Madison County Democrat

BROADWAY AND MAIN STREET

Another Kind of Courage Has It All Over Standard Heroics
By BILLY ROSE

Recently, a doctor in Maine sent me a story about a courageous kid and, unless I'm getting soft in the heart, it's the most touching tale of heroism I've come across in a long time.

Some time ago, the medico got a hurry-up telephone call to come out to a small summer camp 20 miles west of Bangor. There, half an hour later, he examined a six-year-old girl and found that one of her legs was broken and that she had lost a lot of blood from a gash in her thigh.

The story, as he got it from the mother, was that the girl and her brother, aged 7, had gotten into the loft of an abandoned barn and, when a rotted plank gave way, she had fallen, broken her leg and ripped her thigh on a piece of rusty farm machinery.

As the doctor was cauterizing the cut and setting the leg, the boy-his name was Pete-kept watching from the doorway with worried interest.

"Is Molly going to be all right?" he asked when the splints were in place.

"She's lost a lot of blood," said the doctor, but if she gets past the crisis tonight, everything will be okay."

"What's a crisis?"

"It's-well, I guess it's the time when a person is sickest."

"When people lose a lot of blood, do they die?"

"Sometimes. You see, the heart needs a certain amount to keep going. In a way, it's like the motor of a car-it stops running if it doesn't get gasoline."

"I see," said Pete.

LATER THAT NIGHT, the little girl's pulse began to slow up.

"I'm afraid your daughter needs an immediate transfusion," the doctor told the father. "but there's a complication. She has an unusual type of blood, and I doubt whether the blood bank in Bangor has it in stock."

"Her brother has the same type," said the father. I know, because the pediatrician who examined the kids last year told me so . . . ."

Pete looked startled a minute later when his dad asked him if he would give up a cup of blood to help his sister get well.

"How can I?" the boy asked.

"The doctor does it with a little rubber tube."

"Can I think about it?"

"Sure," said the father, 'but don't take too long."

Pete went to his room, and his parents heard him close the door. Five minutes later, he was back, looking very earnest. "All right," he said.

WHEN IT WAS over, the doctor bandaged the boy's arm and told him to lie down and take it easy. But instead, the kid went out on the porch and, when his father found him there at midnight, his face was white and his fingers were clenched.

"What's the matter, Pete?"

"Oh, nothing," said the boy.

"Look here," said his father "There's something going on in that head of yours. What is it?"

"I was wondering how long it will take."

"How long will what take?"

"How long it will take me to die."

"To do what?"

"To die." repeated the boy. "It's like the doctor said-when there isn't enough blood, the motor stops running."

"I see." said the father. "When you gave your sister a cup of blood, you figured you were going to die yourself."

"Sure," said Pete. "That's why I wanted to think it over."