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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Pain / Problems / Adversity
- Published: 09/03/2014
Emergency
Born 1941, M, from Harvest, AL., United StatesEmergency
By
Carl Brooks
The airport was dark except for the blue and white lights that outlined the runways and taxiways. The control tower was visible only as a silhouette against the distant glow of downtown Houston. It stood as a sentry, guarding those who commit the unnatural act of flight. Traffic was brisk that evening, as the controllers practiced their difficult profession; directing the contradiction of never-ending arriving and departing aircraft with relative safety.
Bill Waldon, the supervising controller, made an entry in his log, then, visually scanned the airport in an automatic gesture; alert for developing conflicts and eager to solve them on the spot. Considering the near-constant litany of control instructions being spoken hourly in this glassed-in nerve center, the atmosphere and noise-level seemed artificially quiet and calm. The men on each of the five control positions spoke softly into their headset microphones, issuing clearances and control instructions in a steady stream of non-stop chatter that only those on their discrete frequency could hear.
A long line of blinking anti-collision lights could be seen in the northwest sky, reaching past the Astrodome; a dozen or more aircraft waiting their turn to submit, once more, to the forces of gravity. Traffic was moving smoothly this night. The system functioned as it was designed to do.
Dave Lundberg was assigned the control of all ground traffic on the airport and was issuing instructions, non-stop, in an effort to anticipate and prevent conflicts, slow-downs and bottle-necks. His frequency was jammed with transmissions, each demanding attention from the one voice that directed their every movement. The entire traffic picture was often described as being controlled chaos.
This profession was unlike most others in that it required absolute concentration in immediately understanding and predicting multiple and varied developing situations simultaneously and three dimensionally. Multi-tasking was routine for these people, where absolute accuracy and instant decision making are an ongoing and constant priority. Air traffic controllers were, in fact, a little different.
As Dave sequenced and directed his ground traffic in a seemingly smooth flow on the darkened taxiways, one very clear, professional voice rose above the others.
"Houston Hobby Ground Control, this is Air Evacuation flight 95216 ready to taxi for departure. We have our clearance to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois."
With no hesitation, Dave turned his attention in the aircraft's direction, scanning for conflicts, then, issued instructions to taxi to runway 12, followed by the wind and altimeter settings.
Adding one more to the line-up of his total picture, Dave continued his spiel to the other moving lights on various taxiways. Several "roger's" came back in acknowledgment. The huge Air Force jet slowly moved to its place in line, awaiting his turn for departure.
Merle Casford, the pattern controller, sequenced a number of aircraft in a ten mile straight-in approach to the active runway, allowing each to land in turn, while clearing others for take-off between each arrival. He saw the military jet move to just short of runway 12 and made a mental note that its departure would take longer than usual because of its size and weight. He'd have to "make a hole" in his stream of inbound traffic to allow for its departure by slowing the airspeeds of aircraft on approach.
The pilot of the large military jet slowly steered his plane to the edge of the runway, where routinely he should have asked for take off clearance at that point, but the pilot had remained silent; as if his attention had been diverted to other matters. Departing aircraft were lining up behind him creating a log-jam. Finally, Merle was jogged to take action.
"Air Evac 95216, this is Houston Hobby Tower, you're number one for take-off… are you about ready?”
The aircraft was first in line for departure, blocking the entrance to the runway and delaying departures of more anxious aircraft.
"Tower, this Air Evac 216… I think… I think we have a problem… stand-by."
Merle rerouted the flow of aircraft around the temporary blockage and continued control. Bill, alerted to a possible problem with the Air Evacuation flight, stepped cautiously to Merle's side and asked him to put the radio on speaker so he could hear the pilot’s transmissions clearly. Bill was well aware that the jet carried a cargo of military personnel and their dependents being transported to and from different hospitals for care and treatment. It was a flying ambulance of sorts.
Several moments passed before the pilot's voice was heard, somewhat sheepishly, reporting: "Tower, this is Air Evac 216, we're going to be delayed a bit. I think we're having a baby."
