Tenderly Beats the Lonely Heart

by K. J. Janssen

  It must have been right there where they found me.”

  “Miriam, I’m so sorry about your things, but

  I guess getting you to safety was a priority. Work with me here and before you know it you and Thomas will be back together again. I’ve volunteered for a number of these emergency situations and I know for sure that it’s best to stand aside and let the professionals do their work. Eventually everything will get sorted out. You’ll see. The more we stay out of the way, the better.”

  “I guess you’re right, but it’s hard just doing nothing.”

  “I understand how you feel. Now that you’re in stable condition and we’ve identified you, we’re going to move you along to Owensburg General. They’re been designated as the First Responder Care Center. They’ll be coordinating the names of persons being treated at outlying facilities and they’ll be cross-referencing that with the list of those that are reported as missing.”

  “No. I won’t leave here until I know Thomas is safe.”

  “Miriam, you’ll be better off at the FRCC. When they do find Thomas, he’ll be moved immediately to one of the area hospitals. If you’re lucky he may even be sent to OG. Either way, they will know everything about him, where he is and the care he’s receiving.”

  “I don’t care about any of that, I’m staying here.”

  “You’ll be best off at OG, I promise.” Patricia released a mild sedative into Miriam’s IV and the issue was settled.

  A procession of EMT vans and ambulances began transporting their cargos of the injured to local hospitals and the dead to hastily set up, makeshift morgues. In one of the ambulances, Miriam Walton and another survivor lay strapped to gurneys as the vehicle wailed its way through traffic headed for Owensburg General Hospital.

  CHAPTER 22

  Tiecher Park 8:12pm

  The most listened to all-music radio station in town WOWM-FM interrupted Rod Stewart’s Maggie May for a “Breaking News” announcement.

  A solemn voice reported:

  “This is Warren Sutter of Station WOWMFM. We interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcast for a special news bulletin. I’m speaking from Tiecher Park in Owensburg where moments ago, the soundstage known as ‘The Beast’ collapsed onto an audience of at least six hundred fans, that were here attending Owensburg’s 200th Anniversary celebration show.”

  He spoke louder as he continued, “Scores of townsfolk are milling around me, frantically pressing keys on their mobile phones in a desperate attempt to contact their loved ones known to be attending the festivities. I saw a few people throw their phones on the ground in frustration; one even stomping on his. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s reminiscent of the chaotic scenes following the collapse of the Sugarland stage in August of 2011.

  Warrens voice started to crack, “I . . .”. The broadcast ended abruptly.

  CHAPTER 23

  Tiecher Park 8:25pm

  Walter and Emily arrived within minutes thanks to the siren and flashing lights clearing thir way to the park. George met them in the parking lot.

  “Any sign of Thomas, yet?”

  George tipped his hat to Emily. “Evening

  Emily” Turning to Walter, “I’m afraid not, Walt.

  Why don’t you and Emily come on over to the EEC. That’ll be the best location for receiving any information. Gordon Dalton has a crew compiling a list of missing people and they’re in touch with the FRCC to coordinate both sides of this. Things are going real slow. They’re moving cranes in from Merryville where they had to store them. They have to raise the stage platform high enough to begin rescue operations. It’s going to be a really slow, painstaking job. Until they get that done, we won’t know the extent of injuries to the crowd.”

  They made their way to a table set up in the corner of a large tent. Gordon greeted them as they approached. “I’m glad to see you Sheriff Peyton. I just got a message from one of the first-aid stations to add the name Thomas Mortinson to our missing persons list. Isn’t that your boy?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Where did you say it came from?”

  “One of the first-aid stations. I can’t tell you which one. They just write names on a sheet of paper and send someone over here with it. The courier is already gone.”

  Emily interrupted. “I’ll check the other stations and find out who reported his name. Maybe it was Louise. Is the name Louise O’Neill on your list?”

  Gordon scanned the lists. “No one by that name has been reported, but I’ll add it now.”

  Emily turned to Walter, “You must have a lot to do, let me follow up on this. I’ll call you when I find out anything.

  “Okay, I’ll do the same. Be careful. People do crazy things at times like this.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” * * *

  Emily visited three stations before she located the one where Patricia was working.

  “Sure, I remember that. She said her name was Miriam Walton and that Thomas Mortinson was her son. She has a concussion, possibly severe, but she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She got so adamant about it that I had to sedate her. She was transferred to Owensburg General about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Thank you, Patricia, you’ve been a big help.”

  Miriam called Walter to update him and to tell him she was headed over to Owensburg General to check up on Thomas, the mysterious Miriam Walton and to look for Louise.

  “You go ahead and do that. I’ve got a couple of situations I have to handle. Would you believe that there are some people taking pieces of the debris as souvenirs? What’s wrong with people? Look, I’ll send a car over there to take you to the hospital. Call me when you know something. Love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Tiecher Park 8:30pm

  Channel NCTV, “The pride of Delaware

  County”, had several cameras assigned to Tiecher Park to cover the opening of the Anniversary show. The police allowed them to set up their equipment just inside the General Admissions gate. One camera was fixed the stage and a second panned the crowd; editors planned to merge them for the Eleven-O’clock News.

