A touching true story about one man's compassion for a fellow human being.
A savage spring wind storm over-night had toppled trees and interrupted power in Seattle. High winds on Portage Bay would sometimes set a houseboat free of its moorings. ‘Casey’, my aged eighteen-foot cabin sloop, was moored between two houseboats and I wanted to check that all was secure.
I parked at the top of the dirt pathway which switch-backed through the trees down a short hill to the houseboats. The morning was warm, bright and fresh and the forsythia at the top of the path was brilliant in its cloak of golden blossoms. Leaf buds were nearly bursting on the alders covering the hillside. Robins, sparrows and house finches chattered busily in the thickets of pussy willows. The last switch-back connected to a second path running parallel to the shoreline and from which paths led to individual houseboats. Grass, dandelions, daffodils
and grape hyacinths greeted me on right and left.
As I turned toward No. 13, a muffled gurgling came from my right. A man, judging from the dark trousers and jacket, was laying on his side among the flowers and grass. I saw that he had grey, scraggly hair and a shirt open to the waist. His breathing was laboured and irregular.
My first thought was a heart attack. I knelt beside him, then lifted his shoulders to reposition his head and chest higher than his feet on the gentle slope. He wasn't very heavy. The stench of vomit and alcohol was overwhelming. An ashen face,
staring eyes and gurgling mouth lay in the bend of my arm. Nothing in my twenty-five years of life had prepared me to deal with this emergency.
Help was needed and I called out, but no one responded. I took off my jacket, rolled it into a pillow, placed it under the man's head and told him I was going for help. It wasn't clear if he understood.
I ran down the path to the houseboats and saw two older women talking over a fence, one wearing a faded house dress and the other a bathrobe. I recognized Bathrobe as living in one of the houseboats.
“An old man is collapsed, maybe from a heart attack. He needs an ambulance. Please call one,” I blurted.
"Is he drunk?" asked House Dress.
"Probably, he smells of alcohol, but he can hardly breathe. He needs help."
"What's he look like?" queried Bathrobe.
"Old, with grey hair, thin and maybe five-six. What difference does it make? Hurry, please."
"Well, I suspect he's the drunk we've seen down here before," offered House Dress.
Bathrobe agreed, and put a name to the man. "He can sober up right where he is, he doesn't need an ambulance."
House Dress nodded and added, "He's a nuisance, leaves his empty bottles everywhere. Smelly and dirty, too."
I didn't see anyone else. Time would be wasted if I ran off to find someone in one of the other houseboats to call an ambulance. I pleaded with the women to just make the call, they could use my name. They agreed and I gave my name and phone number.
Returning to the man, I found his situation hadn't changed. I sat on the ground and cradled his head and shoulders in my arms while he struggled to breathe. I felt helpless.
The ambulance attendants came down the path with a stretcher. The man was cold and ashen. Only moments before, he had breathed his last. I told the ambulance crew what I knew and gave my name and phone number. They put him on the stretcher, covered him with a sheet and started up the path.
I turned toward the houseboats to check my sailboat. Bathrobe and House
Dress were waiting at the fence when I passed by and asked for an update. I think they probably knew the outcome since they could see the ambulance attendants, but I told them.
"It's just as well," huffed House Dress. Bathrobe nodded.
My sailboat was alright. I never heard from the ambulance service. Afterward, I remembered the old man whenever I came down the path. I hope he felt someone cared as he struggled to draw his final breaths.
A savage spring wind storm over-night had toppled trees and interrupted power in Seattle. High winds on Portage Bay would sometimes set a houseboat free of its moorings. ‘Casey’, my aged eighteen-foot cabin sloop, was moored between two houseboats and I wanted to check that all was secure.
I parked at the top of the dirt pathway which switch-backed through the trees down a short hill to the houseboats. The morning was warm, bright and fresh and the forsythia at the top of the path was brilliant in its cloak of golden blossoms. Leaf buds were nearly bursting on the alders covering the hillside. Robins, sparrows and house finches chattered busily in the thickets of pussy willows. The last switch-back connected to a second path running parallel to the shoreline and from which paths led to individual houseboats. Grass, dandelions, daffodils
and grape hyacinths greeted me on right and left.
As I turned toward No. 13, a muffled gurgling came from my right. A man, judging from the dark trousers and jacket, was laying on his side among the flowers and grass. I saw that he had grey, scraggly hair and a shirt open to the waist. His breathing was laboured and irregular.
My first thought was a heart attack. I knelt beside him, then lifted his shoulders to reposition his head and chest higher than his feet on the gentle slope. He wasn't very heavy. The stench of vomit and alcohol was overwhelming. An ashen face,
staring eyes and gurgling mouth lay in the bend of my arm. Nothing in my twenty-five years of life had prepared me to deal with this emergency.
Help was needed and I called out, but no one responded. I took off my jacket, rolled it into a pillow, placed it under the man's head and told him I was going for help. It wasn't clear if he understood.
I ran down the path to the houseboats and saw two older women talking over a fence, one wearing a faded house dress and the other a bathrobe. I recognized Bathrobe as living in one of the houseboats.
“An old man is collapsed, maybe from a heart attack. He needs an ambulance. Please call one,” I blurted.
"Is he drunk?" asked House Dress.
"Probably, he smells of alcohol, but he can hardly breathe. He needs help."
"What's he look like?" queried Bathrobe.
"Old, with grey hair, thin and maybe five-six. What difference does it make? Hurry, please."
"Well, I suspect he's the drunk we've seen down here before," offered House Dress.
Bathrobe agreed, and put a name to the man. "He can sober up right where he is, he doesn't need an ambulance."
House Dress nodded and added, "He's a nuisance, leaves his empty bottles everywhere. Smelly and dirty, too."
I didn't see anyone else. Time would be wasted if I ran off to find someone in one of the other houseboats to call an ambulance. I pleaded with the women to just make the call, they could use my name. They agreed and I gave my name and phone number.
Returning to the man, I found his situation hadn't changed. I sat on the ground and cradled his head and shoulders in my arms while he struggled to breathe. I felt helpless.
The ambulance attendants came down the path with a stretcher. The man was cold and ashen. Only moments before, he had breathed his last. I told the ambulance crew what I knew and gave my name and phone number. They put him on the stretcher, covered him with a sheet and started up the path.
I turned toward the houseboats to check my sailboat. Bathrobe and House
Dress were waiting at the fence when I passed by and asked for an update. I think they probably knew the outcome since they could see the ambulance attendants, but I told them.
"It's just as well," huffed House Dress. Bathrobe nodded.
My sailboat was alright. I never heard from the ambulance service. Afterward, I remembered the old man whenever I came down the path. I hope he felt someone cared as he struggled to draw his final breaths.