I’VE GOT A FEELING I’M FALLING
On Wednesday, May 12,
1993 , Angie
and I joined a group of some one hundred people who had volunteered to help
judge the television show, “America Phoenix
Channel 5’s studio served as the
meeting location as Channel 3’s facilities were not large enough to handle the
crowd. This station hired a contractor to erect a temporary three-tiered
plywood platform structure ringed by modular tubular steel posts and handrails.
They set up metal bridge chairs to accommodate the audience. We occupied two
seats, dead center, in the back row on the upper level of the temporary
structure.
Over the course of the next two
hours, the audiences rehearsed certain on-cue responses the producers wanted to
hear. At approximately 6:45 p.m. , I squirmed and pushed back in my
seat. The rear legs of my folding chair slid off the edge of the platform
causing me to lurch backwards, hitting and dislodging the tubular steel railing
behind me, resulting in my falling to the concrete floor some four or five feet
below, still seated in the chair, shouting an anguished oath, Jesus Christ, fearful this might be my final
back dive.
A safe landing did not appear
possible. The crashing sounds made by the chair and the steel railing suggested
my world would end, not with a whimper, but with a clang.
The impact caused my glasses to fly
off, leaving me in a state of shock, pain, and disbelief. The right side of my
lower back and my left forearm hurt. All manner of thoughts went through my
frightened brain. Had the freak accident left me alive but permanently
crippled? Please, Lord, not that.
Pandemonium unfolded as the crowd
became aware of what had happened. Angie managed to get to my side. Someone
phoned 911. One person kept repeating, “Lie perfectly still.” I did, but my mind said: Take inventory.
Gingerly, I began to take stock of myself, flexing my fingers and toes, and
then my knees and elbows. All those body parts seemed to be in working order.
Angie kneeled down beside me. “I’m
all right,” thinking to sit up to demonstrate that fact. Good sense returned,
as it occurred to me that my body might be in shock. Better remain flat on my back for now.
The expression, “The show must go on,” is more
true than trite. The television announcer asked the audience to return to their
seats, saying, “The cost of purchasing satellite transmission time is very
expensive. Everything possible has been done for the man who fell, and medical
help is on its way.” His remarks struck
me as callous.
In minutes, sirens rang out,
signaling the arrival of a Phoenix Scottsdale
While walking through the front door,
the phone rang. The caller, a representative of Channel 3, did not expect to
hear my voice.
“Hello, this is Joe.”
“Mr. Finnerty, is that you? I am so relieved.”
She assured me the contractor who had
erected the stage platform would pay all my medical expenses. The next day she
sent me flowers. This gesture did little to sooth my anger.
Over the next few days, my emotional
state gyrated. The incident made me suddenly much more reflective and aware of
my mortality. Why did God spare me? How could
an overweight 65-year-old man perform this particular stunt unrehearsed without
suffering head or neck injury? How could anyone fall in this manner and not
break a single bone?
A possible answer began to take shape
in my noodle. You have been spared to
become an instrument for world peace.
No, that didn’t seem to fit my
nature.
An alternative answer popped up. Your life has been spared in order to allow
you to eat more Oreo cookies.
That is a more to my liking.
Whatever my karma, you won’t catch me
falling all over myself trying to achieve it.
This experience taught me one lesson:
Never bungee jump without being tethered.
▄
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