  Minutes after “The Beast” fell into the crowd, John Taggart, the field reporter in charge of the filming, called his manager and requested that a NCTV interrupted their regularly scheduled broadcasting and go “live” to Tiecher Park starting at 8:30pm.

  Dreams of an award-winning documentary danced in John’s head as his crew concentrated on filming the rescue effort. Live footage started with EMT’s carrying a woman on a stretcher and transferring her to one of the waiting ambulances; then switched to the makeshift crews continuing their rescue efforts, frustrated by the weight of the massive rubble.

  “This is John Taggart, coming to you live from Tiecher Park where minutes ago the superstructure known as ‘The Beast’ collapsed onto an audience of rock lovers estimated to be as many as seven-hundred. It is impossible to know at this time just how many people are buried under the rubble or what their condition is. The main problem hampering rescue efforts is that the pieces of the stage are too large and too heavy for the rescuers to lift” He stopped speaking as he read a piece of paper handed to him by one of the security guards. “I’ve just been notified that the cranes used to build the soundstage several days ago are on their way back here to help move the wreckage, but I hear that it’ll take time for them to get here because they’ll have to take the side roads to avoid utility wires.”

  Taggart moved over to the sidelines where anxious fans were crowding around, looking for the opportunity to have their “moments of fame”. The first interview was with Bill Corborn, and his girlfriend Debbie Fraily, both residents of Owensburg. They explained that they had arrived late and were at the back of the audience when the catastrophe occurred. Debbie clung to Bill’s arm, too shaken-up to say anything, but Bill blurted out, “We’re all right, but I feel for the people under that wreckage. It was just awful; peop
le were running and acting crazy. We were looking at the stage when it happened. It was horrible, those people could see the stage starting to topple and they just couldn’t get out of the way.”

  The reporter inquired, “Do you know anyone that might be in the wreckage?”

  “Hell, yes. Most of our friends were in the front of the crowd. We got here late, or we would have been there with them.” His face tightened as he added, “I wish they would let us help, but in the meantime, I guess the only thing we can do is pray.”

  “Yes, that appears to be all we can do. Thanks for talking with us, Bill,” John said as he turned to another couple, that appeared anxious to talk on air. “Can I have your names please?”

  The couple were older than the average softrock devotee; probably in their sixties. “Hi, I’m Marshall Gibbons and this is my wife Melody.” Melody was weeping softly.

  “Where were you folks when the stage collapsed?”

  Marshall answered, “We were pretty far in back of the audience. We positioned ourselves to be in between the speakers. Neither of us can handle loud music anymore, so we tried to get the best position possible. We were watching the stage when we heard that awful screeching sound. The next thing we knew, the top of that contraption started to lean forward, and it didn’t stop until it crashed down on those people. It was the most terrifying thing we’ve ever seen. I hope help gets here soon.

  There are a lot of people buried under that rubble.”

  Melody reached out and touched John’s arm. “This is so terrible. I just pray that they can get here quickly and get those people out.”

  A broadcast engineer motioned to John to join him. John shook Marshall’s hand, “Well, thank you both for speaking with us. Excuse me, but I’ve got to check with my engineer.”

  John made his way over to the sidelines where the broadcast engineer was standing with a tall man. Pointing towards the man, he made the introduction. “This here’s Peter Honeycutt from the company that installed ‘The Beast’.”

  Taggart extended his hand. “I appreciate you taking the time to tell our audience how this tragedy could have possibly happened.”

  Honeycutt jumped right in, “I just want to say up front that that soundstage was safe when I signed off on it the other day. We had some issues with the original bandstand. It wasn’t built to A-27 Soundstage specifications. Apparently when it was erected they ran into bedrock problems and it was eleven inches higher than the specs called for. We run into that kind of thing a lot, so when we positioned The Beast on top of their soundstage we added guy wires for extra support. I don’t know what happened here and I don’t want to get into fixing fault.

  There’ll be plenty time for that after we’re sure everyone is safe. The four cranes we used to build the soundstage are on their way here. They should be in position in about one hour. We’ll need them to raise the pyrotechnic platform that’s hindering rescue operations right now. That platform is in one massive piece and it’s about thirty feet both ways and weighs over ten thousand pounds. To avoid doing any additional harm to those trapped under it, we’ll have to use all four cranes to slowly lift the platform straight up in the air so that rescue workers can get in underneath it.”

  “Can’t you disconnect the sections that make up the platform There must be dozens of them and they wouldn’t be as heavy to lift. You must have done it that way to build it.”

  “You would think so. Actually, there are over thirty sections bolted together, but if we attempt to disconnect any of them there’s no telling what damage we could do to anyone underneath them. No, we’re just going to have to wait until we can lift the entire platform at one time.”

  “You said an hour. Why will it take that long? How long do you think those people can survive under there?”

