TALES FROM THE DONUT SHOP BY JULES A. STAATS
Copyright 2014, Jules A. Staats; Library of Congress, USA. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed. This work may be previewed only.
Grab and Run:
This is a story of a rescue effort of a five year old boy. Certainly we hear of rescues every day. However this story includes what the News Media never reports. Included are details leading up to this very unusual incident.
Jay's commute by car was twenty-one miles and twenty-seven signal lights. There was no freeway alternate. The Foothill Freeway construction was years away. As he drove to work he had a lot of time to think about the day ahead as a Deputy Sheriff in a patrol car. The day shift was fielded with one man per car.
As he made his way to work that day, his thoughts were somehow were racing out of control. This was unusual, he felt his angst was unnecessary as he had been a Deputy Sheriff for seven years and had worked patrol for over three years. Being anxious about working a shift no longer was an issue. Strange, he had an eerie feeling, call it a premonition. He was finally convinced, that something big was going to happen that day. His mind continued to speculate as he thought about the many things that could happen. Would it be a thug pulling a knife or gun on him, a deadly threat? The thoughts of many past and horrific traffic accidents touched his memory. Other incidents involving domestic violence with guns pointed at him came back to haunt him. Thinking of a possible future major incident where a split second decision would subsequently affect his career in law enforcement–or end it--caused a cold chill that slowly went down his spine.
OK, as he shrugged off the feeling, it is just an anticipation of the unknown, and nothing was happening to worry about. He was a firm subscriber that fear is only an option and may be related to something that may never even happen. He convinced himself that it was just another stray thought that crossed his mind, nothing more. He shook his head to make the thoughts go away, concentrating on the familiar road ahead. Still, he had experienced a premonition before--no several times before:
Jay was only a child, but somehow he knew that he was going to be drafted and serve in the U.S. Army. That happened... He also had a premonition that he would sometime be in Jail. That happened… After completing the Sheriff’s Academy, he was indeed assigned to work the old Hall of Justice Jail as a Deputy Sheriff. He always had the feeling as a youngster that he would be a street cop someday. That happened… All that aside, Jay knew the reality; that he was on the way to Temple Sheriff’s Station for another day shift patrol as a law enforcement officer.
His senses had served him well one dark night, when he was clearing a house with gun drawn and while searching for a burglary suspect. He almost could feel the man in the closet. The next thing would be a confrontation, and did the suspect in the dark closet have a gun or some other weapon. Remember, at this time, Grandpa Jay and fellow police officers had no bullet resistant vests—now called Body Armor, and only a uniform shirt and tee shirt stood in the way of a sharp object or a bullet. He opened the door quickly; with his flashlight illuminating a man only inches from him. Slow motion took over as the Deputy scanned the suspect’s hands for a weapon, finger moving to the trigger of his aimed .38 Special revolver, ready to take the shot, planning to fire as a final defense of a possible attack. This suspect could fire a weapon or stab him with a knife first. All he could do is respond with lethal force stopping the suspect would be only a reaction to a fatal confrontation.
Thankfully, the suspect was unarmed, and surrendered, no shot had to be fired. Somehow Jay felt ahead of time that there would be no deadly threat, however his training and constant practiced marksmanship ensured that the suspect would never survive a deadly assault on that particular Sheriff’s Deputy.
Back in the commuting car and one mile from the Station, Jay’s thoughts drifted back to his long drive to work. Maybe this thought of something big happening was something to take seriously. For sure, he had felt this kind of thing many times before, and something significant always happened. This was going to be a day that he kept his ears and eyes open, for sure.
Jay blinked hard as he took in the view through the windshield. Yes, another sparkling California day. The usual cloud cover that blocked the sun until 1 PM was non-existent and It had not rained for weeks. Still, there were an abundance of white fluffy clouds quietly passing by a bright blue sky. There also was a complementing soft breeze from the East, which effectively cleaned the smog from the Temple City-Arcadia area.
The sun was at his back, still low in the horizon. The sunlight behind him, along with the clear air made the colors of everything vivid and sharply defined. He made a positive decision for today’s mindset: Forget all the concerns about the unknown; it was going to be a great day!
Jay arrived at the Station, and donned his uniform. He walked into the dining area, poured a hot cup of black coffee and continued on to the briefing room.
Briefing had no surprises. Nothing big was happening today and no significant incidents had happened in the last twenty-four hours. The Watch Sergeant went through the briefing board in record time. No suspects to look for, no major police incidents at all. No problems, so it was now time to hit the streets.
