Your loving adopted son.

Sunday, three A.M. a full moon illuminates a forest alive with night creatures. Their eyes aglow as if in wonderment as our emergency beacons pierced their world. Only the sounds of our engine broke the silence as we raced through the night. No need for the siren. We were ten miles from nearest major road, fifteen from any community and hadn’t seen another vehicle since leaving the hospital garage.

My partner, a trainee scanned the road ahead for sign of our contact, while I wondered what we were rushing into.  Our only information was a call received by the dispatcher requesting an ambulance to an isolated rural area. The caller did not reveal the nature of the emergency and his location directions were vague. He said someone would meet us on the main highway. That made me nervous! I decided to radio the dispatcher for police assist. Unfortunately for us, that meant a town constable at home in bed twenty miles away. On the plus side, the dispatcher at the time was my wife.  As she still liked me back then, she decided to request assistance from the Sheriff’s office and two other police departments from adjacent jurisdictions.

Suddenly, headlights flashed in front of us. A large, dark car pulled out from the shoulder of the road, its driver waving frantically as he turned onto a narrow, gravel township road forming a dust cloud between us.

Maintaining a safe distance back, we followed the dust cloud at a slower speed allowing my partner time to note any landmarks he could radio to the dispatcher.

Abruptly, the dust dissipated revealing the dark car with its mysterious driver stopped next to a grassy open area.  A dirt drive wound its way up to what appeared to be an old basement dwelling set a good eighty yards from the main road.  We stopped a few feet behind him.  As I exited our rig in an attempt to approach and question the driver he silently pointed toward the dwelling then sped off down the gravel road.

My attention turned to the dwelling. It was built into a low knoll, had large front windows and, thankfully, was well lit both inside and out.

“Something is missing!” I whispered. “No vehicles, people, dogs or movement.”

Slowly we inched our way up the drive. When almost parallel to the dwelling, it made a sharp right to an exterior wood frame, enclosed stairway atop the knoll. There, in the glare of our floodlights lay the body of a woman. Dressed in a blood stained, pale green nightgown, her head turned away from us, she appeared to be sleeping, but it was an illusion. An obvious gunshot entry wound to the back of her head told a different story.

Immediately, my instincts and training took control.

“Shut off all our lights, give me the radio and get your ass out of this rig now!” I yelled to my partner. “Hide in the woods beyond the tree line!” Next thing I knew he was running fast and low towards a large pine tree.

I radioed the dispatcher, “We have a D.O.A with G.S.W.!  We need help fast!”  *

Now what do I do?  Sitting in a darkened ambulance, on a small rise next to an illuminated earth home I was a sitting duck. If the shooter was still there, one well aimed bullet could have hit me or the large oxygen tank and I’m history.

What if there are more victims inside? What if they’re still alive? Call it brave or insane, I had to know. It was my job to save lives.

Flashlight in hand, I made my way through the shadows to the stairwell. Standing to one side, I held it high above my head to disguise my position and true size as I peered through the door. Looking down inside, I saw a single, bare bulb ceiling light, a child’s bicycle in a corner and a second body at the foot of the stairs. Like the woman’s, it was face down in a pool of dark, clotted blood. It was a man with a gunshot exit wound in the back of his head.

The bicycle – is there a child here?

Against all policy, I descended the stairs, stepped over the man’s body and entered the living room to a scene of rage and anger. Furniture overturned, appliances broken, dishes shattered and personal items everywhere but no child.

Cautiously I searched the remaining rooms. I saw a life style of modest income and means but no child or other bodies. I was relieved.

Retracing my path, I exited the house to call in what I’d seen. As I reached the radio to give the dispatcher update, the dark car returned. As if in slow motion, it appeared on the gravel road and turned onto the grassy area in front of the dwelling.

Cutting my report short, I waited and watched. The car stopped and the headlights went dark. The only light was from the dwelling and beautiful, setting full moon.

I could hear the radio in the ambulance. The dispatcher telling me the closest police unit it still fifteen minutes from our location.