Merle glanced at Bill with a quizzical look and smiled as much as his concentration would allow, acknowledged receipt of the information, then continued to help the pilot of a lost Cessna find the airport.
Gene McCorkle, the fourth member of the night crew, had been explaining to an irate citizen on the phone about the absolute lack of authority of tower personnel to restrict low-flying aircraft from operating over residential areas, when the other phone rang. It was amazing how Gene could carry on two conversations at the same time, yet still give the impression of one hundred percent attention to each. He was at least equal to the task and treated it routinely, as if no effort was required at all.
Then, over the open speaker, “Tower, this is Air Evac 216, I've been informed our patient is having a serious problem with the birth of her child. I'm declaring an emergency and request a doctor immediately. I say again, immediately."
Merle's face remained unchanged as he acknowledged the request, then, glanced at Bill, who had already picked up the phone and was dialing the main police station. In the past, this procedure had proven to be the most efficient since they had direct lines to all the hospital emergency rooms.
After an unusually long delay, Bill heard an indifferent voice on the other end.
"Houston Metro Police, how may I direct your call?"
"Hello,” Bill said, “this is the watch supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport, we have an emergency on board an aircraft here and a doctor has been requested immediately."
The voice came back, "Just a moment, I'll connect you with the dispatcher."
After a short pause, "Sergeant Gilroy," the voice came back.
Bill began again, "This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport, we have an emergency on board a military air evacuation aircraft. The pilot is requesting a doctor be dispatched here immediately. Can you help us? There was a pause, with the muffled sound of a background conversation.
"We'll send a unit right out, the voice reported. Where on the airport is the emergency located?"
"We don't need a police car,” Bill explained, “we need a doctor and hoped you could expedite the process. There's a woman on board the aircraft having serious labor complications and the pilot has requested a doctor immediately."
"I can give you the number of County Medical, they should be able to refer you to someone," the voice said.
Another pause and mumbling in the background. Another voice came on; one with more authority in it. "We're sending an ambulance out there. If it's that bad, we'll need to get her to a hospital."
"Wait one," Bill said, and grabbed a microphone.
"Air Evac 216, tower, the police department is sending an ambulance. They say that she'll have to get to a hospital, over."
Five long seconds passed. "Tower, this aircraft is a totally equipped, self-contained hospital, and a very good one. The only thing we do not have, is a doctor. We don't need a hospital or an ambulance; we need the expertise and know-how of a real live physician, over."
Bill picked up the phone. "He says he doesn't need an ambulance, he wants a physician brought here."
"O.K.," the voice responded, "We'll try, but there's some kind of unwritten law that prohibits doctors from responding in ambulances. I'll call County Medical and do what I can."
Bill gave the man the tower's phone number, hung up, then turned to Gene.
"Call Ellington Air Force Base and see if they can send someone. It's only four miles or so, maybe they could fly the doctor over in their search and rescue helicopter. If they’ll agree to it, give them maximum priority."
Bill picked up the other phone and dialed. The voice on the other end came through loud and clear. "Ben Taub Hospital."
"Yes," Bill said, "This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby Airport, we're in communication with an aircraft on the ground here that's having a medical emergency. A woman is having serious complications giving birth and the pilot has requested a doctor be dispatched immediately."
"Just a moment, sir, I'll connect you with Emergency Admitting."
Bill heard several clicks, a pause which seemed forever, then,
"Emergency Admitting, is anyone helping you?"
"This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport. There's a medical emergency in an aircraft on the field and the pilot is requesting a doctor be dispatched immediately. Can you please respond to this?"
"I'm sorry," the voice explained, "We can't send a doctor, but we can send the ambulance, just as soon as one is available."
"Please understand," Bill explained, "This is an unusual situation. There's a woman on a military Air Evacuation flight having serious problems in the process of giving birth. These people are requesting a doctor be sent to help her. These are medical people. They know what they're talking about. The pilot says they are equipped to handle practically anything on board; the only thing they don't have is a doctor. They need your help."
"I’m sorry, we can't send a doctor, but if she's having complications, she needs to be in a hospital. We'll send an ambulance out right away. Please have someone meet and direct it."
