Chicken Soup for the Canadian Soul (39 page)

Fred could have made himself a millionaire with his discovery. Instead, he sold his patent for the production of insulin to the University of Toronto—for one dollar—so that the drug could be marketed cheaply and thousands of lives could be saved and improved.

Since 1922, millions of lives worldwide have been saved by insulin, and because of Fred, diabetics are able to live normal lives where before it was impossible.

Fred—Dr. Frederick Banting—was just an ordinary man in many respects, but he was a man with a vision and the stubborn will to pursue his goal. He had the heart of a true Canadian hero.

Mary Turner
Victoria, British Columbia

The Will to Survive

H
ope is ever ready to arise.

James De Mille, 1888

Joe Spring was packing his car. His parents, Tim and Teresa, as well as his siblings, had tried their best to persuade him to take the bus for the 700-hundred-mile trip from their home in Aldergrove, near Vancouver, to Prince Rupert. Joe, however, wanted to drive. He was planning a stopover with friends in Quesnel before going on to Prince Rupert for a long-time friend’s graduation party.

“The bus would probably be cheaper,” his parents said. “It’s a long trip, and you might have car troubles.” In the back of their minds, Tim and Teresa tried to push away the very real fear that was starting to develop. “At least wait until tomorrow morning, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep,” they pleaded.

Joe loved driving his bright red sporty car, however, and he was convinced that he would be fine. At 11:00 that Monday evening, he walked into his parents’ room with a broad grin and said, “Well, this is the last time you might see me!”

Unimpressed by his bravado, Teresa declared, “You had better make sure I see you again!” His dad was silent, fighting back a feeling of dread. His parents knew they had given it their best shot, but they also realized that in the final analysis, it was Joe’s life and Joe’s decision. They hugged him good-bye, and off he went.

Several days later Tim and Teresa Spring were becoming increasingly alarmed because their son had not called home. At first the Springs thought he had simply driven a hitchhiker to his destination or decided to tour another area. But as time passed, and no one had heard from Joe, the Springs’ alarm took on a desperate tone. They contacted the police, who opened a missing person’s file. The local TV station, BCTV/Global, aired Joe’s picture and story, and the
Vancouver Sun
ran a front-page photo and coverage. Friends uploaded Joe’s image to the Internet and drove up and down highways and back roads, searching. People all across British Columbia now knew about Joe’s disappearance and began to keep their eyes peeled for his red car.

In Kamloops, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police air detachment was informed about the missing nineteen-year-old. At the time, its search helicopter was in pieces, undergoing a major safety inspection; it couldn’t be flown. Pilot Jodeen Cassidy was frustrated in her desire to join in the search.

Flying had always been in Jodeen’s blood. Her father was an Air Canada pilot, and he had passed along to her his passion for exploring the world from above. Jodeen served for seventeen years as a RCMP officer in Vancouver before the urge to fly became too intense to ignore any longer. So she took a hiatus and trained to be a helicopter pilot. After completing the necessary flying hours, Jodeen became the only female RCMP helicopter pilot in Canada. She was posted to Kamloops, in the interior of British Columbia. Flying almost daily had honed her observation skills. She soon memorised the many surface variables in the vast forests and rough terrain of the province.

Jodeen was growing restless. She knew it was probable that Joe’s car had been in an accident, leaving it just off the highway and only visible from the air. But with the helicopter still in pieces, she remained grounded. Anxious to be out looking for him, she tried hard to be patient, knowing the engineers were working as fast as they could to safely complete the inspection.

Every day, Tim and Teresa drove and even walked sections of the highway that Joe had driven—looking for tracks, newly replaced cement barriers, skid marks—anything that might show them where Joe was. They even tried to tap into his spirit to find a clue to his whereabouts. It was an unnerving quest. As desperate as they were to find Joe, they were also aware he might not be alive. Despite all their careful searching, they found nothing.

It seemed like Joe had simply vanished.

On the following Monday morning, almost a full week since Joe was last seen, Kamloops’ helicopter still wasn’t ready to fly. That afternoon, Jodeen lay down for a short nap. While she slept, she dreamed that she was piloting the helicopter over the dense forest alongside the highway. And then she glimpsed the red car. . . .

When she awoke, Jodeen was even more determined to find Joe Spring.

The next morning finally found the helicopter good to go. With no one available as an observer, Jodeen jumped in and took off alone. Once up, the cockpit became filled with the smell of fuel. She decided to land near the small town of Clinton to check the situation out. An off-duty RCMP corporal, Al Ramey, drove over and Jodeen explained the situation. Al had met the Springs when they were handing out posters to all detachments along the route Joe might have travelled. When Jodeen suggested Al come along as an observer, he jumped at the chance to assist. Everything important to the helicopter’s safety checked out fine so they took off with the windows open, trying to ignore the odour. They flew on, checking gullies and crevices. Then, to their dismay, both radios suddenly quit working. Landing in the small town of Williams Lake to refuel, Jodeen found an engineer who discovered the source of the smell. It was a relief to know that, although irritating, it was not dangerous.

It was late afternoon, and most people would have quit for the day. Jodeen, however, was persistent.

“Come on, Al,” she said. “We have to go find that kid.” By now she was sure they were looking for a car that contained a body, but she wanted to give Joe’s family peace of mind. It had now been eight days since Joe had disappeared, and everyone knew a human being simply could not survive injuries along with dehydration for that length of time.

Jodeen and Al continued flying north for ten minutes, when suddenly Jodeen saw what she had been looking for—a splash of red amidst the trees, just like in her dream!

“There he is!” she called excitedly over the intercom, “I’ve got the car here, Al!”