He was working solo in the Duarte traffic car that day. After checking out the radar unit, flares, and other equipment, he started out on his drive to the city of Duarte.
As Jay made his way into his assigned patrol area, nearly nine miles from the Sheriff's Station, he reflected on the previous briefing and the present car radio traffic. In a sentence, nothing, absolutely nothing, was happening today. (At least, for the moment.)
He mused, about the peaceful environment around him, as he thought about the nature of the voice traffic on the Sheriff's radio. He quietly laughed out loud, when a patrol deputy called in, just to verify if the radio was still working. Yes, it was that quiet.
Hours later the day, very slowly passed by and the patrol car radio remained deathly silent. This was going to be one deputy’s most uneventful day in his career he thought.
He continued his routine patrol of his district, traversing the various streets and alleys, without incident. Still, the radio was silent. His thought once again was, "Is anybody out there?"
He thought about the good side of this unusually quiet day. It was a nice thought, to have everybody become law abiding, for a change. No house or car fires, no assaults, no traffic accidents, no one sick. That actually qualified in his mind as a great day.
Now, Jay held an opinion, shared by many others. Simply, that there is not one law enforcement officer in the United States, who would not feel, somewhat uneasy, when things are "too quiet." Usually, the next thing to happen is a rash of major incidents. The Feast or Famine Syndrome, commonly spoken about, is a real thing in police work.
Sure, he knew very well, that the quiet could quickly turn to bedlam, but he was not going to fret about it. For the present, it was great to have a quiet morning, without a rash of burglary reports.
As he settled into a rather relaxed mode, he tended to observe other, less important things, such as the 127,000 miles on his speedometer/odometer. He mused; Wow, this old girl is getting old. Yes, now doubt, that this old patrol car had seen better days. Not that the car was unsafe, as the County maintenance was very thorough, well, usually. In fact, the final operating condition of the police vehicle fleet really depended upon the astute observations of the drivers. You see, some things wear out very quickly, in a patrol car.
Hold that thought! Reality came back in a flash. He was just thinking about the condition of the car, when he quickly braked hard for a red traffic signal. The sound of something grinding reached his ears. The brakes were making a high pitched, grinding type squeal during application as he quickly stopped for the traffic signal. He recognized the grinding sound at once. Usually this sound occurs, when the rivets of the brake linings are grinding into the brake drum. Yes this vehicle still had the old brakes using drums instead of discs. Even when these brakes were in good condition, after a few hard stops, the brakes would fade. If not allowed to cool, the brakes would not stop the car, no matter how hard you would press the brake pedal.
Now this was no real problem, as it was such a quiet day, right? Maybe the best thing would be to run down to the nearby County Shops and have the brakes checked out. This would be a great way to break the monotony. He advised the radio room that he was enroute to the County shops for possible brake malfunction. The radio room response was a welcome sound and proved to him that the patrol car radio was actually working.
He then rolled his two year old Plymouth patrol unit into the nearby Monrovia County shops, pulling into an empty service bay. One of the mechanics walked up. After telling a mechanic of his suspicions, the car was placed on the lift.
He reflected to himself, that he was really bored to tears. As a result he found himself intensely interested, concentrating on the removal of the lug nuts from his front wheel. He started to look away, thinking there must be something, a little more interesting to look at. His attention returned to the car, by the mechanic shouting: "Hey, Deputy, look at this!"
He looked, and observed that the expected layer of asbestos over the brake shoe of the right front drum did not exist. There were the brake shoes and both had been making contact directly with the brake drum. The Mechanic continued, "How did you stop this thing?"
Jay pondered, stroking his mustache while studying the remnants of the brake shoes. "I don't know, it seemed to stop just fine, and no unusual operation, but then after a while I noticed a grinding sound. That's why I came here."
The mechanic frowned, then shook his head in mild disgust; "Well, don't plan to go anywhere with this car. “This is an accident, waiting to happen. Maybe it stopped, but the brake drum is ruined on this side. The other side is probably just as bad. We have to replace the entire front brakes, drums, springs, almost everything.”
"I'll call my Sergeant for a new car," Jay replied, then; "I agree. As far as I'm concerned, this car is dead-lined until it gets fixed."
He telephoned the Watch Sergeant, back at the sheriff’s station.
The deputy was quite surprised, when his desk Sergeant told him over the phone that there was a critical shortage of operating radio cars. However, there was one remaining patrol car available that he could use. The catch was that it was parked back at the station. It was the unit that overlapped his shift. Since the County Shops would have several cars repaired, and on line by the P.M. shift, he could use that particular one.