Before Bill could reply, two clicks announced a dead line. He took a deep breath while reaching for the microphone.
“Air Evac 216, tower, no one wants to send a doctor. They all advise that the woman be taken to a hospital, over."
"Tower, I have four professional nurses on board trying to keep this woman alive. They all tell me the woman cannot be moved unless a doctor is present. I'm not going to turn her over to some truck driver and hope she survives the trip. Now listen to me very closely… get us a doctor, now."
Bill stared at the aircraft as if he could solve the problem just by willing it. His mind searched for some possible solution, even an acceptable compromise. A heavy air of frustration filled the tower-cab as all the controllers followed the drama as closely as their sporadic attention would permit.
Bill keyed the mike, "Roger, we'll keep trying"
When Gene cradled the telephone receiver, Bill was waiting to hear what he'd found out. Gene glanced at Bill, then, began reading notes.
"The tower supervisor at Ellington Air Force Base says they don't have a hospital, only an outpatient clinic, and no doctors are on call."
"What do they do if someone gets sick, Bill asked?"
Gene went on without replying to the semi-rhetorical question.
"The Sergeant over there says he has a sister who works in the hospital at Pasadena General and thinks she can get a doctor to come out. He's going to try it and let us know."
Dave broke in,
"Bill, I called Lt. Higgs with the police helicopter unit. They have a helicopter standing by to transport any doctor we can get."
"O.K.," said bill, searching his mind for another source. He picked up the phone, dialed a number, and waited.
"Veteran's hospital," the voice responded.
"This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport," Bill repeated. "There's a woman aboard an Air Evacuation aircraft out here having serious problems giving birth and the pilot is requesting a doctor be sent immediately. Can you send someone?”
"Well, I don't really know," the other voice spoke. "Is she a veteran?"
It took Bill a moment to realize just what the question meant and how to respond in the most effective way.
"I 'm not sure," Bill said, "She's either in the service herself or is the wife of a serviceman. There's no other reason for her to be aboard a military aircraft. We don't really have time to go into all this. The pilot has requested immediate assistance and that was some time ago. It's my understanding this could be a life threatening situation; a serious emergency. We have a police helicopter standing by to transport any doctor you can send."
"I'm sorry, sir. This doesn't sound like something we could get involved in outside the V.A. hospital. We could possibly send an ambulance, but we couldn't touch her unless she is military. I'm sorry, sir. I sympathize, but there isn't much we're allowed to do. We have our regulations"
Bill didn't answer but slowly replaced the receiver. For the first time, Merle turned and looked at Bill. His lips had tightened and his eyes asked the obvious question."
The Air Force base just called," said Gene. "We can't expect any help from them at all."
The entire tower crew's energy and focus was on the unfolding drama in the aircraft. There must be another source they hadn't thought of. These people were controllers, as the name implies, but even though they routinely handled all sorts of emergency situations in the course of their working shifts, none had ever run into a situation such as this. In this case the situation was truly out of their hands. It was immensely frustrating. Their thoughts and efforts were focused on the woman aboard flight 216.
The phone rang, and just as Bill picked up the receiver, he told Gene to call the Coast Guard.
"Hobby Tower, Walden," Bill spoke into the mouthpiece.
"Mr. Walden, this is the police dispatcher. I finally ran down several names from our medical call list, but I'm afraid that every last one refused to respond for any reason. I called Ben Taub Hospital and talked to the resident-in-charge of the E.R. He apologized, but said they couldn't take care of the business they had right under their noses. Sending a doctor away from the hospital was out of the question."
"We'd already talked to them," Bill said. "We're on the phone to the Coast Guard now, but it's a pretty slim chance. I'm going to call my family doctor next, I'm curious to see what his reaction to all this will be."
"Hey, we'll do what we can on this end. Sorry we couldn't help."
"Thanks anyway," Bill said, sincerely," as he hung up the phone. Turning around, he had been unaware that everyone's attention had been on him.
"If anyone has any suggestions, let's hear them."
Merle broke in, "The pilot's been calling, asking if any progress had been made. He says it's bad and getting worse."
