That Umbrella Stand

 

So, last week I was hired to photograph a reception at a local outdoor venue and as is my custom, I arrived early to photograph the place settings, decorations, and any other interesting item that might be messed up by the guests.  Also, it documents the items for the hosts so that they know what they paid for, as often they are busy greeting guests and can’t see all the items and decorations which are at their event.

As I approached a standup table and looked it over to get a good angle and coverage, a laborer walked past me to another standup table and dropped onto the ground a heavy metal umbrella stand with a discernible thud!   I looked at him and thought, “next one he brings, I’m going to photo him…” not for the party but for my portfolio! 

I continued to look over the flower arrangement and made a couple of snaps then decided to move around the table to my left for a different angle.  As I quickly moved around the table, I was suddenly met with a smashing pain in my left lower leg.  I could only see stars, as I stumbled a bit. 

I quickly recovered and looked down at my pant leg which seemed normal:  no tear!  Then I felt my leg, on fire with pain, but no open wound was noted.  I looked around to find out what was the cause of this incident and there it was:  an umbrella stand (without the umbrella).  The heavy metal base with the pipe sticking up about 2 feet was there for me to stumble into.  I continued to soldier on and finished the assignment feeling the burn.

Over the course of the next couple days, the pain was really noticeable, the leg swelled, and the ankle turned black and blue as the blood from internal trauma collected at the lowest part of the leg.  I resisted a doctor’s visit as knocking a shin wasn’t something I hadn’t experienced in the past.

After putting it off for several days, I decided that I would make my way to a “Doc-in-the-Box” which I had used in the past, since they had an X-ray machine:  it would save me money and time, rather than going to the ER room at the hospital.

I arrived the next morning, second patient of the day to have the leg looked at. That was a whole crazy experience:  the lady attending to me whispered that it was her 3^rd day, and she was unfamiliar as to where everything was.  Anyway, the doctor checked me and told me that shin injuries are routine, but he would take an X-ray.      

While waiting for the results – did I mention what a fiasco that was – I heard the doctor say, “Oh, oh…”  I peaked out of the room down the hall and watched him look at the film.  He turned and said, “I think you have a broken leg…”  He requested more images and decided that he could see a fracture in my tibia.  He told me to stay off the leg until the weekend was over and he was referring me to an orthopedic doctor (I had one from all my mountain bike crashes!).  After going through crutches at the office to figure out a set for me – did I mention what a fiasco that was -- I was charged $50 bucks as “insurance won’t pay.”

Later in the afternoon, the doctor called and stated that the radiologist had confirmed that the Xray showed a fracture of the mid-tibia shaft. 

Monday morning as the orthopedic office opened, I called the receptionist:  she had an opening an hour later.  The lady asked me to bring the x-rays and the report.  Of course, I didn’t have one as they told me that they don’t provide a disc, but the doctor’s office could get a link to the radiologist.  The receptionist said, no she couldn’t do it.  So, I had to get a link, print out the report, print the x-ray images and race to the new appointment.  I hobbled into the car and drove myself to the office. 

Finally, the nurse looked at the leg, took vitals, and worked with me to figure out a link to view the x-rays.   After a bit, the Orthopedic doc, who knows me well, came in, sat down, and looked at me.  “Yes,” I thought.  Finally, he shook his head… that wasn’t a reassuring sign.  It turns out it was a moment of disgust, not of sympathy: “You don’t have a broken leg… there is nothing wrong with your tibia,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.  

 

 Come in here, look… oh, you don’t need your crutches he told me as he walked over to the viewing screen.  He showed me that there was no break in the cortical bone tissue.  However, he noted that I had an old fracture which had a significant calcium buildup which may have been misread as a piece of bone. 

“You remember this fracture, right?”  Well, no I don’t.  I broke an ankle or two but never a tibia, fibula, or femur that I was aware.  But there it was on the x-ray; it went untreated in the past.

So, the upshot is:  I walked in a cripple and walked out healed (on paper).  The shin still hurts, the leg is swollen, and the radiologist misread the X-ray.  I own a brand new paid of crutches, slightly used. 

Good thing I waited to cancel my east coast trip for next week till after seeing the Ortho!  Now to get over the pain.

The Crash

Some thoughts on the Kobe Bryant helicopter crash:  sad, sickening, and I feel so sorry for the victims.  To be sure, other than intensely reading, watching and listening to all the available information about the flight, I don’t officially know any more than you.   However, I want to provide a perspective from the vantage point of having over 3000 hours piloting a helicopter. 

 

Today, on the news I heard how “unsafe” travel by helicopter is.  Seriously?  I don’t have the numbers at my fingertips but can you image the number of helicopter flight hours which were flown by all services during the Vietnam War.  How about the Iraq war; maybe the “forever war” in Afghanistan?  Were there crashes?  Sure.  Shoot downs?  Yep.  Inflight emergencies due to weather, pilot error or mechanical issues?  Without a doubt.  But honestly, flight in a helicopter, yes with some risks, is safe.

So what happened Sunday?  Let’s focus only on the pilot.  So here’s the thing:  have you ever heard of “Let’sgoitis?”  It is a disease which affects many a pilot on the occasion where there is a confluence of a number of pressuring factors:  celebs,  you've got to get there, they want you to go, you are awesome, and you can do it! 

How about an anecdote which might explain:  I was assigned to fly the governor of Indiana to Purdue University for a commencement ceremony back in the day, then fly him to another commencement ceremony the same day, and then drop him off at his residence in Northern Indiana (circa 1981).  All was going well, people graduated at Purdue U then off to the next ceremony!  All's good!