Estimating the distance from my position to the car at forty yards, I realized I didn’t have a lot of options.

I saw one person, the driver sitting behind the wheel staring at the house seemingly ignoring me.

Was this a neighbor, friend, relative, curiosity seeker or…?

I had to know! I couldn’t be out here in the middle of the wilderness trapped by my own fears.

Heart in throat, I walked to the car while keeping my flashlight trained directly at his face.  I got within ten feet, when he suddenly turned on the interior dome light and looked at me. He was young, late teens, early twenties, long black hair, average size and scruffy appearing. He had a strange, peaceful look on his face, a calmness as though his burdens were gone.

As I attempted to talk to him, I visually searched the interior of the car with my flashlight. He had no less than eight guns and what appeared to be hundreds of rounds of ammunition strewn over the seats.

He asked me, “Are they dead?”

I believe so.” I replied.

“Good!” he yelled as he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and sped through the grass to disappear down the gravel road.

There was a return to silence as a soft glow in the east announced the rising of the sun.

It was going to be a beautiful Mother’s Day – for most.

G.S.W. = Gunshot Wound

D.O.A. = Dead on arrival

I lived this story.

Argument to Persuade

Argument to Persuade

    The sales pitch!

Personally, I feel some of the best persuaders (salespersons) in the world are Emergency Medical and Rescue personnel. Let me see if I can persuade you to agree.

Working ambulance in Minneapolis, we were called out late one evening to a person trapped under a car. An elderly blind woman was walking home from work late when a car backed out of a driveway hitting her, knocking her down then stopping on top with the hot muffler burning her back. Needless to say she was terrified but why? She only had a general idea of what a car looked like, had never seen the undercarriage of one and had nothing to compare the concept of a muffler to what was happening to her.

The rescue was risky, it was a black night and as the car was on an incline. If we tried to lift the rear end it might disengage and roll over her. She heard the rescue workers talking about it and her anxiety level shot to the top of the meter. She started to struggle and whimper in a vain attempt to escape. As Attending it was my job to care for her regardless of where she was, so I did.

I crawled under the car from the opposite side, took her hand in mine and starting talking with her. I introduced myself as if we were standing face to face, told her what I was doing and asked her a few diagnostic questions to ascertain her stability.

She was trembling and crying as she clung to my hand. Thankfully she was not bleeding profusely and had a good airway. It was impossible for me to check for fractures but she stated she didn’t think she had any. (Note: She was in a state of traumatic shock and may not have felt any even if there were)

Now, I’m not sure how many of you have ever lain on your stomach under a 1960s Cadillac sedan so I’ll tell you this, it’s creepy and noisy even when the motor isn’t running. Made us both nervous but I couldn’t show her any signs of it in my voice or movements. What did I do, I talked about son who had been born a few weeks prior. Seems strange hey? Well, my son had some issues when he was born and I was pretty worried about him so sharing my fears with her was a form of displacement. She gave me advice and her trust.

When it was time to get the car off of her, she became more anxious I reassured her that I would stay by her side through it all. She tried to argue with me because she felt that if the car came crashing down on me too, my son would lose a father. This told me she was transferring her fears to me effectively transferring her needs for safety to my son’s needs for a father.

The time came for them to remove the car. The Fire/Rescue captain lay down on the ground on the opposite side of her from me and told us what they intended to do. They were going put my side of the car up on blocks then have a hoist lift her side enough to get her out. Sounds scary hey? It was because there’s always a chance of a strap breaking, a failed calculation or even human error. She became a little agitated and more concerned about me but I assured her that if anything happened my kid would grow up and come kick some serious butt.

The process of setting the blocks was scary for her but I stayed and explained each and everything going on. Once my side had been raised about four inches they went to hers. This was more complicated explaining as she couldn’t touch anything and had no visual memories to draw from. She could, however feel the hands of the rescue team as they set the braces and hooks required to lift the car.

“Oh my, so many strong men!” she said. “Are any single?”