"Bill," Gene piped in, "the Coast Guard says they'll be glad to furnish a helicopter for transportation, but no doctor."
Bill swallowed hard, not wanting to do what must be done. He picked up the microphone and keyed. "Air Evac 216, tower, over."
"Air Evac 216, go ahead tower."
"Captain," Bill said slowly, "We've exhausted all possible sources to get a doctor out here...and with one hundred per cent negative results. Every place we called advised to get the woman to a hospital. There's no one left to call. Request your intentions, over."
A pause followed. Silence on the frequency, as if all the scrambling aircraft halted their chatter in deference to the tragedy unfolding on the frequency.
"Tower..."
The pilot began, then, paused again, unable to fathom the lack of response to his plea for help. His voice was more pragmatic now.
"Tower, this woman is hemorrhaging and we are unable to stop it. My best advice, from the medical people back there is that a bumpy ambulance ride, or one of a dozen other factors, could kill this woman… and her child. If ever I've seen a crisis in my long life... this is one. This is an unusual situation for us. We normally just transport sick and infirm people to and from hospitals for treatment there. Normally, there is no need to have a doctor on every flight, but because of the specific nature of this situation, we desperately need one now. For Christ sakes man, we had better medical cooperation in the field in Vietnam. Is there nothing you can do?
Bill keyed the mike, "I thought I'd try one more thing… my family doctor. We're trying to get him on the phone now. Stand-by.”
The pilot came back, "I have to call my base to find out what they want me to do. I'll be right with you."
Gene put his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver,
"It's his answering service, Bill, what do you want me to tell them?"
"Just hang it up, Gene. We're beating a dead horse here. No one in Houston wants to respond to the problem so we'll have to approach the situation from another perspective."
Bill turned to Merle, "Does the Air Evac have his clearance?"
“He's ready to go, Bill,” Merle advised. All we're waiting for is for him to say the word."
Bill's face was solemn. His deep anger was obvious. None of the tower crew looked at each other, concentrating on their respective traffic pictures and trying not to allow their disappointment and frustration to show in their voices; just doing the job they were trained to do.
"O.K. tower," the pilot spoke, more sure of himself now, "This is Air Evac 216, we're ready for takeoff."
Though it was not requested, priority was given Air Evac 216 in his departure. The controllers wanted to help; to do anything in their power to repair this tragedy. Although perhaps not directly, the controllers felt as though they had been partly responsible for the terrible outcome of this emergency; that hey should have done more to help. They used the tools available to them, but that wasn’t enough. Each of them wanted to apologize somehow, but that wouldn't have solved anything. Each of them played back the events of this evening, searching for some kind of answer... some kind of explanation for how such a thing could have happened in a place where they had chosen to live; where their families lived.
Several hours passed. Bill and his crew had been relieved of duty and started out the front door of the building when a voice called to him, from behind.
"Hey Bill," the voice sounded, "The Watch Supervisor at the Houston Center wants to talk to you on the phone."
Bill had called the Air Route Traffic Control Center and requested he be informed of any information concerning the status of Air Evac 95216 as his flight to Scott Air Force Base progressed. He picked up the phone.
"Walden speaking."
"This is Carl Allen, ARTCC. We just got some word on the status of that Air Evac aircraft you were inquiring about."
"Yes, we were very concerned about that one,” Bill replied, "How did it all turn out?"
"Well, it seems they declared an emergency enroute to Illinois and landed in Blytheville, Arkansas," the voice reported.
"Did they say if the pregnant woman was alright?" Bill inquired.
"I'm sorry Bill, they said she died before they could land the aircraft."
"And the baby" Bill asked, "How about the baby?"
No voice came back from the other end of the phone. Bill knew what it meant.
"What happened there tonight, Bill" Carl asked?
"You really don't want to know, Carl. Thanks for everything."
Walking into the night air, Bill looked up at the stars. It was a clear night for a change. He was reminded of the first line of the Stephen Crane short story, The Open Boat, “None of them knew the color of the sky.”
He really hadn't had time to notice it before. He took a deep breath and thought of his wife and kids.