“You’re kidding! Where? I can’t see anything!” he replied.

Jodeen circled the helicopter. “There!” she pointed. Totally amazed, Al saw it, directly beneath. Jodeen spotted a suitable field nearby and landed. “Do you mind climbing down and checking the car?” she asked.

Al jumped out, and after lowering himself down the steep embankment, he could see Joe was still in the car. After steeling himself for the worst, Al noticed that Joe’s arm—held in an awkward position behind his head—was moving back and forth in a faint wave.

Joe was alive!

Al ran to the car and placed his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “It’s the RCMP, Joe,” he said gently. “We’ve found you.” When Joe groaned as if trying to respond, Al looked at his eyes, which were swollen shut, and his thin, severely weakened body. He realized Joe was very close to death.

“Everyone’s coming, Joe. Your parents know we’ve found you.” Al wanted to make sure Joe was at peace and not worried about his folks.

When Al ran towards her yelling, “He’s alive! We need fire and ambulance!” Jodeen was stunned. Overwhelmed, she called the dispatcher on the police radio, which in this moment of extreme need miraculously started working. As she made her call for help, her first thought was,
His
family will be so happy!
And then there was gratitude:
What
a blessing it is to have this helicopter!

Only an hour away from Quesnel on the first night of his trip, Joe had fallen asleep at the wheel. His car had drifted across the road to the other side of the highway, hit a tree and proceeded down the bank. The saplings by the road sprang back, hiding all traces. The crumpled dashboard pinned his legs—breaking his ankle—and held him fast. His seat belt stopped him from falling forward as the car rested at a steep angle. His head was injured, perhaps allowing him to drift in and out of consciousness.

It wasn’t only Joe’s family, friends, Jodeen and Al who celebrated the news of his rescue. Indeed, when the media announced that Joe Spring had been found alive, the astonished silence across British Columbia was broken only by the entire population’s collective sigh of jubilant relief.

Joe remembers nothing about the nightmare. Spending eight days with untreated, serious injuries, with no water, exacted a huge toll on his body. But it was unable to touch his love and zest for life. With his injuries treated, and the love of his family supporting him, Joe recuperated beyond everyone’s expectations—returning to sports, driving and living life to the fullest.

If Joe harboured any doubts about how much his family loved him, those reservations have vanished. The experience gave him a calming peace about death, but at the same time confirmed for him how much he is wanted and needed in this world.

Joe knows that his years of tae kwon do and, more recently, kickboxing, served him well. He is convinced he owes his survival to his excellent physical condition, his positive attitude and his strong will to survive. Oh yes, and the determination and vision of Jodeen Cassidy—one persistent helicopter pilot who just wouldn’t quit.

Diane C. Nicholson
Falkland, British Columbia

Into the Night

T
o be of service IS to be happy. What else
brings greater satisfaction?

Honest Ed Mrivish

As the streetcar rattled down Roncesvalles towards Queen, the scene outside was eerie. There was no one on the streets, not even a police car. When you don’t even see a police car, you know it’s bad out there. It was a Sunday night in February 1978. I was on my way to report for the night shift with Metro Toronto Ambulance, and the snow was really coming down.

When I got to the station at 6:25 P.M., the day crew gave me a review of their day, including how passersby had to push the ambulance out of the snow when it was stuck.
Not good,
I thought. My partner, Joe, arrived a few minutes later, and the other crew went home.

The call came in at 7:20 P.M. The dispatcher was requesting volunteers to pick up an incubator and a special transport team of a nurse and a doctor from Toronto’s Hospital for Sick Children, take them to McMaster Medical Centre in Hamilton, wait, and then bring the team back with a baby. The problem was this raging blizzard. All of southern Ontario was shut down, and nothing was moving anywhere. So they were asking for volunteers; they weren’t going to order anybody to go. The driving conditions were so bad that Metro Ambulance had not yet actually accepted the request from the hospital. Then I spoke to the dispatcher and listened to the story.

At Toronto’s Hospital for Sick Children, there was a baby with a healthy heart but near death and on life support. In Hamilton was another very sick baby who was waiting for a heart transplant. If we could get the Hamilton baby to Sick Kids in time, the parents of the dying baby were ready to discontinue life support for their child, and the doctors would be able to use its heart to save the other baby’s life. With our help that night, although one baby would die, the other one might live. That was the deal.

When I explained the situation to my partner, he just looked at me. And suddenly I said to the dispatcher, “Okay, we’re going. Let’s saddle up now.”

The ambulance slid out of the station onto the road. The trip to Hamilton would normally take about forty minutes, but who knew how long it would take tonight. We certainly needed a full tank of fuel, so we stopped to gas up, then headed over to Sick Kids. We picked up the incubator and the special team, and slowly began our journey down University Avenue. I took the ramp up to the Gardiner Expressway at about three miles an hour, and I think it was only because of the extra weight in the back that we made it up that ramp at all.

Faced with gusting winds and whiteouts, we inched our way along the expressway. As we passed the lights of St. Joseph’s Hospital, it felt like we were flying a plane in the middle of a fog—sometimes we couldn’t see anything. We slowly made our way west to Hamilton under near-impossible driving conditions.

We crawled onto the Queen Elizabeth Way. After what seemed like an eternity we finally passed Oakville and approached the Burlington Skyway—a great, high bridge, almost three kilometres in length that spans the Burlington Channel. Potentially dangerous in extreme weather such as this, the Skyway is often closed. However, we knew the most direct route into Hamilton was blocked by an accident, and we were forced to use the Skyway. We were not looking forward to it.