Looking back, I realize we always have a choice to buy into another person’s energy. We were running around in circles like maniacs—until I took control and said, “No. This doesn’t feel right.†When I quieted myself, then a clear message was able to come through.
Sometimes police troopers buy into energy, just like other people, but we have to learn to listen for spiritual guidance even more closely during emergencies and tragedies. Angels can’t help us if we don’t listen.
Swimming Out-of-Body
One early morning in late October, Central Dispatch received several 911 calls from various Lake Leelanau residents. People could hear a man screaming for help across the lake. I stopped at one of the residences to look, listen, and better pinpoint the man’s position. Although I could hear him, it was still dark, so I used my flashlight to scan the water.
I finally located the distressed man in the water about one hundred yards from shore. He was barely clinging to his capsized fishing canoe and still screaming. He had been doing so for at least forty-five minutes. Without any further delay, I dropped my gun belt and stepped into the frigid water. I was an excellent swimmer, having grown up in South Florida, but this was different. Not only was the water freezing, I was also wearing a polyester uniform, a bulletproof vest, and black boots that added weight and discomfort to my rescue efforts.
The man kept yelling, “Help me! Hurry up! I can’t last much longer! H-E-E-L-L-P M-E-E-E-E-E!â€
Because my adrenaline had kicked in, I finally shouted back crossly, “Shut the hell up! I’ll be there in a minute!†I ripped off as many unneeded items as possible and started to walk toward the man. I thought to myself, Piece of cake. I won’t have to swim too far, this is shallow water . . . Then, without warning, I went from chest deep to sinking to above my chin before catching myself and treading water. The drop-off was so unexpected I accidentally inhaled freezing water.
My body went into shock. It felt like someone had squeezed my chest until it was the size of a ping-pong ball. I had never had an out-of-body experience until now! My whole respiratory system stopped, just like that, and I could see myself treading water. For a few seconds I became the panic itself.
I can hardly describe what it felt like when gallons of ice-cold water started to fill up my uniform. I was shocked that my boots floated, while my vest weighted down my chest. My arms were already going numb, but I started dog paddling. I splashed and kicked backwards until I reached shallow water again. (God sure gives us some excellent survival instincts.) Then, I stood up. I still felt separate from my body and was trying to recompose my bearings and thoughts. I said to myself, “Now get it together. You threw your own wrench in the situation by not being careful. Regain your faculties and swim out there again! It’s okay. Just slow down.
Sometimes I don’t know if these are actually my own thoughts or if God is talking to me. I finally thought, Okay and then started swimming towards the man.
I noticed the yelling had been reduced to small, intermittent, helpless yelps with long intervals in between. I was concerned he was going to go under. No sooner had I reached him when he passed out. This was a good thing, actually! I knew I wouldn’t have to combat any resistance as I towed the man back to shore.
It was exhausting! Visually, the distance seemed far, but water is illusive. Somehow, recruit school training cannot match what you actually feel in a survival situation. For a big guy who works out, this was one of the most physically challenging feats I’d attempted. When we got to shore, I was so tired and cold that everything seemed dream-like and seemed to be moving in slow motion. It was weird seeing life like a dream!
At first I was so relieved to be on shore. Thank God! I made it to shore and I see people! Someone will help me now! I could see fire trucks and EMS personnel scurrying about, but then realized nobody was coming to assist me. I could hardly stand up, let alone drag the man any further!
Suddenly I see a huge piercing light and am blinded! It was still dark out and the bright light stunned me. I carefully dropped the fisherman to the ground and stared blankly into the light.
No, it was not an I-see-the-light-I-must-be-going-to-heaven situation, I was just confused. It took me a few seconds to see clearly. I was in shock. As I adjusted my eyes, I saw a volunteer rescue worker just standing there, shining his blazing flashlight at me, only inches from my face.
I yelled at him, “Damn it! I’ve already seen the light once, go grab us some blankets!†I probably shouldn’t have been so hard on the young fellow. He was apparently very new to his job.
When I got home, I peeled off my uniform and I learned that polyester is the worst material to swim in because it retains every molecule of water possible and no heat whatsoever. It took me three days to feel warm again.
The man did survive and fully recovered from the incident. I was awarded a Medal of Honor by the Michigan Sheriff’s Association.
UFO Sighting
On January 8, 1956, I was stationed at Wurtsmith Air Force Base, in East Tawas, Michigan, working as a road trooper on night patrol. My partner, Max Waterbury, had talked to me about UFOs just days before this incident, which I thought was eerily ironic. He said anyone who believed in UFOs was crazy and should be put in a mental ward.
At the beginning of our shift, we stopped for coffee at the local restaurant near the state dock. East Tawas is located on Lake Huron, one of the five Great Lakes.
Our lunch was interrupted with a telephone call from the desk sergeant at our post. Wurtsmith Air Force Base had called the state police post to request that troopers check on a large object that had been hovering about 2,000 feet above Strawberry Marsh. The air base had it on its radar and had been watching the object for the past half hour. The military officer was excited but concerned and asked us to take a look.