Emergency(Carl Brooks)
Emergency
By
Carl Brooks
The airport was dark except for the blue and white lights that outlined the runways and taxiways. The control tower was visible only as a silhouette against the distant glow of downtown Houston. It stood as a sentry, guarding those who commit the unnatural act of flight. Traffic was brisk that evening, as the controllers practiced their difficult profession; directing the contradiction of never-ending arriving and departing aircraft with relative safety.
Bill Waldon, the supervising controller, made an entry in his log, then, visually scanned the airport in an automatic gesture; alert for developing conflicts and eager to solve them on the spot. Considering the near-constant litany of control instructions being spoken hourly in this glassed-in nerve center, the atmosphere and noise-level seemed artificially quiet and calm. The men on each of the five control positions spoke softly into their headset microphones, issuing clearances and control instructions in a steady stream of non-stop chatter that only those on their discrete frequency could hear.
A long line of blinking anti-collision lights could be seen in the northwest sky, reaching past the Astrodome; a dozen or more aircraft waiting their turn to submit, once more, to the forces of gravity. Traffic was moving smoothly this night. The system functioned as it was designed to do.
Dave Lundberg was assigned the control of all ground traffic on the airport and was issuing instructions, non-stop, in an effort to anticipate and prevent conflicts, slow-downs and bottle-necks. His frequency was jammed with transmissions, each demanding attention from the one voice that directed their every movement. The entire traffic picture was often described as being controlled chaos.
This profession was unlike most others in that it required absolute concentration in immediately understanding and predicting multiple and varied developing situations simultaneously and three dimensionally. Multi-tasking was routine for these people, where absolute accuracy and instant decision making are an ongoing and constant priority. Air traffic controllers were, in fact, a little different.
As Dave sequenced and directed his ground traffic in a seemingly smooth flow on the darkened taxiways, one very clear, professional voice rose above the others.
"Houston Hobby Ground Control, this is Air Evacuation flight 95216 ready to taxi for departure. We have our clearance to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois."
With no hesitation, Dave turned his attention in the aircraft's direction, scanning for conflicts, then, issued instructions to taxi to runway 12, followed by the wind and altimeter settings.
Adding one more to the line-up of his total picture, Dave continued his spiel to the other moving lights on various taxiways. Several "roger's" came back in acknowledgment. The huge Air Force jet slowly moved to its place in line, awaiting his turn for departure.
Merle Casford, the pattern controller, sequenced a number of aircraft in a ten mile straight-in approach to the active runway, allowing each to land in turn, while clearing others for take-off between each arrival. He saw the military jet move to just short of runway 12 and made a mental note that its departure would take longer than usual because of its size and weight. He'd have to "make a hole" in his stream of inbound traffic to allow for its departure by slowing the airspeeds of aircraft on approach.
The pilot of the large military jet slowly steered his plane to the edge of the runway, where routinely he should have asked for take off clearance at that point, but the pilot had remained silent; as if his attention had been diverted to other matters. Departing aircraft were lining up behind him creating a log-jam. Finally, Merle was jogged to take action.
"Air Evac 95216, this is Houston Hobby Tower, you're number one for take-off… are you about ready?”
The aircraft was first in line for departure, blocking the entrance to the runway and delaying departures of more anxious aircraft.
"Tower, this Air Evac 216… I think… I think we have a problem… stand-by."
Merle rerouted the flow of aircraft around the temporary blockage and continued control. Bill, alerted to a possible problem with the Air Evacuation flight, stepped cautiously to Merle's side and asked him to put the radio on speaker so he could hear the pilot’s transmissions clearly. Bill was well aware that the jet carried a cargo of military personnel and their dependents being transported to and from different hospitals for care and treatment. It was a flying ambulance of sorts.
Several moments passed before the pilot's voice was heard, somewhat sheepishly, reporting: "Tower, this is Air Evac 216, we're going to be delayed a bit. I think we're having a baby."
Merle glanced at Bill with a quizzical look and smiled as much as his concentration would allow, acknowledged receipt of the information, then continued to help the pilot of a lost Cessna find the airport.