"Jay," the Sergeant added, “I understand that the local County Tow Truck is broken down.” "You have a brand new and very expensive radar unit that the City of Duarte just bought. I don't want to take any chances of anything happening to that new equipment. Besides it's very quiet now. Nothing is happening anywhere. Just limp back to the station. We will hold any calls to you for service. Just swap the radar when you change cars at the station, O.K.? Be careful, that’s all”
"10-4, Sergeant, I'll be 10-19 and will be driving slow."
It was a direct order to drive back to the station in this defective radio car, but Jay felt a little uneasy about driving with what he termed, trash for brakes. Still, he tried to rationalize the order. The Sergeant promised that he would not be given any calls during his return to the station. Traffic on the road was unusually light; it was a quiet day, what could go wrong? He tried pushing his foot against the emergency brake pedal and the car slowed down. He could use that parking brake if he needed to.
As he drove through the Arcadia unincorporated area, he noticed that the traffic was still almost non-existent. He had never seen such a lack of cars on this stretch of road. Heck, everything was working out great after all. No problem. He forced himself to relax, as he limped back to the sheriff’s station doing less than 25 miles per hour on his speedometer. He thought to himself; only five miles to go.
The Arcadia unincorporated area was at that time known as a "no man's land" by the patrol crews. Due to a shortage of manpower—caused by the County Executives failing to properly fund the Department--there were very few times when sheriff’s patrol units were assigned to actually work there. If an incident or crime occurred, a unit from another reporting district or “beat” would be sent to the area. Otherwise, there was almost never any police patrol protection. The final people at fault for this predicament were the Taxpayers County wide who—through their votes--did not wish to fully fund law enforcement during these years.
Jay was once again thinking that the radio had been quiet for a very long, long time.
And then, it happened:
The smooth, practiced and professional female voice cooed over Jay's police radio, breaking the long silence: "Temple City fifty-two, Temple five two, a 902R, (Fire-rescue rolling) 901S Cappins (Ambulance rolling, and the company name,) Child not breathing."
The address given was only one block away from Jay! "Car 52, roll code Three." (Red lights and siren) The radios used full duplex or split frequencies for transmit and receive, so there was only a silence while Car 52 acknowledged the call. The word from Car 52 was apparently not good, as he he reported his position being on the far side of his assigned district. "Units, fifty-two has an ETA of 10 to 12 minutes.”
Jay felt a mild shudder, as everybody had a long way to go to get there. He estimated the best E.T.A. at ten minutes for either fire rescue or an ambulance would result that this child could die. He found himself driving to the location, he was on top of this call, and now only a few houses away.
Another transmission: “Car 52 be advised Rescue is 10-6 (busy) on another call, unable to respond. Also ambulance is unavailable, has extended E.T.A. We will confirm when an ambulance is rolling.”
Jay thought to himself; “There was no one available to save this child’s life? What are the chances of him being just a few houses away at the same time?”
Instinctively, the deputy had made a left turn with his black and white radio car and onto the street where the emergency was in progress, arriving at the home in mere seconds after the call went out. He parked the patrol car in front of a neat middle class ranch style home. The door was open, and he could hear a woman loudly crying inside. He flipped the switch activating the red lights on his patrol car, so that his location could be quickly spotted, visually by any other responding emergency unit. He also advised the radio room that he was 10-97 and on-scene, but he had a vehicle that was down hard and he was out of service. He knew that the Station would be very concerned and relieved at the same time that someone was at the location to provide aid to the stricken child. Slamming the car door behind him, he sprinted to the front door of the house. He shouted through the screen, "Sheriff's Department!"
A terrified female voice inside the house replied, "Help me!"
As he opened the screen door and stepped into the living room, Jay saw a five year old boy, lying on the living room couch. A thin white froth slowly oozed from his partly opened lips. There was no indication that any air was going in, or out of the little child. This little guy was dying in his presence.
However Jay could not accept that the boy was really dead or about to die. He knelt to the floor. He started mouth to mouth breathing, the only thing anyone knew to do in 1965. The boy was not moving at all. Oh my God, he thought this child’s skin is so hot, he is burning up! He could also feel a pulse. He thought; this boy has an elevated temperature but is still alive.
Over the outside speaker of the radio car, the words found their way into the house: "Any unit with a lessor ETA, to handle, a 902R, 901S, child not breathing, rescue now has extended E.T.A. rolling from South San Gabriel, and ambulance is also unknown E.T.A. Any unit to Roll, identify?"
