litterally in half, by their seatbelts. I heard another call. "Doc, come here." I hustled over the few steps where three firemen were hovering over one of the dead in the mounting pile I had created earlier. The person they were looking at had been disembowled, with their innards spewed about. I was set to admonish them for gawking, when I realized what they were looking at. This victim had golf-ball sized... nodules.... I thought, inside their intestine. These were strange because they were white and didn't seem to be attached to anything as one would imagine a cancerous tumor to be. I had no idea and I didn't have the time to spend trying to figure out what I was looking at. " Come on guys, back to work, that's for the ME to figure out." I left that mental image with the person lying there. I had more critical things to think about.As I said earlier, the night was cold, dank, damp and misty. On this sea-side community, there was a heavy hanging fog about the area. Within about 30 minutes of my arrival, an airborne search light started massaging the crash scene. The sound of a jet turbine engine also played in my head. Obviously a helicopter was flying around trying to survey the scene. I didn't know if it was a news chopper or a police medivac. The engine sound became suddenly more pronounced, strained even, and I looked skyward. There about 150 feet over our heads was a police chopper. Hovering very low considering. Some trees were swaying a bit from the rotorwash, which was also starting to kick up paper wrappers and other strewn debris. It was also making person to person voice communication very hard. The sound would increase for a few minutes and then fade away as the chopper transitioned from hover to free form flight.I was then kicked out of my area of command, along with the remainder of the fireman I was working with. Two men had suddenly shown up wearing tan wind-breakers and sporting FBI credentials. Flashlight had shown back up at my side. He reported that he had tried and tried to convince the owner of the house to allow them to use his garage, but the owner wouldn't relent once somone slipped with what we were planning to use it for. Who could blame him. Flashlight said, "Doc, these FBI types, they're telling everyone to back away. How can they do that, there might be more people inside that need to be rescued." I thought quickly and said, "you're right, medical has authority over everyone, except when physical safety is involved." I stood my ground at the head of the plane. Internally, I was hoping I'd have a few more guys that'd stand with me, but alas, that badge carried weight. Flashlight though, was with me to the end.It's always amazed me, the bonds that can be formed in a split second. Mutual respect is a powerful thing to come up against. Here flashlight and I had met and worked together for the last hour and he wasn't budging from my side. He'd throw cautionary statements at me if I came close to being in a hazrad area. I took him at his word and moved away or stopped where I was until he made it safe. I forged ahead on a couple points only to be admonished by him for taking an unneeded chance. He'd move some of our assets to areas to try and free some of the victims and I'd waive him off because I could see it wasn't going to make a difference. The person was dying and were going to die before getting to the hospital, those that could live needed every chance they had. As I said, 15 minutes working together, we realized we complimented one another and that bond was formed. We respected each other. This mutual respect nearly landed us in jail.The FBI weenie (now, let me qualify. I think its a wonderful organization, but in this case, I didn't see the benefit of their reasoning and as such, this night, they were weenies) approached us. We were the last to be standing there and we weren't turning to move away. "Gentlemen, I'm going to need you to move away from this area." I was prepared (and so, to my dismay, was flashlight). I said, "I'm area medical command here, I have authority over everyone including law enforcement. There are still bodies in there, and possibly some that are living. This area is not closed until I can assess it in total." He responded with, "Sir, I've asked you to leave. I need you to move out of this area. Its a crime scene and we have taken responsibility." I retorted with " You and I both know I have ultimate authority here..." the other weenie entered the picture, and flashlight moved in closer... "you can't close down my operations until I say its okay and the victims have been removed. I'll concede that we won't remove evidence or bodies, but any injured I find are coming out and getting treated immediately." Unbeknowced to me flashlight had rolled his flashlight in his hand. It immediately went from being a source of light, to a source of light AND batton. (Maglites - the industry standard in metal flashlights. They have a knurled aluminum handle on them which houses the batteries. You can hold a Maglite by this knurled handle, in the palm of your hand with your pinky and thumb facing the ground, waist high. This is the light source use. Or you can hold it by the lighthead itself, underhanded, so your thumb and pinky face the sky, making it perpenduclar to and at shoulder height. In this fashion, you can use the flashlight as both a light source or with a simple roll of the wrist a weapon.) Flashlight knew this and had chosen, at this moment, the latter. The weenies started to posture, setting one foot slightly in front of the other, their bodies cocked a bit (they were righties and as such their left foot was forward). Flashlight started to posture. I'm in the middle and as I started to see what was about to happen, the second weenie, looking at flashlight, said "drop the light." The first weenie moved his hand into his jacket towards his hip and revealed a pair of cuffs, and in an "oh, by the way" kind of jesture, also causually showed his sidearm.I'm now beet red, chest heaving and ready for a fight. Flashlight had started to raise the flashlight abit further and, I assumed, was a second from striking out. I thought quickly and better of what was happening, and put a hand on flashlights arm and spit-cursed at the weenies "I want your fucking names!" We backed off. As I took a step back, the first weenie thought the situation over from his perspective and processed what had happened. He, I think, relaized I was right and could bring a shit storm down on this by calling over the local police. He offered to me as I started turning away "Listen, we're securing the crash scene and taking names. We'll bring you guys back in once we have a perimeter setup. We found drugs on the plane. One of the people over there was a mule."It all made sense now, though not the getting kicked out part. I was right. I knew I was right. I had the written law on my side. But, I also realized what I had seen before in that dead persons intestines wasn't a tumor, it was packets of cocaine that had been swallowed and were being smuggled in to the US....................