Gene McCorkle, the fourth member of the night crew, had been explaining to an irate citizen on the phone about the absolute lack of authority of tower personnel to restrict low-flying aircraft from operating over residential areas, when the other phone rang. It was amazing how Gene could carry on two conversations at the same time, yet still give the impression of one hundred percent attention to each. He was at least equal to the task and treated it routinely, as if no effort was required at all.
Then, over the open speaker, “Tower, this is Air Evac 216, I've been informed our patient is having a serious problem with the birth of her child. I'm declaring an emergency and request a doctor immediately. I say again, immediately."
Merle's face remained unchanged as he acknowledged the request, then, glanced at Bill, who had already picked up the phone and was dialing the main police station. In the past, this procedure had proven to be the most efficient since they had direct lines to all the hospital emergency rooms.
After an unusually long delay, Bill heard an indifferent voice on the other end.
"Houston Metro Police, how may I direct your call?"
"Hello,” Bill said, “this is the watch supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport, we have an emergency on board an aircraft here and a doctor has been requested immediately."
The voice came back, "Just a moment, I'll connect you with the dispatcher."
After a short pause, "Sergeant Gilroy," the voice came back.
Bill began again, "This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport, we have an emergency on board a military air evacuation aircraft. The pilot is requesting a doctor be dispatched here immediately. Can you help us? There was a pause, with the muffled sound of a background conversation.
"We'll send a unit right out, the voice reported. Where on the airport is the emergency located?"
"We don't need a police car,” Bill explained, “we need a doctor and hoped you could expedite the process. There's a woman on board the aircraft having serious labor complications and the pilot has requested a doctor immediately."
"I can give you the number of County Medical, they should be able to refer you to someone," the voice said.
Another pause and mumbling in the background. Another voice came on; one with more authority in it. "We're sending an ambulance out there. If it's that bad, we'll need to get her to a hospital."
"Wait one," Bill said, and grabbed a microphone.
"Air Evac 216, tower, the police department is sending an ambulance. They say that she'll have to get to a hospital, over."
Five long seconds passed. "Tower, this aircraft is a totally equipped, self-contained hospital, and a very good one. The only thing we do not have, is a doctor. We don't need a hospital or an ambulance; we need the expertise and know-how of a real live physician, over."
Bill picked up the phone. "He says he doesn't need an ambulance, he wants a physician brought here."
"O.K.," the voice responded, "We'll try, but there's some kind of unwritten law that prohibits doctors from responding in ambulances. I'll call County Medical and do what I can."
Bill gave the man the tower's phone number, hung up, then turned to Gene.
"Call Ellington Air Force Base and see if they can send someone. It's only four miles or so, maybe they could fly the doctor over in their search and rescue helicopter. If they’ll agree to it, give them maximum priority."
Bill picked up the other phone and dialed. The voice on the other end came through loud and clear. "Ben Taub Hospital."
"Yes," Bill said, "This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby Airport, we're in communication with an aircraft on the ground here that's having a medical emergency. A woman is having serious complications giving birth and the pilot has requested a doctor be dispatched immediately."
"Just a moment, sir, I'll connect you with Emergency Admitting."
Bill heard several clicks, a pause which seemed forever, then,
"Emergency Admitting, is anyone helping you?"
"This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport. There's a medical emergency in an aircraft on the field and the pilot is requesting a doctor be dispatched immediately. Can you please respond to this?"
"I'm sorry," the voice explained, "We can't send a doctor, but we can send the ambulance, just as soon as one is available."
"Please understand," Bill explained, "This is an unusual situation. There's a woman on a military Air Evacuation flight having serious problems in the process of giving birth. These people are requesting a doctor be sent to help her. These are medical people. They know what they're talking about. The pilot says they are equipped to handle practically anything on board; the only thing they don't have is a doctor. They need your help."
"I’m sorry, we can't send a doctor, but if she's having complications, she needs to be in a hospital. We'll send an ambulance out right away. Please have someone meet and direct it."
Before Bill could reply, two clicks announced a dead line. He took a deep breath while reaching for the microphone.
