Fire station Essay Example for Free

Fire station Essay My name is Austin Pea; I currently reside at Fire Station 49. I am part of a resident program where I am a fully qualified Firefighter/EMT, and able to respond to calls as they come into our station. I have been a resident here for 3 months; so far it has been great to serve the community which I have grown up in. I have focused this paper on the disaster preparedness of my Fire House, and if this household is as prepared as it should be. From first glance you would think a Fire Station would be the best place to be. After doing the research though, it turns out it would not be the best place to have a fire. I have included maps of the local area and pictures of my Fire Station, inside and out. This paper covers, in depth, the Pacific North West climate, and possible Natural Disasters that could affect this region. This paper includes average rainfalls, temperatures, and winds in the Spokane County region. My name is Austin Pea; I currently reside at Fire Station 49. I am part of a resident program where I am a fully qualified Firefighter/EMT, and able to respond to calls as they come into our station. I have been a resident here for 3 months; so far it has been great to serve the community which I have grown up in. I have focused this paper on the disaster preparedness of my Fire House, and if this household is as prepared as it should be. From first glance you would think a Fire Station would be the best place to be. After doing the research though, it turns out it would not be the best place to have a fire. I have included maps of the local area and pictures of my Fire Station, inside and out. This paper covers, in depth, the Pacific North West climate, and possible Natural Disasters that could affect this region. This paper includes average rainfalls, temperatures, and winds in the Spokane County region. My name is Austin Pea; I currently reside at Fire Station 49. I am part of a resident program where I am a fully qualified Firefighter/EMT, and able to respond to calls as they come into our station. I have been a resident here for 3 months; so far it has been great to serve the community which I have grown up in. I have focused this paper on the disaster preparedness of my Fire House, and if this household is as prepared as it should be. From first glance you would think a Fire Station would be the best place to be. After doing the research though, it turns out it would not be the best place to have a fire. I have included maps of the local area and pictures of my Fire Station, inside and out. This paper covers, in depth, the Pacific North West climate, and possible Natural Disasters that could affect this region. This paper includes average rainfalls, temperatures, and winds in the Spokane County region. My name is Austin Pea; I currently reside at Fire Station 49. I am part of a resident program where I am a fully qualified Firefighter/EMT, and able to respond to calls as they come into our station. I have been a resident here for 3 months; so far it has been great to serve the community which I have grown up in. I have focused this paper on the disaster preparedness of my Fire House, and if this household is as prepared as it should be. From first glance you would think a Fire Station would be the best place to be. After doing the research though, it turns out it would not be the best place to have a fire. I have included maps of the local area and pictures of my Fire Station, inside and out. This paper covers, in depth, the Pacific North West climate, and possible Natural Disasters that could affect this region. This paper includes average rainfalls, temperatures, and winds in the Spokane County region.

Smoke in the Air :: essays research papers

The Smoke in the Air Marijuana is probably the most debatable plant in history. It has been around for millennia in various forms and uses. However, it’s known mostly as a drug. In the Americas, its beginnings can be traced back almost 456 years when the Spanish first brought it with them in 1545 (Levinthal). Cannabis sativa or marijuana, as it’s commonly known, is commercially valuable in the production of hemp rope, crude cloth, twine, shoes, sailcloth and containers (Levinthal, Keese). Notably, marijuana can be also be utilized in the development of medicines to ease a number of modern-day aliments. In ancient times, it was considered a cash crop. In the 20th century, however, marijuana is looked upon more as a narcotic than a plant that has commercial potential. The beginnings of marijuana's political life in American history can be traced as far back as 1915, when marijuana prohibition started on a local and statewide level, mainly owing to anti-Mexican sentiments (Bonnie 1). From 1932 to 1937, national consciousness of marijuana was brought about by anti-marijuana campaigns funded by the federal authorities in support of the Uniform Narcotic Drug Act (Bonnie 1). This resulted in the passage of the Marijuana Tax Act. From then on marijuana hysteria escalated. The government enacted stiff penalties on most marijuana offenses, even simple possession (Bonnie 1). Marijuana possession became a felony in most states, until 1973, when Oregon became the first state to decriminalize marijuana. Since then the government has began to take a non-criminal approach towards discouraging marijuana use (Bonnie 1). Escalating marijuana consumption and its penetration in all levels of society, has forced every state to amend its penalties in some fashion or a nother (Bonnie 1). Today, Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Nevada and Washington have joined Oregon by decriminalizing marijuana (Central News Network). Those opposed to marijuana in the past have met fierce resistance from advocates for its decriminalization. The debate is rapidly becoming political. Marijuana’s significance as a medicine is no longer an issue. The issue at present is whether or not the sanctions against marijuana are socially and economically viable to keep in place. As put by Richard J. Bonnie, author of Marijuana Use and Criminal Sanctions, "legislators must somehow 'weigh' the 'benefits' of criminal sanctions against their 'costs'" (16). Marijuana should be decriminalized in order to minimize the social, legal, and economical repercussions suffered by the American public. Marijuana sanctions are affecting the American public in three ways.