Max and I hurried back to the post to pick up a few things, including a rifle that Max grabbed out of the closet. I looked at Max and said, “I thought you didn’t believe in unusual objects or little green men. What if they’re friendly?â€
He just rolled his eyes and we left.
Strawberry Marsh, a rural deserted area with two-tracks and unoccupied hunting camps this time of year, is halfway between East Tawas and Oscoda. The snow was at least two feet deep. I plowed and barreled our patrol car through drifts and undulating terrain, until we finally rested in a three-foot snow bank.
In my trooping era, whoever got the car stuck had to shovel it out. The right front wheel seemed to be the side that was hung up. I was bent down and shoveling a combination of snow and wet gravel, when Max, who was standing in back of me, excitedly exclaimed, “LOOK AT THAT!â€
I turned around, looked up, and then dropped the shovel in surprise. My eyes were nearly blinded. In the clear night sky, I observed a huge oval-shaped light fringed in red and green floating above the snow-capped tree lines. It appeared to be hollow, but wasn’t. We were shocked.
We knew that if this object was hovering at 2,000 feet, as the military radar operator explained, then it had to be massive. It looked to be fifty feet wide from the 45° angle we observed it from. We couldn’t believe our eyes. It wasn’t a beam of light, rather a brilliant, extremely bright light that illuminated everything below it. The stars were out, but no moon, which lent well to its brilliance and clarity.
I am a private pilot and have owned six different aircraft. This was no airplane of any kind. What we thought was so weird was the silence. It didn’t make a sound. As we watched, it would move back into the tree line where we could barely see it, but then move forward again into our view. It was huge.
I grabbed the radio and talked to Trooper Warner Palmer, who was working the desk that night. Still shocked, I reported our encounter. I told him, “This thing is huge!â€
Trooper Palmer sounded just as excited as I did, answering, “R
ight! I got the Wurtsmith Air Force Base holding on both lines. Your description is consistent with theirs!â€
As the object disappeared behind the treetops—this time for good—I was able to successfully free our patrol car from the snow bank. The Base advised that they’d vectored a T-33 to investigate, so we headed straight back to the post. I typed up our report and left it on the front desk counter for the media to pick up in the morning.
We were not the only officers who saw it. Deputy Leon Putnam from the Iosco County Sheriff Department had also seen an object from his patrol car that night. He had made a traffic stop and was writing notes inside his vehicle when the object illuminated the interior of his patrol car. He described it as a flaming basketball, however, hovering over the treetops. His description was not the same as ours.
My partner and I were told that the Air Force would never call troopers at the post again. Apparently, the traffic controllers who dispatched us were “pulled on the carpet†and got in serious trouble for having contacted us. When reporters from the local newspaper tried to interview the Commanding Officer, Colonel Taylor, he told them, “No comment.†The military denies to this day that anything unusual happened. They denied ever sending a T-33 to investigate.
This incident occurred when all three major newspapers in Michigan—the Free Press, The Detroit News, and the Times—were on strike. I had hoped the sighting would reach the wire services, but it never did.
Later, Max humbly asked me, “So, what do you think that thing was?â€
He never ridiculed UFOs again.
Recovery Under the Mackinac Bridge
In September 1989, a young woman was driving northbound on I-75, crossing the Mackinac Bridge from the Lower Peninsula to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, in a late-model subcompact car. It was late at night, raining, and very windy. She lost control of the vehicle and veered from the inside lane of the divided roadway to the outside lane. Somehow the car jumped the guardrail and traveled over the side of the bridge structure. The car and driver fell 180 feet to the water below, where they quickly submerged and sank to the bottom of the Straits of Mackinac. Rescue boats searched the waters, but found no trace of the vehicle or driver.
At the time, I was assigned to the Michigan State Police Underwater Recovery Unit, and sent to meet with several other Unit members in Mackinaw City on the south end of the bridge.
The team arrived at Mackinaw City three days prior to the day of the recovery dive. We met with the State Police from the Cheboygan Post, DNR Marine Officers, U.S. Coast Guard, Bridge Authorities, and local law enforcement. The first objective was to brief everyone about the accident.
A strong wind continued to blow for the next two days, so we had time to recreate the accident scene and plan for the recovery attempt. On the third day the wind and waves had settled enough to start the recovery dive.
My assigned partner and I were the first two divers to make the descent to the bottom, 156 feet below. We had an approximate location from U.S. Coast Guard sonar, where they had placed a 500-pound concrete block on the bottom as near to the vehicle as possible. Divers used a line attached from the bridge railing where the car went over, to the concrete block on the bottom.
My dive partner and I started down the ascent/descent line towards the bottom. The current was flowing from east to west through the Straits at about four knots that morning. We turned on our dive lights at about sixty feet and continued our descent.
The bottom came into view from about ten feet above, and we started our search for the vehicle, with me making a 360° sweep at the end of a twenty-five foot length of line. I found some debris from the inside of the car lying on the bottom, but not the car. Our plan was to make the sweep and return to the dive boat even if the car was not located. Our time on the bottom was limited at that depth, and we would soon have to start our slow return to the surface.