Jay knew where all the other units were. The Temple City Station coverage was a huge patrol area, from Azusa to Pasadena, south to El Monte, etc. The deputy lamented; Unreal, nobody is coming for a long while. The boy coughed in his mouth and then started to breathe on his own. Jay’s Dad was a Medical Doctor which somewhat enhanced his Academy training as he again felt the boy’s left wrist for a pulse. It was erratic. He knew what the result of this situation must be. His fleeting thought; This kid is going to die very soon, and there is nothing I can do about it. Unless . . .
Rescue units, back then, only dispensed oxygen. There were no established CPR procedures, no Defibrillator, no injections of medication in the field by trained emergency medical personnel. There was only an ambulance. Just red lights and siren transportation. For cops, there was only the "grab and run" procedure and a race to the hospital in many critical rescue cases.
Jay picked up the unconscious boy, feeling an intense heat of fever radiating into his hands and arms. He had never felt a human being so burning hot to the touch.
His usually soft voice dropped into command mode, as he ordered; "Let's go, Mom, to the car. We got to go to the hospital--now!"
The stressed and helpless mother was at the breaking point. The reality of going to the hospital did not help her condition. She got into the front passenger seat of the patrol car, all right. But when the Deputy placed her critical child in her lap, she broke down, completely, sobbing uncontrollably.
Jay threw himself into the driver's seat, slamming the gear shift into drive, mashing the accelerator to the floor. The powerful 383 cubic inch interceptor V-8 engine roared instantly to life, catapulting the car forward, like an angry metal monster. The spinning rear tires screamed as they belched light blue smoke. He noticed persons in a front yard ahead as well as a slow moving car ahead. With deft motions, Jay shoved the siren switch up, and mashed the horn ring. The siren, driven by a powerful electric motor, started to spin, causing a shrill wail that Jay noticed was very unusual, as it was so loud and actually was painfully deafening.
The radio car sped less than a block to the first intersection. This was the main highway. Jay turned to the hysterical mother, while cranking up his driver’s window. Jay thought; the siren noise was awful! Jay had to yell in his strongest voice, "Give him mouth to mouth, breathe in to the boy or he will die!"
The mother, her eyes pooled with tears, wined back, "I can't, I just can't!"
Jay grabbed the hair in the back of the mother's head, forcing her face downward into her child's face, until their lips touched.
The deputy screamed to her: "Blow, I SAID BLOW INTO HIS MOUTH, and pinch his nose!"
The mother started to blow life giving air into her stricken son's lungs.
Since that matter was settled, Jay felt that he could now direct his full attention to his driving. His emotions were starting to override his judgment and training; it was time to get this job done right. It was then, that he noticed his speed. The car had accelerated to nearly sixty miles per hour in less than one block during the time he was distracted with the mother. The car got away from him, while he was sidetracked with the mother's panic. Older persons complain about distractions. Even younger trained professionals can be distracted as well.
As the intersection loomed just ahead, it then came back to him in a flash. There were no brakes in this car!
Jay smashed the brake pedal down with both of his feet, expecting the worst. To his astonishment, the car immediately slowed, smoothly and quickly. There was no loud grinding noise as before, how can that be? Cops do think this way at times as his next thought was completely irrational: (Maybe the brakes will do their job, after all. Heck, who needs brake linings anyway?)
It was only two miles to the large Emergency Hospital in Arcadia. Jay had reasoned that a steady, careful roll to the hospital would get the little boy to the doctors in time. As he accelerated northbound on the main street, he had a moment to check the child's pulse. He found the pulse on his neck, and it seemed O.K. Then the pulse stopped.
Jay's blood turned cold in his veins. Had the boy died? Then, the pulse seemed to restart. An instant later, there was no pulse again. Jay thought: (the beats were not right; this little kid's heart is going crazy. One mile to go.)
He scanned the next major intersection: (Signal; red; nuts; Check speed, got to slow down, too much cross traffic. Wow, I just can't be doing this speed! Will the brakes do the job this time?) Again he mashed the non-power brake pedal, using both feet. (Working; slowing down O.K. with a little pull to the left. Correct a little. O.K. Clear! Punch it!)
Jay made the motor siren scream as he approached the intersection and the cross traffic had stopped for him. It was not until later that the mechanics found that a six volt siren was accidently installed in the patrol car's 12 volt system. The result was a siren that would be short lived, but much-much louder. You see, the speed of the rotor in the siren determines, to a great extent, the loudness of a mechanical siren.