Told her I wasn’t a match maker but that’s see what I could find out.

When then informed us they were ready to lift, we were given protective eye wear and fire blankets to cover out heads. This made her more nervous and she clung tighter to me. I was talking to her about what she was going to do when we got out as the Rescue Captain gave me the silent signal they were going to lift. I warned her, pulled her head close to me and did my own silent prayer.

The noise of the winch and cable coupled with the snap, crackle and pop of the car was unnerving to say the least but I know a dozen members of the rescue squad were prepared to brace the car every inch of the way and they did. Once I could see light between the bottom of the car and her body I called stop and the blocks were shimmed in place. We were safe. The remainder of the process was sliding her onto a backboard and bringing her out.

She had minor injuries, dirty clothes and a demand for an invitation to meet my son.

My sales pitch worked – I persuaded her to trust us. We saved a life without further injury and my son got a third grandmother.

What really matters?

Lindsoe, R. Nyk

English 102


Dr. T. Rohman                 TED

“What Really Matters at the End of Life.”

BJ Miller

    WOW, this could not have come at a more inauspicious time for me.

I was born with a congenital defect of my lungs – they would not adhere to the chest wall for proper expansion during inhalation which resulted in a several spontaneous bilateral pneumothorax (lung collapse) episodes throughout my life. Due to the damage caused, my lungs are now beginning a shutdown process which cannot be reversed and, not being a viable candidate for transplant will eventually end in my death. This was tough but not unexpected news considering my age. I’ve outlived most of my family and now my time approaches.

Years ago I read a book called “Death: The Final Stage of Growth” by Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and I became fascinated about the topic. I was able to use many of her suggestions when dealing with the dying and their families in my work as a Para-Medic.

I can remember one gentle man who was dying of colon cancer that had metastasized throughout his entire body except for his brain. He was in great pain and dreaded every time we had to pick him up and take him to the hospital for treatment. He and I became friends during these bi-weekly journeys and we would talk about family, kids, and his fears of what would happen to them after he was gone. He rarely spoke a word about dying until one day I asked him how he felt about dying. He said “I’m dead set against it.” The ice was broken and the tears flowed that day.

I visited with him as much as I could on and off duty until late one evening his wife called me at home to say he had gone to “sleep.”

“He left something for you. I would like you to be one of his pallbearers.”

I humbly accepted the honor.

At the ceremony at the cemetery his wife pulled me aside and handed me a handwritten letter. When she gave it to me she gave me a hug and said, “Thank you for helping him die on his feet.” A reference to my helping him get outside and actually stand for a few minutes. After being bedridden for several months it was an alien feeling for him.

I won’t cite everything that was in the letter but I will say this, he said “You helped me die like the man I always wanted to be. Thank you for caring, listening, crying with me and making treating me like a real person and not a patient.”

This man gave me more than I could have ever given him but I never told him. Perhaps one day, in the not too distant future he and I will be able to sit down together and talk once more.

Cloudless Sky

Tell tomorrow not to come

For yesterday left too soon

And today is not yet a memory.

So wandering

The mind holds free,

Thoughts of what was never to be

And dreams of tomorrow yet to see.

I did not succumb,

Nor did I die

I merely changed

To cloudless sky.

College Comp II

“Using a one word title, write a 300 word essay describing your writing.”



How do I describe myself as a writer? There can be only one answer – “Me”. Ideas, words, images and movement are all from me. It is “Me” that seeks to create drama, humor, pathos, illusion and yes, reality too. It is “Me” wanting to share the stories of my life, the legends of my beliefs and the promises of my tomorrow.

    When I begin to write, I delve deep into the essence that is “Me”, there to find that one small seed of inspiration I must nurture. Seizing upon its potential, I plant the seed into my field of words and water it with the dew of my visions. As it grows, unfolding before me, roots of comprehension appear anchoring my concept to a story while tendrils of emotions grasp the reader drawing him deep, ever deeper into the wellspring of my mind.

