Seize the Day (15 page)

“Call nine-one-one,” I said as I slid into the driver's seat. He was a taller man, and I couldn't find the seat adjustment. Immediately I called on my skills from when I drove for D.C. Metrobus for a year. My route was in Southeast, and after a period where it became dangerous for drivers, I quit. Kids were robbing passengers, commandeering busses at gunpoint. I didn't need that.

I managed to get the bus under control, but I was scared. What happened to the driver? Was he OK? I felt like Sandra Bullock in the movie
Speed.

“What's wrong? He OK?”

“Take the next exit,” a woman yelled. “He's having a heart attack. There's a hospital over here, near the airport. Carolinas Medical Center.”

I kept looking back to see what they were doing to the driver. The woman had opened his shirt to get him air. Gene checked his pulse.

“Can you feel anything?” I asked.

“Faint pulse,” Gene said. “He's in trouble.”

It got loud, with almost everyone aware of what was happening. A woman slid past the lady and Gene who were helping the driver.

“I used to live here,” she said to me. She was standing on the steps of the front entrance. “Take this exit right now and turn left down there.”

“Hello. We are on a Greyhound bus. The driver had a heart attack and we will be at Carolinas Medical Center in about three minutes,” she said into her cell phone. “He's alive, but not doing well. Have doctors waiting on us. We're coming straight to emergency.”

“Come on, Calvin. Go, go,” Gene said.

The pressure was on. I was scared and excited and desperate to save this man's life. Or have some role in saving his life. But it was one thing to drive on the highway. Now I had to stop the bus and get it going again—and maneuver through traffic. In a hurry.

“Go, go,” the woman on the steps said. She was telling me to run the red light at the bottom of the ramp. I eased my way out, and was surprised how shifting the gears came back to me in an instant.

A car that had the right of way stopped and I glanced down to see the driver look at me with a confused expression. I turned left and shifted the gears and picked up speed.

“Go about a mile down this road to the light and turn right. The hospital will be down on the right,” the woman instructed.

“How's he doing?” I asked.

“Anyone have an aspirin?” Gene yelled.

“What?”

“Anyone have an aspirin?” he repeated as he rose from the floor. He walked the aisle. “The driver is having a heart attack. We need an aspirin. Anyone have an aspirin?”

“Wait,” a woman said. I glanced into the rearview window. She scrambled through her purse.

“Here,” she said, handing the bottle of Bayer to Gene.

He opened the bottle as he hurried back to the man. He was so frantic that pills spilled all over the bus' floor as he ripped open the top. One stopped near his foot. He picked it up and the woman raised the driver's head and opened his mouth and Gene forced in the pill.

“You've got to swallow this,” he said. “Hold his nose.”

The women did. “OK, I think he swallowed it.”

Meanwhile, I flew down the street with no concern for the speed limit. I blew the horn at a car in front of me that did not get the message that I was in a hurry.

“Get out of the way,” the woman up front and other passengers yelled.

I felt like I was driving an oversized ambulance. I also felt like I was in a movie or a dream. A man's life depended on me. That's how I felt about it.

“Turn here,” the woman said.

I turned, but did not press the brakes enough, so the passengers swayed all the way left into the wall of the bus or into each other. I heard women scream and people groan.

But I straightened it out. The woman was on the phone. “Are they there? We need immediate help now.”

Gene's experience as a medic came into play. He gave the man CPR, holding his nose while breathing into his mouth. When he paused for a second, he lifted his head and said to the woman: “Tell them I think he took an aspirin, but he's had ventricular fibrillation. They need to have a defibrillator ready to go.”

I almost rammed into the back of a FedEx truck that did not realize I was rolling in the world's largest ambulance.

“Right here, right here!” the woman yelled—I was going so fast I was almost passed the entrance to Emergency. But no way was I going to miss it, though, so I shifted down while I depressed the brakes and whipped that oversized steering wheel as if
my
life depended on it. And, really, it was that important to me.

Maybe it was me, but it felt like we were almost tilted over as I made that dramatic turn up the road to Emergency. For sure I heard the passengers scream.

I did not break speed as I straightened out the bus and barreled ahead to the Emergency entrance, where I could see what looked like a team a people—doctors, nurses, aides—waiting. It was exhilarating. My heart pounded. I came to a sliding, screeching stop in front and had a few seconds where I could not find the button to open the door.

So I got up and told the lady to look out. She moved aside as I kicked the door open—with one effort. My adrenaline was that high.

The team of medical people rushed on board. In seconds the driver was on a stretcher with an oxygen mask on his face and hurriedly wheeled into the hospital.

My heart continued to pound like an African drum beat. I was breathless. I looked at Gene and we just shook our heads. The two ladies who helped out hugged each other and then hugged Gene and then me. They were crying.

The four of us stood there, and all of a sudden I burst into tears. I was so overwhelmed by what I did, by what we all did, to save a man's life…it was the ultimate show of humanity—strangers bonding together for one cause.

Gene put his arm around me. “I understand your emotions,” he said. “I cried the first time I saved someone's life. It's a powerful thing.”

The passengers came off the bus and congratulated us. I was overwhelmed.

“I was so scared,” a woman said to me. “I felt like I was in the movie,
Speed.”

“I said the same thing to myself as I was driving,” I told her. “It was more fun watching it in the movies.”