More thoughts as Jay sped down the main four lane highway: (Another controlled intersection, red again, but where are all the cars? There they are, stopped hundreds of feet away from the intersection. Who is stopping this traffic? Ouch! This siren is killing me–even with the windows rolled up!)
With only a short way to go, the deputy ran into the race track traffic, which was going to the next horse race event. The Arcadia Police had heard the siren from a very long distance, and had managed to pull the congestion to both sides of the roadway. This great thinking by the police officers made a path for Jay down the center of the road.
Jay made a sort of looping right turn, to get between the cars, and then punched the gas pedal again. The car did not want to accelerate. Looking into his rear view mirror, he spotted the trouble; his right wheel was spinning so hard, it was going into a meltdown condition. A thick cloud of blue smoke was coming out of the wheel well. He lifted his foot a bit, letting the spinning wheel regain traction. The car began to leap forward again. The Hospital was now in sight and less than a block away.
He was traveling at about 45 miles per hour as he hit the familiar Emergency Room driveway. He heard the familiar sound of the long radio antenna hitting the height warning at the emergency entrance. He did not notice that the familiar Emergency Room sign by the driveway was no longer there.
As he approached the emergency room entrance, he mashed the brakes one more time. This time, there was no more stopping power. Thinking fast, he mashed the floor emergency brake and turned the wheel slightly, heading for the thick Algerian Ivy used for landscaping. He finally came to a stop by the thick plants, after plowing over fifty feet through it.
Jay grabbed the child from his mother’s arms, dragging him out the driver's side. He shifted the child to a position in front of him and started carrying him in both arms to the emergency room door. Now, he knew this hospital very well, having responded to the emergency room many times in the last few years. He recalled he had worked overtime just last night and had visited this very Emergency Room as a result of a traffic accident investigation follow-up. His memory reminded him; He had been here at this very spot only about twenty hours ago.
The deputy was becoming short of breath, treading through the ivy. It was a long hundred feet or so to the emergency room door.
Where was everybody? He knew that Station would have called ahead that a critical patient was enroute.
It should be stated; rather, what WAS the emergency room door no longer existed. The hospital had moved it to the other side of the building, just after midnight, the night before as part of a quick renovation.
Jay went through the outer door, and fully expected to see an inner door that lead to the emergency room. Instead, he observed a purple colored wall. Where the door was, only hours before this incident occurred, no door existed. After filling in the old doorway to the emergency room, they had even wallpapered this wall!
The feeling the deputy had was similar to what any of us would think if we woke up in the morning to a scene of horror. An example would be after looking around, we found every door and window of our home filled in with bricks. To him, it was an unbelievable horror story that had come true and he was actually living his worst nightmare. He stopped for an instant, feeling the knife edge of panic trying to take over his reason. Then his training and experience took over, as he spotted a nurse way down the left hallway.
"Where is the emergency room?" Jay shouted.
"This way" the nurse pointed down another hallway next to her.
The deputy, now becoming very tired, completely winded, and feeling that he was living in an actual world of fiction, ran as fast as he could to the nurse. He made another right turn and spotted the new emergency room door another seventy feet away. He had the feeling that he was running in soft sand. His shoulders painfully reacted to the weight of the limp five year old boy in his arms.
In seconds, Jay had finally carried the child into the emergency room. However in the Deputies mind, the race down the hall took forever. Yes, there was a full staff waiting for him. The doctor tore the little boy's shirt open placing his stethoscope on the fragile chest.
The doctor's voice filled the room; "His temperature is extremely elevated, and he is throwing PVC'S.” And a silence; “I've got full arrest."
It was professional life saving at its very best for those times now past, and everything happened extremely fast, the long needle in the boy's chest, right into his heart. The cold towels, followed by ice water. The child's temperature, the cause of this, was deadly high and off the scale. They had to reduce the fever fast.
The deputy sadly had to turn away; it did not look good at all. He had the gnawing feeling that he was going to lose this one. His thoughts haunted him, (Did I do the right thing? Sure I did. The little guy would be still at the house, with nobody available to do anything to him but give him oxygen. No, his temperature needed to be broken at once, his heart was failing, and this was his only chance to live. But, I guess it just was not enough.)
He blinked quickly, as his vision blurred from now watery eyes...
He now felt completely drained, defeated, mentally and physically. He slowly walked to a nearby staff wall phone. It was time to let the station Watch Sergeant know what was going on. He slowly rotary dialed the Sheriff’s Station, and asked the phone operator for the Watch Sergeant. The Sergeant was unaware of the critical condition of the child and was up-beat:
"Looks like you are a hero today, Jay," the Sergeant said.