However, my dive partner tied another length of line that he had to the first and set off on his own. I stayed at the concrete block and started checking my dive computer. Much to my surprise, I was running low on air and my tissue gases were nearing maximum levels. I gave the emergency signal by jerking the search line three times to recall my dive partner. But, the line was slack. I decided that I couldn’t leave my partner because he might not be able to locate the line he left on the bottom and would likely have to make an emergency ascent to the surface. Due to the current, he would have been carried far from the dive boat and into the area where many civilian observer boats were riding around to watch the show.
I decided to swim to the end of the search lines to see if I could find him. Once there, I could see a dive light about thirty feet away. He had located the car, and had detached himself from the search line so he could reach it. I kept signaling him with my light, but it seemed like forever before he noticed and swam to me. I immediately started swimming back to the ascent line with my dive partner behind me. As I made the turn upwards at the concrete block I drew my last breath from my tank.
It was 115 feet to the first decompression station, where another diver was waiting with spare scuba tanks. I knew I couldn’t make it that far and turned to my partner for his octopus regulator so we could buddy-breathe and make a safe ascent. I didn’t know he had sacrificed his octopus regulator for an air hose to feed his dry suit (I was diving in a wet suit). The only option was to buddy-breathe using his one regulator. He took a breath and gave me the regulator. I was to take three breaths and give it back so he could take three breaths. The problem was that when I took three breaths I needed 300 to catch up. We buddy-breathed twice when I decided to take my chances and head to the surface as fast as I could. My dive partner tried to hold me back because of the danger making a “blow and go†emergency ascent.
Even before I left my dive partner, my lungs were burning and in pain. I knew I was in trouble. But, in a moment, the pain went away. I was beginning to lose consciousness. I felt quite peaceful. I was still headed for the surface and exhaling the expanding air in my lungs. I was thinking that I had finally “bought the farmâ€â€”my expression for dying. I was sure I was going to die—and I accepted this fate.
I kept my hand on the line as I continued my nearly unconscious ascent. I don’t know how deep I was when I noticed the safety diver above me. I stopped when I reached him, but didn’t have the ability to put the regulator he was holding in my mouth. So, he put it in my mouth and purged the water out so I could breathe. Fortunately, I had enough consciousness left to do that part.
Just as suddenly, I realized I wasn’t going to die after all. The safety diver was on wire communications with the dive boat. They had been worried about my partner and me because we were way beyond our time limit for the depth we were working in. I had to stay at the forty-foot level for what seemed to be a very long time to decompress. Finally, I was able to ascend to the thirty-foot stop, then twenty feet, ten feet and, at last, the surface.
I was extremely cold by that time and shivering uncontrollably. I was helped onto the dive boat and transferred to the Coast Guard Buoy Tender where I was put on oxygen. I was debriefed and taken below deck where I lay on a bed for a long time.
As I began to relive the incident, anger at my dive partner emerged. I wondered if I should have left him and tended to my own safety. But, Michigan State Police Officers are not trained that way, and the highly specialized underwater recovery team members are even more dedicated to each other. In defense of my dive partner, the water depth surely affected our judgment—and he did find the car. However, I believed he needlessly almost cost me my life.
The vehicle and driver were brought to the surface and transported back to Mackinaw City.
The question is: What did I take away from this experience? I didn’t see any bright lights or a glimpse of life beyond death—no angels or spiritual beings met with me. I was just lost in thoughts of my past and conv
inced I had bought the farm. I thought about my family, but not in a how-are-they-going-to-get-along-with-me-gone way. They were part of my many thoughts. Maybe I wasn’t far enough away from life at that point to see in that perspective.
I wasn’t panicked either, just peaceful. I’m not sure where I was, but I can say that I’m not ready to experience near-death again. What I took with me was a new appreciation for the transient nature of our life on Earth. And the experience changed my priorities in life. We are too often overwhelmed by the “white noise†in everyday existence, and would do well to eliminate as much of it as possible. Life is not a condition to take for granted.
Over-all, I look back at the recovery dive under the Mackinac Bridge as a useful learning experience. It certainly changed my diving methodology. About three years later I retired from the State Police and became a Scuba Instructor. I’m quite sure that my eighteen years experience on the Michigan State Police Underwater Recovery Team, and especially that day in late September 1989, made me a better instructor. In my opinion that’s a pretty good deal in life.
About the Author
INGRID P. DEAN has worked with the Michigan State Police for almost twenty years in a variety of capacities, including road patrol, polygraph, forensic art, major crime investigation, and teaching police officers. Presently, Ingrid is a detective sergeant for the Michigan State Police in Traverse City, Michigan.
She attended Northwestern Military Preparatory School in Mound, Minnesota, and graduated with honors and qualified to attend the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. As life would dictate, Ingrid elected to attend Wayne State University in Detroit instead, obtaining a Bachelor of Arts degree in Art. She lived and studied various aspects of the spiritual dimension at Sanatano Ashram, Pontiac, Michigan, for eight years, followed by time served in the military. Ingrid joined the Michigan State Police in 1989.
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