A PLEA FOR HELP
(We tried to respond)
Screen 1 of 1It was an early fall day in the year 1919. I had just become eight years old. My older brother and I were living with our mother in a rented house in Bowling Green, Kentucky, not far from the college where she was a member of the faculty. The three of us usually walked home for lunch each day, and this particular day was no different, except that my brother did not eat with us. He had gone home with a friend.
My mother and I ate a light lunch which we had hurriedly prepared, washed the dishes, and started walking back to the campus. Both of us had to be there by 1:15, in time for afternoon classes. She taught music at the college level, and I was a pupil in the third grade of the demonstration school.
We had scarcely left our house when we heard a woman screaming for help. The voice was ahead of us and not far away; so we began to walk faster and faster.
"That sounds like Mrs. Hammond," my mother said, now almost out of breath, because by this time we were slowly running.
"Help, help," the frantic cry continued.
As we drew closer, we saw Grandma Hammond standing on the small back porch--some called it a stoop--wringing her hands in agony.
"He's down there; my son's in the basement. Somebody must help him. Hurry, hurry," she kept repeating.
Mrs. Hammond--we all called her "Grandma"--was elderly, probably in her late seventies, and she lived in that house on the corner of State and Thirteenth Streets with her son and his family.
When we approached the back porch where Mrs. Hammond was standing, she recognized us and said desperately, "Oh, Mrs. Travelstead, please go help Blakey. He has hung himself!"
With that, my mother rushed to the basement door, with me scurrying along behind her. When she opened the door, we both saw Mr. Hammond hanging from the ceiling by a rope. We didn't know whether he was dead or alive, but Mother said quickly to me, "Chester, let's try to cut him down. Maybe we can save his life."
We tried to get him down but couldn't. His body was just too heavy for us to lift, and we did not have a knife to cut the rope.
Before I knew it, Mother had dashed out the basement door and was running toward the front of the house. I soon caught up with her but was so frightened I could not say anything.
The only person in sight was a man walking briskly up State Street toward the college campus. It was Dr. Pierce, the director of extension and correspondence work for Western Kentucky Normal School.
"Oh, Dr. Pierce," my mother shouted to him. "I'm so thankful you are here. Mr. Hammond has hung himself in the basement of his house. If you will help Chester and me, I think we can get him down and perhaps save his life. But we must act quickly!"
"Why, that 's just awful, Mrs. Travelstead," Dr. Pierce answered with a very worried look. I'm very sorry this has happened, but I can't stop to help you now. I told my secretary I would be back at the office promptly at one o'clock, and I'm already late. My desk is piled up with some very important papers that must be taken care of early this afternoon. ...! His voice was beginning to falter and fade, as he quickened his pace up the hill.
It was obvious he was not going to help us. As he moved away hurriedly, he called back over his shoulder, "I'm very sorry I can't help you." He sounded apologetic as he nervously rubbed his hands together, and then he added, "Perhaps you could call a doctor--or somebody--. By this time, Dr. Pierce was out of sight, and we were alone, except for old Mrs. Hammond who was still calling for help.
Mother used a neighbor's phone to call the Fire Department. "Come immediately," she pleaded, "or it will be too late."
The rescue unit arrived in about ten minutes. (Bowling Green was a very small town in 1919, and the distance from the fire station to the Hammond house was not far.) The squad of three men cut Mr. Hammond down, within seconds after their arrival. But it was too late.
"He's dead, Mrs. Travelstead," the sergeant announced after examining the body. "I'm very sorry we could not save him. It appears he died less than half an hour ago."
I could say nothing. I was stunned by what had happened. But I do remember thinking about those papers on Dr. Pierce's desk. They must have been very important. He had said so.
And yet I have always wondered if we could have saved Mr. Hammond's life if Dr. Pierce had helped us when my mother first asked him.
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