Ninth Grade: Tragedies

As I wrote last week, I began driving a tractor for my father the summer after I finished 8th grade. What I forgot to tell you was that I could also drive a car at that time. In Kansas, the age for a restricted license was 14. We country kids could legally drive to school and work errands for the farm. Plus, we could drive anywhere as long as a licensed driver over 21 was in the car with us. I realize how scary that sounds now, but we had little traffic with which to contend in my rural county.

A family tragedy happened when I was in 9th grade. My father had a near-fatal accident while cutting trees in our pasture. He made the mistake of cutting down one tree while another dead tree was leaning against it. I never quite understood the logistics of the accident, but the dead tree fell on my dad's head and knocked him to the ground. Fortunately, our hired man was with him. When he realized the severity of my dad's condition, he sprinted to the house at top speed. My mom went back to the pasture with him and told me to call the "Edna Corner", our local hangout for farmers to discuss world affairs, and ask for as many men as possible to come to our house. The Goodwin Funeral Home hearse--our local version of an ambulance--came in a hurry also.

When my dad's buddies arrived, I sent them to the pasture to help my mom. Since she thought that his back or neck was broken, she wanted him moved very carefully. She had 5 or 6 men around him lifting, and she held his head as they lifted him into the hearse in one coordinated move. Thanks to my mom's quick thinking he arrived at the Coffeyville Memorial Hospital in pain but with no paralysis.

After a thorough examination, the doctors determined that the first and third vertebrae--the ones which break in a hanging--were broken. Though he was fortunate to be alive, my dad had a grueling recovery ahead of him. Our family doctor drilled 2 holes in his skull to insert a device which looked like ice tongs. A rope from the device draped over the head of his bed and attached to a sand bag for weight. A delicate balance was necessary to provide the traction needed to hold his vertebrae in place without putting too much pressure on my dad's skull. He had to lie flat in a hospital bed for 6 weeks, moving only with the aid of several medical personnel.

When he was dismissed from the hospital, his muscles had atrophied to the point that he could do very little for himself. He wore a neck brace for a couple of months, but he was so happy to be able to move around by himself that he didn't mind. Miraculously, the only permanent damage was less mobility in turning his head from side to side.

Our country also experienced a tragedy that year. I remember well when someone from the school office came to tell my English class of 7 students that President Kennedy had been shot. When we later learned that he had in fact been assassinated, I think we all shed a few tears. We were glued to our televisions for the next several days, and my mom shed many tears for a President she loved.