“Air Evac 216, tower, no one wants to send a doctor. They all advise that the woman be taken to a hospital, over."
"Tower, I have four professional nurses on board trying to keep this woman alive. They all tell me the woman cannot be moved unless a doctor is present. I'm not going to turn her over to some truck driver and hope she survives the trip. Now listen to me very closely… get us a doctor, now."
Bill stared at the aircraft as if he could solve the problem just by willing it. His mind searched for some possible solution, even an acceptable compromise. A heavy air of frustration filled the tower-cab as all the controllers followed the drama as closely as their sporadic attention would permit.
Bill keyed the mike, "Roger, we'll keep trying"
When Gene cradled the telephone receiver, Bill was waiting to hear what he'd found out. Gene glanced at Bill, then, began reading notes.
"The tower supervisor at Ellington Air Force Base says they don't have a hospital, only an outpatient clinic, and no doctors are on call."
"What do they do if someone gets sick, Bill asked?"
Gene went on without replying to the semi-rhetorical question.
"The Sergeant over there says he has a sister who works in the hospital at Pasadena General and thinks she can get a doctor to come out. He's going to try it and let us know."
Dave broke in,
"Bill, I called Lt. Higgs with the police helicopter unit. They have a helicopter standing by to transport any doctor we can get."
"O.K.," said bill, searching his mind for another source. He picked up the phone, dialed a number, and waited.
"Veteran's hospital," the voice responded.
"This is the Watch Supervisor in the control tower at Hobby airport," Bill repeated. "There's a woman aboard an Air Evacuation aircraft out here having serious problems giving birth and the pilot is requesting a doctor be sent immediately. Can you send someone?”
"Well, I don't really know," the other voice spoke. "Is she a veteran?"
It took Bill a moment to realize just what the question meant and how to respond in the most effective way.
"I 'm not sure," Bill said, "She's either in the service herself or is the wife of a serviceman. There's no other reason for her to be aboard a military aircraft. We don't really have time to go into all this. The pilot has requested immediate assistance and that was some time ago. It's my understanding this could be a life threatening situation; a serious emergency. We have a police helicopter standing by to transport any doctor you can send."
"I'm sorry, sir. This doesn't sound like something we could get involved in outside the V.A. hospital. We could possibly send an ambulance, but we couldn't touch her unless she is military. I'm sorry, sir. I sympathize, but there isn't much we're allowed to do. We have our regulations"
Bill didn't answer but slowly replaced the receiver. For the first time, Merle turned and looked at Bill. His lips had tightened and his eyes asked the obvious question."
The Air Force base just called," said Gene. "We can't expect any help from them at all."
The entire tower crew's energy and focus was on the unfolding drama in the aircraft. There must be another source they hadn't thought of. These people were controllers, as the name implies, but even though they routinely handled all sorts of emergency situations in the course of their working shifts, none had ever run into a situation such as this. In this case the situation was truly out of their hands. It was immensely frustrating. Their thoughts and efforts were focused on the woman aboard flight 216.
The phone rang, and just as Bill picked up the receiver, he told Gene to call the Coast Guard.
"Hobby Tower, Walden," Bill spoke into the mouthpiece.
"Mr. Walden, this is the police dispatcher. I finally ran down several names from our medical call list, but I'm afraid that every last one refused to respond for any reason. I called Ben Taub Hospital and talked to the resident-in-charge of the E.R. He apologized, but said they couldn't take care of the business they had right under their noses. Sending a doctor away from the hospital was out of the question."
"We'd already talked to them," Bill said. "We're on the phone to the Coast Guard now, but it's a pretty slim chance. I'm going to call my family doctor next, I'm curious to see what his reaction to all this will be."
"Hey, we'll do what we can on this end. Sorry we couldn't help."
"Thanks anyway," Bill said, sincerely," as he hung up the phone. Turning around, he had been unaware that everyone's attention had been on him.
"If anyone has any suggestions, let's hear them."
Merle broke in, "The pilot's been calling, asking if any progress had been made. He says it's bad and getting worse."
