All Things Must Pass

It was 7:00 p.m. last Friday evening. Dusk had settled into early evening. Our doors and windows were open and a soft, warm breeze came into the house. Summer had finally expired. Sirens in the distance came closer. The sound of heavy diesel engines rumbled down the street. I sprang from my seat, headed out the door, and saw a fire truck, an ambulance, and three police cars four doors down.

A few neighbors, who like me, heard the arrival, came out to check the scene. Police were running. Fireman and paramedics were donning gear and grabbing cases. All of them were heading quickly into Verne's garage. I've met Verne at a couple of neighborhood events. Verne's early sixtyish with a salt and pepper pampadour. He flew a flag. He had a couple of cars. His wife seemed nice.

I made the scene in 30 seconds. Police tape set up a perimeter that cordoned off Verne's driveway. I got as far as the tape and stopped. There was Verne flat on his back. He was surrounded by paramedics and police officers. One paramedic wearing a face sheild and a plastic gown was pumping on Verne's chest. Other paramedics were preparing IVs and setting them into Verne's veins.

I crossed the street to get a better view. A slight separation between a fire truck and an ambulance gave me a view of the entire garage. The parameds were working furiously on Verne's chest. Verne wasn't moving. His next door neighbor, a handsome young couple, ducked under the police tape to comfort Verne's wife who was giving a statement to the police outside of the garage. She could not see the efforts being taken on Verne's behalf.

I noticed the police were securing an even larger area with police tape. A "T" intersection lies a hundred feet, or so, from Verne's driveway. The police were securing all side of the intersection. Another fire engine made the scene. This truck stopped short of the intersection and raised it's night lights to illuminate the intersection. I moved back across the street to stand in the driveway next to Verne's.

I came up to a cluster of neighbors who were as transfixed by the scene as I was. It was certain that Verne was in distress. No one was sure what had happened. Little by little, information came our way. Someone said that Verne, a gun collector and marksman, had been cleaning a gun that discharged. The shot missed him, but caused a catastrophic heart attack nonethelss. Another said that he had shot himself, accidently, in the chest. We were within 20 yards of Verne and couldn't see any blood.

Someone else said that whatever happened happend at 5:30 and Verne's wife found him at about 6:50 when she came home. No one was sure. Whatever happened, Verne was in trouble. A helicopter hovered above. One neighbor made a lame crack about making it on the local news. But this wasn't a news helicopter. It was a medi-evac copter and hit was going to land on our street. The copter came in low and slow, maybe 100 yards overhead. Hundreds birds that were peacefully slumbering took startled flight under the descending helicopter. The pilot put it down delicately in the "T" intersection just below the 2nd fire truck whose lights illuminated the landing spot. Within seconds, the trauma team from the copter was in Verne's garage.

The trauma team was given a quick debriefing from the paramedics. Overt attempts to revive Verne were stopped. Verne now had IV, pulse monitors, O2 mask affixed to him. He was placed on a backboard and lifted onto the stretcher for transports to the helicopter. They wheeled Verne past us. He didn't look good. The guy next to me said Verne was a goner. Quickly, Verne was in the helicopter. Seconds later, the copter was airborne and Verne was gone.

We looked around, startled, shocked. The fireman packed up their belongings. One fireman wearing protective gear picked up all bio-related materials and placed them in a biohazzard bag. Police officers huddled. One officer left to resume regular patrol. We gathered to share information. Hopeful neighbors reasoned that a helicopter wouldn't have been called if Verne was gone. I wasn't sure. I saw them working Verne hard and he wasn't responding. I listened while his other neighbors comforted his wife. She was hustled into a police car and driven to the hospital.

The story stood that he had accidentally shot himself. Where was the blood? Where was the mess? Someone said that there was some blood, but not much. I didn't hold much hope for Verne, but what do I know?

Next door neighbor Wendi came by Saturday morning with the news. Verne passed. She didn't know exactly how it happened. It just happened. Verne and his wife were planning on spending the weekend at their cabin target shooting. It's a damn shame.

I not a gun guy, but I am not an anti-gun guy either. Arthritis has had its way with my trigger fingers.