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"I saw him lying there...blue, cold...looking quite lifeless. I knew he needed help, but could I give it to him? Hurry! Hurry! Someone!"
This may sound like some two-bit mello-drama introduction, but really it is the introduction to one day in my life which I shall never forget. You see, I am a swimmer.
For several years, I have toured various public and private pools with the Tooele Swim Club, presenting synchronized water shows. On this particular day, the twenty third of July 1956, we were at Orem, Utah, presenting a water show in connection with the big twenty-fourth of July celebration.
My schedule for that day was pretty rough. Our team had to present an afternoon show and an evening show. The only time we could possibly warm up and get the feel of the pool was in the early afternoon when the pool was open to public swimming. To complicate matters even more, some of us had to march in the parade between the two shows.
Cathy and I decided it would be wisest to the take it easy between activities and take a warm up period when we could get as much rest as possible between shows. We had slipped into our suits and worked out a few routine skills in the pool before the rush came in. Following our warm up, we perched ourselves on the bank for a nice sun bath.
I'm not sure how long I had been prone on the bank soaking in the sunshine--in fact, I was in a somewhat drowsy state when I semi-consciously knew Cathy had straightened up abruptly. The next thing I knew, she was shaking my shoulder, and I remember her saying, "Look over there, someone has drowned."
I watched them pull the small lifeless form of a boy about seven years old out of the water onto the bank. He was very still; his eyes were shut tight. From his mouth trickled traces of vomit.
The tension of death gripped me as it had the other spectators. It was a terribly frigid feeling even in the rays of the hot sun. I Heard whisperings all around me: "Is he dead?" "Has he a pulse?" Then I heard someone say,"He's still alive!"
Perhaps he was. Perhaps he still had a Chance. Why didn't someone help him? Wasn't there anyone who knew how to apply artificial respiration?
I was thinking faster than I had ever thought before. I remembered giving a demonstration on artificial respiration at the state fair for my 4-H work the previous year. Could I remember enough? Had I mastered the subject in the first place? I saw him lying there...blue, cold...looking quite lifeless. I knew he needed help, but could I give it to him? Hurry! Someone!
Without a word, I took the position at the head of the victim. There was a knot right at the bottom of my stomach. The feel of his cold, clammy skin sent chills up my spine. I was scared.
I tried to remember every point I had brought out in my demonstration: think clearly--maintain rhythm--don't panic--maintain rhythm--maintain rhythm. It was a terrible feeling to know I held that child's life literally in my hands. The muscles in my back and shoulders began to quiver. I was shaky, yet tense. I silently asked for help from up above. Please make him gasp--just once.
A rancid odor filled the air--the sour smell of sickness and human irregularity. Each second seemed like an eternity. I waited for some sign of life--still nothing.
One of the onlookers had secured a blanket and covered the victim as a preventative against shock. Another announced that the doctor was on his way. I continued.
My head was beginning to spin. Everything was hazy--like a bad dream. Then suddenly, I felt it. Once small gasp--nothing much, but it was an attempt on the part of the victim. No one saw it. Only I felt it. Then came another slightly bigger than the first. Within seconds he began to breath by himself. Just then, the firemen arrived with a rescesitator. They and the doctor took over.
I arose and went into the dressing room while the crowd, which was continually growing, still watched the victim. No one missed me except Cathy who soon joined me. Needless to say, my stomach was turning flip-flops.
Cathy reminded me we had a show to do in thirty five minutes. She helped me into my costume, and then we both went out to finish our suntan and calm our jittered nerves.
The rest of the day passed as originally planned. Our show went over very well with the public, and the parade turned out to be quite fun.
The victim, Stephen Dyer, was hospitalized for seven days and has now recovered completely. His mother wrote me a wonderful warm letter thanking me for the life of her child. The actual time I spent working over him had been about sixteen minutes...although it seemed like sixteen years. This was just one day in my life that I am glad I experienced, but one that I would never want to experience again.