"Bill," Gene piped in, "the Coast Guard says they'll be glad to furnish a helicopter for transportation, but no doctor."
Bill swallowed hard, not wanting to do what must be done. He picked up the microphone and keyed. "Air Evac 216, tower, over."
"Air Evac 216, go ahead tower."
"Captain," Bill said slowly, "We've exhausted all possible sources to get a doctor out here...and with one hundred per cent negative results. Every place we called advised to get the woman to a hospital. There's no one left to call. Request your intentions, over."
A pause followed. Silence on the frequency, as if all the scrambling aircraft halted their chatter in deference to the tragedy unfolding on the frequency.
"Tower..."
The pilot began, then, paused again, unable to fathom the lack of response to his plea for help. His voice was more pragmatic now.
"Tower, this woman is hemorrhaging and we are unable to stop it. My best advice, from the medical people back there is that a bumpy ambulance ride, or one of a dozen other factors, could kill this woman… and her child. If ever I've seen a crisis in my long life... this is one. This is an unusual situation for us. We normally just transport sick and infirm people to and from hospitals for treatment there. Normally, there is no need to have a doctor on every flight, but because of the specific nature of this situation, we desperately need one now. For Christ sakes man, we had better medical cooperation in the field in Vietnam. Is there nothing you can do?
Bill keyed the mike, "I thought I'd try one more thing… my family doctor. We're trying to get him on the phone now. Stand-by.”
The pilot came back, "I have to call my base to find out what they want me to do. I'll be right with you."
Gene put his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver,
"It's his answering service, Bill, what do you want me to tell them?"
"Just hang it up, Gene. We're beating a dead horse here. No one in Houston wants to respond to the problem so we'll have to approach the situation from another perspective."
Bill turned to Merle, "Does the Air Evac have his clearance?"
“He's ready to go, Bill,” Merle advised. All we're waiting for is for him to say the word."
Bill's face was solemn. His deep anger was obvious. None of the tower crew looked at each other, concentrating on their respective traffic pictures and trying not to allow their disappointment and frustration to show in their voices; just doing the job they were trained to do.
"O.K. tower," the pilot spoke, more sure of himself now, "This is Air Evac 216, we're ready for takeoff."
Though it was not requested, priority was given Air Evac 216 in his departure. The controllers wanted to help; to do anything in their power to repair this tragedy. Although perhaps not directly, the controllers felt as though they had been partly responsible for the terrible outcome of this emergency; that hey should have done more to help. They used the tools available to them, but that wasn’t enough. Each of them wanted to apologize somehow, but that wouldn't have solved anything. Each of them played back the events of this evening, searching for some kind of answer... some kind of explanation for how such a thing could have happened in a place where they had chosen to live; where their families lived.
Several hours passed. Bill and his crew had been relieved of duty and started out the front door of the building when a voice called to him, from behind.
"Hey Bill," the voice sounded, "The Watch Supervisor at the Houston Center wants to talk to you on the phone."
Bill had called the Air Route Traffic Control Center and requested he be informed of any information concerning the status of Air Evac 95216 as his flight to Scott Air Force Base progressed. He picked up the phone.
"Walden speaking."
"This is Carl Allen, ARTCC. We just got some word on the status of that Air Evac aircraft you were inquiring about."
"Yes, we were very concerned about that one,” Bill replied, "How did it all turn out?"
"Well, it seems they declared an emergency enroute to Illinois and landed in Blytheville, Arkansas," the voice reported.
"Did they say if the pregnant woman was alright?" Bill inquired.
"I'm sorry Bill, they said she died before they could land the aircraft."
"And the baby" Bill asked, "How about the baby?"
No voice came back from the other end of the phone. Bill knew what it meant.
"What happened there tonight, Bill" Carl asked?
"You really don't want to know, Carl. Thanks for everything."
Walking into the night air, Bill looked up at the stars. It was a clear night for a change. He was reminded of the first line of the Stephen Crane short story, The Open Boat, “None of them knew the color of the sky.”
He really hadn't had time to notice it before. He took a deep breath and thought of his wife and kids.
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