We milled around the front of Emergency for a few minutes. I heard people talking but my mind began to wander. “What if we were too late? What if he dies, after all that?”

A nurse came out to the front. It's like we all knew she had the news we needed to hear. We gathered around her as if she were a quarterback on the field about to call a play in the huddle.

“You all saved his life,” she said. “He's going to be all right. But if you didn't tend to him—get him an aspirin, administer CPR, get him to us as quickly as you did—it very well could have been a different story.”

And a near bus full of people celebrated as if their favorite football team won the Super Bowl on a last-second field goal. We exalted and looked up to the heavens, hugged each other and breathed a collective sigh of relief that was wonderful to share.

It was not for another five minutes that we even thought about continuing our trip.

“I guess we have to figure out how we're going to get where we're going now,” Gene said.

I didn't care about getting to Atlanta at that moment. Then it hit me again: Kathy was in Charlotte. I went on my phone to my Facebook account to e-mail her in the hopes that she would receive it. Wasn't sure what I expected to come of it, but I had to try. I was close to her.

To my surprise and delight, she had e-mailed me from our last correspondence. And she left her cell number. A hospital administrator came out and asked me to move the bus to an open area and that Greyhound had been alerted and would send a new bus and driver for us. Should be to our destination in less than an hour.

I moved the bus from the Emergency entrance and then dialed Kathy's number. I was expecting to leave a message. She answered.

“Hi, Kathy?”

“Oh my, God. I know that voice anywhere. Calvin. Calvin how are you?”

“Hi Kathy. So good to hear
your
voice. Thanks for leaving your number.”

“Sure. I was hoping you'd call.”

I did not respond because a hospital official came over and addressed me.

“Hello?” Kathy said.

“I'm sorry, Kathy. Can you hold a second?”

The official had a reporter with her from the local CBS station. She wanted an interview. Someone had alerted the station about our adventure. They wanted a live interview in that moment.

“How did they get here so fast?”

“They had just left here after doing another story and turned around. They were just up the road,” the hospital employee said.

“Kathy, are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“Can you turn on the news, your CBS channel? And then I will call you back.”

“Really? What's going on?” she asked.

“Watch the news about the man on a bus having a heart attack and I will call you in a few.”

I hung up and tried to ready myself for the interview. They placed me in front of the side of the bus, so it would serve as the backdrop. The reporter came up, a fine young lady named Karen Turner.

“Really nice to meet you,” she said. “We're going to roll tape in about thirty seconds. I'm just going to ask you about your role in what happened. Maybe five questions. Forget about the camera. Just talk to me. You good?”

“I think so.”

I ran my head over my baldhead. I said a quick prayer that I would articulate like I had some sense and then she started.

“We are here live at Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte with Calvin Jones, who started out as a passenger on a Greyhound bus headed for Atlanta and ended up as the driver when the original driver suffered a heart attack behind the wheel. His and other passengers' actions saved the driver's life, according to hospital officials. Calvin, tell us what happened as you remember it.”

I looked into the camera, the very thing she told me to not do. Quickly, I turned to her.

“I was returning to my seat near the front when I noticed we were swerving. I looked at the driver and he basically looked in distress—sweating and losing consciousness. He was too out of it to stop the bus, so Gene and another passenger, a woman, pulled him from the seat as I steadied the wheel so we wouldn't crash. I jumped in the driver's seat and started guiding the bus. But it was apparent he was in bad shape. So, Gene and the woman tended to the driver.

“Another passenger, a woman, came up front and directed me to the hospital and called nine-one-one. I was a bus driver in Washington, D.C. for a short time years ago, so I wasn't unfamiliar with controlling a bus. But it was a desperate situation, and we all just let our instincts take over to help someone.”

“Wow. It sounds like it was chaotic.”

“You would think so, but it wasn't. It was really almost a spiritual experience. We didn't know each other but we came together with no hesitation to save a man's life. Last week, a friend of mine committed suicide and there was nothing I could do about it. Being able to help this man meant the world to me—and everyone on that bus.”

“The hospital says you all saved his life. Did you realize how dire the situation was when it was happening?”

“Definitely. Gene, who is a Desert Storm veteran, and the woman—I didn't get her name—attended to him the entire time. He was fading. I could see that as I looked back as I was driving. We were racing against…against death, really. Gene gave him mouth-to-mouth. When I saw that, I knew for sure it was dire.”

“I understand also there was somewhat of a celebration among all the passengers when the doctors announced the driver, sixty-three-year-old David Osbourne, was in stable condition.”

“It was a celebration of life. When the passengers in the back realized what was happening, they were shouting, “Go, go.” Their encouragement made me feel like there was nothing that would prevent me from getting that bus to this place. This experience should show us all that life is valued. We'll never forget this. You should talk to others because it definitely was not just me. We were a group of people going to various parts of the country, strangers, and we bonded for one person who needed us. That's powerful…and worth celebrating. We cried together when it was over.”

“Amazing, Calvin Jones. Just amazing. Thank you and everyone on the bus that contributed to saving David Osbourne's life.”

I
had not been on television before and didn't give how I came off much thought. I was more concerned with calling back Kathy.

I looked on as the TV crew moved to another passenger to interview. I called back Kathy.

“Calvin,” she said loudly into the phone. “Oh, my God. I…that was amazing. I almost didn't recognize you. When did you get a bald head?”