Arriving at the concert area, I pulled the duty rig under the giant spreading maple tree, along the narrow sidewalk in the special section reserved for vehicles transporting the handicapped. The regular Wednesday night crew--Carole and Bill Flanagan, Josh and I--jumped out and retrieved the folding chairs stashed in a side compartment. While Carole and Bill went to meet friends on the opposite side of the stage, Josh and I headed to the left side of the stage where I told Maggie we'd meet her.

It had been a sweltering hot day, in the mid-nineties. Now down to around eighty-five, it was still quite humid, although there was a nice breeze which helped a bit.

Anyone who had ever seen the Ocean County String Band perform rarely missed the opportunity to see them again. The band ranged in age from seven to seventy-eight this year and their instruments even included a musical saw! Maggie told me she had talked to the wife of one of the Mummers while the woman was helping her husband get ready.

"Joe," she said, "you wouldn't believe the amount of work that goes into making those costumes! They are absolutely gorgeous, adorned with countless jewels and feathers, but they're also very heavy. It must be really uncomfortable for them to perform on such a hot night. But just the same, I can't wait to see them do their show.

Just as she said that, the band started up and in no time the Mummers were out on the field strutting their stuff. When they first appeared, the crowd gave them a standing ovation, then settled back to enjoy the show.

Becky was bobbing her head and clapping to the music when one of the Mummers stopped directly in front of her and held out his hand. He led her to the large square dance floor that had been set up next to the stage. Apparently he had told her to play "follow the leader," because she fell in step right behind him, trying to imitate all his moves. For her age, I marveled at how quickly she caught on. After a few minutes, the Mummer scooped her up in the air and the crowd gave her a big hand.

"Uh oh! We're in for it now," Maggie exclaimed. "She already was getting to be a little ham, after her part in Josh's school play, then afterwards, watching herself in the video and all. Now there'll be no living with her for sure!"

After a while, Josh and I went to the refreshment stand and brought back some snacks for the group. On concert nights, you could skip dinner if you wanted, because there were plenty of goodies available--hot dogs, hamburgers, ice cream, soda--you name it. If it was junk food, they had it.

Most of the concert featured the band playing, but the Mummers made several appearances during the show. I noticed the perspiration building up on some of the Mummer's faces, and worried that one of them might collapse. But then I reminded myself that they give these concerts throughout New Jersey and New York, all summer long, so figured they were used to the heat by now.

No sooner had I thought that, one of the Mummers collapsed in a heap, just a few feet from where we were sitting. I grabbed my two-way radio and told the police dispatcher to send a paramedic unit to the scene. Carole and Bill, hearing my message on their pagers, raced over. The man was around 300 pounds without his costume, his face was beet red and he was gasping for air.

I asked Carole and Bill to bring the stretcher, then I handed the keys to Josh and told him to crank the air conditioner in the back of the rig as cold as it would go. Meanwhile, I took the man's pulse and tried to get some pertinent information that from him.

Weakly, the man answered "No," to my questions about previous medical history, medications and allergies. He told me his name was Jack Jones, then he passed out. By that time, his wife had appeared. She was panic-stricken and I tried my best to calm her down.

Josh was right behind Carole and Bill when they returned with the stretcher.

"The A/C's really cranking, Dad," Josh reported.

I noticed Jack's skin was abnormally hot and dry; also his pulse and respirations were weak. It looked like a classic case of heat stroke, and the most important thing we could do was to get him cooled down as soon as possible.

Two County police officers came by to see what was going on, then helped us load the heavy man onto the stretcher and into the ambulance.

It was a relief to note that the air conditioner had already cooled down the back of the rig considerably. No sooner did we get Jack inside than the paramedics arrived. They started an IV, and once that was in place, we headed to St. Francis Hospital. I told Jack's wife she could ride in the front with me and we'd bring her back to the park later if she wanted.

Once Jack was settled in the emergency room, I went for his wife and found her at the triage nurse's desk, providing information. As soon as she spotted me, she grabbed my hand, and thanked me, asking, "Is Jack going to be okay?"

I reassured her he was in good hands and that St. Francis was one of the finest hospitals in the state. I asked if she wanted a ride back to the park so she could get her car.

"We came with the bus," she replied. "But we have friends who live nearby and I'm sure I can get a ride home. For now I just want to stay here with Jack."

I took a pen and notepad from my pocket, scribbled down a phone number and handed it to her.

"If you have any problem getting a ride, just call this phone number. It's the non-emergency number for the Merriwether police. They'll be happy to help you in any way they can."

She thanked me again and I wished her all the best, saying we hoped Jack would have a speedy recovery.

Returning to the park, we were glad to hear the band was still performing. Our throats were parched after all that exertion so we made a quick stop for sodas. Then we rejoined our respective groups just in time to hear the band leader thank the audience for coming, saying there were still T-shirts and cassette tapes available for sale at the table near the refreshment stand.

I sighed. We had really wanted to sit and relax for a few minutes, to drink our sodas and catch our breath. Instead, we got ready to leave, knowing if we didn't beat it out of there right away we'd be stuck in the inevitable traffic jam that accompanies the end of every concert.








Continue to Chapter 23


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