The Man in the Middle of the Road

In 2009 I was assigned to the Youth Services Division with the Caddo Parish Sheriff’s Office. On Thursday morning, September 30, 2010, I was on my way to work on I-220 near Cross Lake in Shreveport when I heard a voice on the radio that got my attention. It was Art Thompson. Art was 3 months shy of having 30 years with the Sheriff’s Office. He was a former Marine, and someone you could count on in a tight spot.

“Headquarters I’m on South Lakeshore. There has been a motorcycle accident and there is a man lying in the middle of the road!”

Art had been a patrolman for years, but he transferred to the Civil Department five years earlier. Civil Deputies serve notices, subpoenas, seizure notifications, and anything else the courts find necessary to distribute. They usually start their days early to catch people at home, and they drive unmarked cars.

I wasn’t assigned to Patrol, but it sounded like Art needed some help. I listened as several patrolmen responded. All of them were further away than I was, so I turned off I-220 at Lakeshore Drive and drove to South Lakeshore. After a couple of miles, I came to a left hand curve and saw Art and his car on the south side of the road. A few feet away, a man was lying at an angle in the east bound lane of traffic. Cars were were passing near him. I drove around him, went past Art’s car, and parked my car in the opposite lane.

I opened my trunk and grabbed a yellow disposable blanket to cover the man. He was lying on his left side, with his left arm under him, and his right arm stretched out in front of him. He was a white male with a white beard, wearing an expensive motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, and riding boots, but there was no motorcycle in sight.

“You alright brother?” 

Art was east bound on South Lakeshore when he saw a deer run out in front of a motorcycle coming toward him. The motorcyclist was thrown in the crash. Art slammed on his brakes and just missed being a part of the collision. He was shaken but unhurt. I told him we had to shut down both lanes of traffic to prevent another accident. I started to spread the blanket over the man when I noticed he was breathing.

It was a helpless situation. Before I could attend to the victim, we had to shut down all traffic to keep another tragedy from occurring, so I turned my back on a man who was perhaps in the last moments of his life. I went to the east bound side, Art went west.

A car was stopped in front of my car and a man was standing beside it looking at the crash scene. I asked him to pull his car up to mine to block the road, and I ran back to the victim. When I got back to him, he was still breathing. I wish I could have sat down, pulled him in my lap, and held him, but he was so fragile I was afraid to even hold his hand. Instead, I bent down beside him and let him know he was not alone.

I have heard stories about unconscious people who could hear what was going on around them and waking up later to tell what they heard when they were unconscious. If the stories were true, the well being of the unconscious man in front of me might depend on someone encouraging him, so I got down on my hands and knees, leaned over him, and talked to him. 

“You’re gonna be alright man! Don’t give up…help is on the way. It won’t be long. You can do it!”

There was no response, but I felt like he knew I was there. He struggled to inhale and then exhaled noisily, like someone snoring.

“Keep going…keep going! You’re doing great. The ambulance is on the way. They have everything you need. It won’t be long now. We’re going to take care of you friend. Keep holding on, you’re doing great.”

A crowd of onlookers had gathered behind me, but I focused on the man in the road. He needed me, or at least I thought he did. As long as he was alive there was hope. He was wearing a helmet, so I spoke loudly.

“Dear Lord…I ask you to be with this man. Give him strength, give him life. Help him to hope in you.” 

His breathing changed. This time he exhaled slowly for a long time, and at the end, he stopped breathing altogether. 

Though a stranger to me, the tragedy of a man who was made in the image of God dying in front me was overwhelming. I considered his ultimate destiny and wondered where he would go. If he must die, I thought, let him at least hear some good news as he departs, so I slapped my hand on the pavement making a noise loud enough to wake the dead.

“Don’t do it! Don’t give in! They’re almost here. You can make it! Trust in Jesus…cast yourself on Him! He can help you.”

I wasn’t going to give up until it was over, and it wasn’t over yet. Within a few seconds, he inhaled deeply. 

“That’s it! You’re gonna make it. They’re coming. Hang on and call out to Jesus…”

 

I talked with him and quoted scriptures I memorized as a child, and he continued to breathe. This went on for ten minutes. When the paramedics arrived, I reluctantly stepped away so they could do their good work.

Other deputies arrived on scene. They had clip boards and measuring tapes to gather information for their report. By the side of the road, we found a beautiful 8 point Buck, a victim of the collision. Deputies searched diligently for the motorcycle but couldn’t find it. Thirty minutes later, Patrolman Jermaine Kelly found it 300 feet down the road against a fence behind some bushes. He ran the plate, and it returned to William Steen.

I grew up near sighted until 1997 when Dr. William Steen performed laser surgery on my eyes. I haven’t worn glasses since. Dr Steen was a pioneer ophthalmologist in Shreveport and founded Steen-Hall Eye Institute on the campus of Willis Knighton North Hospital. He was an airplane pilot, and he rode motorcycles.

Life Air One landed in the front yard of a Cross Lake mansion. A crowd of people watched as the doctor was loaded in the helicopter. When he was gone, I asked the paramedics if he would make it.

“He was breathing on his own and had a pulse when he left.”

After lunch, I called the hospital. They told me Dr. steen’s internal injuries were severe, and he didn’t make it.

Life gives us occasional reminders that things won’t always be pleasant. Tragedies happen, and death changes our priorities. It reminds us we are vulnerable. We don’t want to think about it because it doesn't fit our plans. We want life to go on forever without pain, suffering, and death, but sin has sealed our destiny. Our only hope is to be prepared beforehand. 

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” ~ Jesus in Matthew 11:28-30