  Honeycutt’s voice piqued as he replied, “Look, it’s out of my hands. I just know that the cranes had to be stored in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse in the next town over. They have to take back roads to get here because of overhead utility lines. Then when they get here, they’ll have to be painstakingly positioned at the four corners of the platform in order to raise it straight up. We’re not sure of conditions under the platform. If they don’t do this right and the weight shifts to any one corner, who knows the damage it would do? I mean, just look at that platform, you can see that it’s only inches off the ground. We can’t be sure what’s holding it up. It’s probably rubble, we hope that what it is, but it could be people. Some of the rescue team played lights under it, but it’s so low you can’t be sure what you’re looking at. I know it’s a tough call, but we’re just going to have to err on the side of caution. That’s all I have to say right now. If you need more information, you’re going to have to get from the

  Command Center.”

  Sensing the irritation in Honeycutt’s voice, Taggart said apologetically, “Look, Peter, I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot. I apologize if it sounded that way. I appreciate that you took the time to explain to our TV audience what is happening.”

  “That’s okay, John. I understand that you have a job to do, too. Right now, I’ve got to get back to the Command Center. Our role is to operate the cranes and to secure the platform so the rescue teams can do their jobs. You’re going to have to talk with them if you need more.”

  Looking directly at the camera, “There you have it. This is going to be a long night. I just pray that those trapped under the wreckage will muster the strength to hold on while these valiant crews of men and women continue their rescue operations. Our thoughts and prayers go out for those injured and their families.”

  He looked once more at the scene before him, turned to the camera and said, solemnly, “That’s all for now from the tragic collapse of the soundstage here at the 200th Anniversary Dance in Tiecher Park. We’re returning to our studios, but we’ll be back later to follow up on the rescue efforts and to report on those rescued from the bowels of ‘The Beast’.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Tiecher Park 9:50pm

  Dozens of rescue workers flooded the area, each executing their particular specialty. Years of training and periodic exercises showed in the professionalism they demonstrated. If anyone was attempting to shout or otherwise communicate their existence from under the debris, it was lost amidst the hubbub of activity and the din of the ongoing rescue efforts. Part of the clamor was created by three men and two women circling the downed platform, bullhorns in hand, urging those trapped in the ruble to stay calm and wait for the rescue workers to get to them. They alternated their messages so as to give the appearance of being in control of the situation. They added assurances that help was on the way; that everything would be all right.

  Two reception areas were cordoned off to process the rescued. Gurneys and stretchers awaited passengers, as it were and hospital ambulances and EMT vehicles waited for their human cargo.

  A half-dozen strobe light columns were moved into the area accompanied by a mobile generator. They were set up in a circle to provide light across the surface of the platform. When the power was turned on they created a macabre mix of light and shadow that added to the grisliness of the scene.

  A half hour later, John Taggart and Channel NCTV resumed live coverage of the scene just in time to broadcast the distant arrival of the four cranes. Two cameras focused on the narrow access road as word of their arrival quickly spread.

  TV sets within the broadcast area, which were tuned to NCTV, showed the emergence of the cranes onto the access road about one-half mile away. At first it was difficult to make out what it was that was moving, ever so slowly, toward the cameras. Clouds of dust, raised by the massive OTR tires swirled around the behemoths as they made their way single-file towards the park. First one took form, then a second, until eventually the four could be clearly seen.

  The two cameramen conferred with Taggart while keeping a close eye on their prey. They decided to split up coverage of the machines once they were in their f
inal positions; Camera 1 to cover the northwest and southwest corners of the stage and Camera 2, the two remaining corners. Ahead of their entrance into the area, bands of workers scurried about removing any small objects or debris that lay in their paths.

  The bullhorns made their final appeal for patience to those trapped under the platform. They urged the trapped fans not to try to move or do anything to escape until the platform raising operation was completed and for them to wait until a rescue worker could get to them and determine the best method for their extraction.

  Close to two hours had elapsed since the fatal collapse.

  The cranes moved onto the site amid the cheers and applause of onlookers. Members of Peter Honeycutt’s team took over directing them to the proper staging area and supervised the rigging of the grappling hooks. Once the hooks were secure, the workers stood down. An eerie silence spread over the crowd as they realized that the “moment of truth” had finally arrived. Over the next several hours the cranes would lift the soundstage and reveal the full extent of the catastrophe.

  Mostly unnoticed, due to the drama of the cranes arriving, was a truck delivering several hundred cinder blocks and metal shims that would be used to construct ersatz columns to support the platform once it reached a height sufficient to begin the rescue of the trapped victims. No rescue workers would be allowed under the platform until the four corners were secured. A crew of six construction workers, donning hardhats, exited the truck and began loading hand-trucks with the blocks and distributing them near the four corners of the platform.

  On a signal from Honeycutt the crane operators started their engines and engaged the lift mode. He signaled a second time and the operators slowly tightened the wire cables until the slack was removed. Peter took a deep breath and signaled once more. On this final signal the operators began raising the platform. Each crane was locked into “click-one” position so that they lifted in unison, one anguishing fraction-of-an-inch at a time. The crowd was silent; anxiously watching for the enough space to be created to allow rescuers to crawl underneath. Some held their cell phones over their heads as they recorded the scene. Many stood silently praying for their friends or their family members, or perhaps just for anyone trapped under the ruble that needed solace and courage to hold on a little longer, or for the safety of the rescue workers.