As we headed north toward South Bend, IN, I noticed that a weather system seemed to be “moving in.”  I did not have any navigation instruments in the Bell JetRanger, other than an ADF and VOR; no radar, no ILS, nothing sophisticated like present day helicopters have:  I was flying Visual Flight Rules (VFR).  There was no radar flight following:  nothing!  (Just like the way I flew in Vietnam!)   

As I continued north, I was under pressure to get to the destination on time, after all, I had the Governor on board and I didn’t want to be the cause of any tardiness; however, we were late taking off because of handshaking and politicking!

As I continued the flight, the clouds darkened, the wind picked up which bounced us around and the “pucker factor” increased  (military slang phrase which refers to the tightening of the buttocks caused by extreme fear!).  I knew that a severe thunderstorm, which often rakes across the plains in Indiana during May, was between me and my destination.  Soon big drops of rain began splattering my windscreen as the clouds lowered closer to the ground in front of me…

Today I have been thinking lot about the pilot flying Kobe Bryant and his entourage on Sunday.  Kobe – famous and larger than life -- and crew needed to get to their destination.  The helicopter was a sophisticated Sikorsky S76B, twin-engine, luxurious for the passengers, and rated for instrument flying.  The pressure to perform the flight was probably enormous in the pilot’s mind.  He was qualified, with the appropriate training to fly his helicopter.  I’m sure he had “letsgoitis!”  We can do it!  “We are in a helicopter; we don’t need a runway, we can land anywhere if we run into weather.”

Fog:  a type of low-lying cloud:  A haiku:  “over the hill, a river of fog, flooding the valley.”  How appropriate.  Fog is unforgiving, especially when you're flying low and not flying with instruments.  

But here’s the thing:  the pilot doesn’t want to die.  He doesn’t want to hurt his passengers.  He doesn’t want to “ding” the helicopter.  He takes a calculated chance, maybe like the one before when he might have pulled through in a similar circumstance.  His “pucker factor” is off the charts!  He drives on hoping for a good outcome.  He calls for help!  “You are too low, we can’t see you out there,” says Air Traffic Control.  And then…

So as the rain came on heavy, visibility deteriorating rapidly, with the Governor and his wife and his security Trooper on board, I decided that in that selfish moment to save myself!   I landed that Bell JetRanger in a corn field which had just been planted without asking for permission.  I was the Captain of my ship.   

We sat there, the rain pounding on the flimsy surface of the helicopter making the noise inside, deafening.  After about twenty minutes, the rain slowed, the clouds rolled on and the sun peaked through a parting cloud.  A good sign.  I lifted off and headed to South Bend. 

We were definitely late!  We also lived for another day.  All I received was a “thanks.”  I didn’t need a thanks; I did it to save myself!  I only wished Kobe's pilot had done the same thing. 

Wade L Ellen

His boyish grin, his southern politeness, his light southern drawl and his last name are some of my fond memories I have of Wade L. Ellen.  When the TAC officers of our Warrant Officer Candidate class would call out his name (we never had first names), it made you pause just for a millisecond:  “Ellen,” they would yell.  And a male voice would answer, “Yes sir!” in a husky voice that didn’t seem to fit the persona.  

Wade L. Ellen was from Norfolk, VA; born 10/25/1951.  We graduated from our Warrant Officer class as helicopter pilots on October 5, 1951, just before he turned 21.  He had a fiancée back home and a motorcycle on base.  What more could you want, so youthful and free. 

I never saw Wade after the graduation:  we all shook hands, some hugs (we didn’t “high—five” back then), and wished each other the best:  “See ya in Nam,” we said.  Wade and the rest of our graduating class, all Warrant Officers (WO1), had assignments to Vietnam.  Some arrived in-country before the end of the year; I arrived Jan 1, 1972.  

On April 24, 1972 I was flying a Huey helicopter on missions around Cao Lanh, which lies along the mighty Mekong River, and south of the Cambodian border.  That day my crew and I flew an inspection team into a small outpost that had been overrun by the Viet Cong and we pulled a medevac for some wounded Vietnamese soldiers.  We flew for six hour and forty-five minutes and returned safely to our base.

On April 24, 1972, Wade L. Ellen was flying as a copilot in a Huey helicopter in Kon Tum Province, which lies in the Central Highlands region of Vietnam and shares borders with Laos and Cambodia.  He and his crew were sent to rescue a group of US Special Forces soldiers being overrun by the North Vietnamese.  They landed at the Tanh Canh Base Camp and picked up four survivors.  As they lifted off and started flying away, the pilot (identified as Lt. James E. Hunsicker) was shot and killed by ground fire.  WO1 Wade L. Ellen tried to recover control of the helicopter but because it was so close to the ground, it crashed and caught fire about 500 meters from where they departed in a river ravine.  Several of the occupants were able to escape and were eventually rescued.  Wade L. Ellen was killed in the crash:  his body was never recovered.  He was 21.

I was in Saigon on a mission late in 1972 when I saw a fellow classmate.  During our small talk he told me about the death of Wade L. Ellen.  That was a sad moment for me.  I didn’t think it was fair; in my mind he didn’t deserve it (not that anyone did); he was too nice, polite and just one of the good guys. 

He was our only classmate who perished; others were wounded in crashes and returned home, carrying the scars of the war.   But his family carries the scar of his loss forever; that’s why we have Memorial Day.  To remember.