"I don't feel that way, Sergeant. I think that the boy won't make it. His heart stopped, and the doctor is trying to get it going again." Jay continued in a sober voice; “What do you want me to do about this one?”
"Oh," the Sergeant replied with a softer voice, "Well, stand by for a while, and write a dead body report if he doesn't make it, O.K.?"
"I will, Sergeant" the deputy replied. The thought of having to write a report to chronicle the efforts to save a 5 year old child, only to see him die, was a heartbreaking thought.
Now Jay felt worse than he ever felt in his life. He walked out of the Emergency Room, away from the frantic activity, and into the hall. There was an anxious man in a business suit standing there. He felt that was the father of the boy. Two hospital employees were preventing the mother from trying to go into the Emergency treatment room.
The Father of the boy walked up within six inches of Jay's face, forcing out words, as if he could not breathe properly. The deputy could feel the hot breath as the father talked. Jay could not help to notice that this parent was obviously very emotional and shaken about the critical condition of his son.
"How is my boy doing?" The father managed to speak with a labored voice.
Jay replied, "I can't say, I really don't know myself. The doctors are doing everything they can. He's in good hands. Please be patient"
"No, you tell me, deputy, and now! What happened to my boy?" The father blurted his words right into Jay's face.
"I'm sorry. I just can't say." Jay quietly replied.
The father grabbed the deputy by his uniform shirt with both hands and pleaded, "Tell me!"
Jay used self-restraint, realizing the extreme emotional condition of this father. He countered the grip on his shirt, by grabbing both of the father's wrists. He held them tightly, until the father relaxed his grip on his now wrinkled uniform shirt.
The father stepped back two steps, shaking his hands as if they were wet. Then, the father reached into his pocket, and pulled out a badge case. The father was also a fellow Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff.
This was completely unexpected and Jay was deeply moved and was now feeling his stomach churn. This was a fellow officer, a Deputy Sheriff from his own department. This was also the father of the boy he had tried to save and maybe failed. Jay looked at the floor, almost prayerfully, "Partner, I would tell you if I could. It is in God's hands now."
They all silently waited in the emergency room. The recorded fever of the child was at the range of certain death when they started treatment. The lack of oxygen while the child was not breathing along with the fever indicated that the child would probably be severely brain damaged.
It was four hours later when the boy finally stabilized. Jay went back to the station and completed his shift not having to write a dead body report. This was little comfort though as he was now aware of the grim condition of the child when he carried him into the Emergency Room. It was four days before the youngster was released from the hospital. There was still the possibility of major brain damage, but he had survived.
There was no explanation as to why the brakes worked so well when the actual brake linings were completely destroyed. Some deputy friends strongly felt that this was one of those miracles that happen when a life can be lost the need to save it causes things to happen that are impossible.
Years passed, and Jay had tried his best to forget the incident. His vision of a future young man with serious mental challenges had haunted him many times. After all these years he was in the process of finally putting this to the back of his mind along with the many other terrible things he had observed during his career. He never saw the boy or the boy's father again, as they worked in opposite parts of the County. That's the way it is, working a County as big as Los Angeles. With three different shifts, the huge size of Los Angeles County, and the then five thousand personnel on the Department, paths sometimes never crossed again.
It was twelve years later and the year was 1977. Jay was still working in patrol, but had moved to the City of Industry patrol area. He had purchased a house that was out of the smoggy Los Angeles basin and relocated in the upper elevations of the San Bernardino Mountains. He felt, that the one-way commute of 83 miles was worth it just to get away from the terrible Los Angeles Basin air pollution. He had finally got the new home unpacked and settled, with most everything in a proper place. He was finally relaxing in the living room viewing the pines through the picture window with no more tasks to do. There was a knock at the door.
Jay answered it. A seventeen-year-old young man was standing there, tall, bright eyed, and alert. He was carrying a black riding helmet. His Triumph 1000 motorcycle was parked behind him.
"Hi," the young man blurted out. "My Dad and I live down the street. Welcome to the neighborhood." He moved his arm forward for a hand shake.
Jay shook his hand, not having a clue as to who this young man was. The youth smiled back, as he knew who he was talking to and he was really enjoying this meeting. "I'm Lewis Wallace. Remember me? I was five years old back in Arcadia. You saved my life 12 years ago." “I just want to thank you personally for what you did.”