    As if a symphony written on the clouds, the reader will surrender to the text and be carried to far away realms of space and time. For some it will be the slaying of a dragon and for others perhaps observing amber rafts afloat on the river of “Me”. But for all it must be the ascending of the mind and emotions to a pinnacle, there to embrace images my words portray.

    Perhaps one day, when my spirit has taken its final walk in this world, someone somewhere will say, “I need to get another copy of his works, this one has worn thin and frail from use.”

What a legacy that would be, for the story has come from “Me”!

The story has become “Me”!

What Our History Books Omit – 1

KKK Terrorist Arm of the Democratic Party

By Frances Rice

History shows that the Ku Klux Klan was the terrorist arm of the Democrat Party.  This ugly fact about the Democrat Party is detailed in the book, A Short History of Reconstruction, (Harper & Row Publishers, Inc., 1990) by Dr. Eric Foner, the renown liberal historian who is the DeWitt Clinton Professor of History at Columbia University.  As a further testament to his impeccable credentials, Professor Foner is only the second person to serve as president of the three major professional organizations: the Organization of American Historians, American Historical Association, and Society of American Historians.

Democrats in the last century did not hide their connections to the Ku Klux Klan.  Georgia-born Democrat Nathan Bedford Forrest
(Confederate Lieutenant General), a Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan wrote on page 21 of the September 1928 edition of the Klan’s “The Kourier Magazine”: “I have never voted for any man who was not a regular Democrat.  My father … never voted for any man who was not a Democrat.  My grandfather was …the head of the Ku Klux Klan in reconstruction days….  My great-grandfather was a life-long Democrat….  My great-great-grandfather was…one of the founders of the Democratic party.”

Dr. Foner in his book explores the history of the origins of Ku Klux Klan and provides a chilling account of the atrocities committed by Democrats against Republicans, black and white.

On page 146 of his book, Professor Foner wrote: “Founded in 1866 as a Tennessee social club, the Ku Klux Klan spread into nearly every Southern state, launching a ‘reign of terror’ against Republican leaders black and white.”  Page 184 of his book contains the definitive statements:  “In effect, the Klan was a military force serving the interests of the Democratic party, the planter class, and all those who desired the restoration of white supremacy.  It aimed to destroy the Republican party’s infrastructure, undermine the Reconstruction state, reestablish control of the black labor force, and restore racial subordination in every aspect of Southern life.”

Heartbreaking are Professor Foner’s recitations of the horrific acts of terror inflicted by Democrats on black and white Republicans. Recounted on pages 184-185 of his book is one such act of terror:  “Jack Dupree, a victim of a particularly brutal murder in Monroe County, Mississippi – assailants cut his throat and disemboweled him, all within sight of his wife, who had just given birth to twins – was ‘president of a republican club’ and known as a man who ‘would speak his mind.'”

“White gangs roamed New Orleans, intimidating blacks and breaking up Republican meetings,” wrote Dr. Foner on page 146 of his book.  On page 186, he wrote:  “An even more extensive ‘reign of terror’ engulfed Jackson, a plantation county in Florida’s panhandle. ‘That is where Satan has his seat,’ remarked a black clergyman; all told over 150 persons were killed, among them black leaders and Jewish merchant Samuel Fleischman, resented for his Republican views and for dealing fairly with black customers.”

Frances Rice is the Chairman of the National Black Republican Association and may be contacted at:  http://www.nbra.info/

I make no judgment call. I only share what I discover and, most importantly can confirm.

I do ask this question though: Do you honestly think the Democratic Party has changed for the better in its treatment of Blacks since its inception?

I don’t think so. I think Blacks are still subjugated by Democrats via the formation of a welfare state.

Papa Nyk

I Dream


I dream of a nobler world

Where children know no fear

A safer place in time

When hearts are pure and clear.

I dream of children’s faces

Bright smiles cast off the veil

Hate once pandemic

Its power now does fail.

I dream of a bright tomorrow

A time when we will know

Each face a new beginning

Each dream with love will grow.