“I’ll see you guys at 457. I’ve got to stop by the office and pick up the appliance panels.” “10-4, Den, and thanks again for breakfast,” chuckled Francis, one of my key craftsmen. “Well, I hoped you enjoyed it. With all those pancakes, I thought you were eating for two!” “All right, all right, Mr. Funny Man…” he said as he shook his head and shooed me away.
It was 6:40 a.m., and I had just finished buying breakfast for the crew. My guys were going to be putting in overtime today on a custom home project that had fallen behind schedule due to weather-related issues caused an unusually late winter season.
Historically, whenever we put in some additional time or the staff needed a little breather, I would assemble everyone for a big, country breakfast. Those gatherings were always special. Good food. Lots of jokes, stories, and good-hearted ribbing. And in general, just some great interaction between everyone without any discussion about work. There was time for work … after breakfast.
As I pulled up to the jobsite I was greeted by the cacophony of compressors, nailguns, and blazing saws. And, it wasn’t just our jobsite. The project next door was also abuzz. All the activity made the day seem like a typical workday. However, it would evolve into anything but that.
Five of us ran next door and were suddenly confronted by a sight so unreal that even while I’m writing this, the recollection fills me with dread. Three people were entangled on the slab floor of the living room with blood everywhere. The workmen were moaning and in agony. In the first instance, we couldn’t comprehend what our eyes were telling us. Then one of my carpenters darted back to our jobsite to use the telephone in our garage office to call 911 for help. (This was long before cell phones. I learned early on to always have phone hookups and large bell ringers at all of my jobsites not only for a potential emergency, but also to improve efficiency and communication.)
“I’m gonna grab some blankets from my truck,” barked Terry as he was flying out of the house. I took off my sweatshirt and placed it under the head of one of the victims. Chirper, one of the finish carpenters, yelled, “Den, you stay here. I’m gonna run next door and see what I can get to help.” “OK,” I responded just before I had to dart outside to lose my breakfast. When I look back on it now, that was the best thing because then I could really concentrate on the accident at hand.
I had previously witnessed a compound leg fracture during football practice when I was a freshman in high school. I remember the severity of the kid’s injury and his utter agony as he was awaiting the ambulance. His leg eventually healed, but he missed most of freshman year because he was in traction and then therapy. In the present situation, I couldn’t help but think what a long recovery these much older guys would need.
Soon Chirper came back with a bunch of carpet pad that we used to cushion the victims in any way that we could: as rolled up pillows under their heads and uplifts to elevate their limbs.
Two ambulances quickly arrived, and the paramedics stabilized the three victims and then suddenly, almost as fast as things had unfolded, it was over. All of us were stunned. Without anyone uttering the words, every last one of us for the first time realized that any one of us could have been on our way to the hospital.