Lorca’s play on tragic love

Lorca’s play on tragic love, The House of Bernarda Alba, is his last complete play. It is interpreted as a metaphor of repression with its theme focused on frustration, honour and death. The play contains both the passion and the torment in the intense struggle of a group of women held in check even from the thought of love by a tyrannical mother, Bernarda. The play investigates and provides a response, but not a solution, to the problems of oppression, transgression, sexuality and being a victim. Bernarda’s strict rule is as powerful as the wilful nature of the youngest woman who betrays the family.Her ability to satisfy her sexual desire symbolically shatters the order of extreme repression and absolute control. Her rebellion and death mark the reasons and effects of the repressed atmosphere. Ultimate protest, despair, and madness emphasize the even more extreme control, unhealthy fear, mindlessness, and especially silence that befall the women who remain in the house . However more scrutinizing approach to the issue of victim in the play reveals that not only Bernarda’s daughters appear as victims but Bernarda herself being a victimizer is a victim.Bernarda Alba is the mother, a dramatic personality, whose words carry the authority of the supreme ruler and whose life shows little emotion. In this austerity she rules her household, never sparing from her wrath anyone who attempts to revoke the stifling atmosphere she has superimposed on herself and her daughters. As a result, all – Bernarda, the daughters, the servants – exist in darkness and depression ultimately leading to sterility of emotions and finally to suicide.Bernarda is a selfish and tyrannical matron who eventually forces her daughters into the despair. They lose every vestige of hope; this loss leads directly to the moral death of each daughter and to the physical death of the youngest. Slowly, but unequivocally, Bernarda drains the minds and hearts of her daught ers until they become as white and barren as the walls of their physical prison the metaphor of which is conveyed by the visual nature of the house with its thick walls and a few windows and doors leading to the outside world.However, this significant visual image exceeds its literal meaning and, above all, represents a sociocultural institution keeping all the main characters of the play in subordination to social dogmas and rules. Within the confines of its walls Bernarda and her family repeat the old traditions, like many generations of women that preceded them. This repetitive and collective act obliterates the uniqueness of the individual for the sake of preserving patriarchal hegemony.When reading The House of Bernarda Alba it becomes obvious that the play’s most powerful strength is in its dialogues, while the characters are limited in their movement and space within a closed location. By dint of auditory means, Lorca reaches the explication of the contrast between gir ls and their mother. This contrast is emphasized by the other devices like contras of black and white, and these two colours are highlighted throughout the play: the black dresses of the women in mourning, in contrast to the very white walls of the house.Moreover, Bernarda’s authoritarian voice stands out as she commands, â€Å"Silence! † [p. 161] at the opening, throughout, and end of the play, closely related in each case to the death of one member of the family and the spiritual death of those living. Despite Bernarda’s call for silence, other sounds succeed in penetrating the thick walls and contribute to define the nature of their society and the dichotomy between life inside and outside the house. Bernarda’s house is a household without men. This is by fate as well as by author’s intention to establish controversial circumstances.Upon the death of her husband, she must assume the patriarchal role of protecting her daughters’ honour and forbids the presence of men within the confines of the house, thus limiting the world her daughters are allowed to know. Her house is clearly governed by patriarchal forces. Pepe el Romano, the male character we do not see but hear about, is the strongest motivating force in the play. Bernarda’s authoritarian discourse stubbornly reproduces what she learned from her father and her grandfather.This concept associates property with social class, as Bernarda is well aware. When one of her daughters has the opportunity of marrying, she does not allow it: â€Å"BERNARDA, loudly. – I'd do it a thousand times over! My blood won't mingle with the Humanas' while I live! His father was a shepherd. † (p. 191). The situation within the walls of her house would have been quite different had Bernarda found enough men of her social condition to marry her daughters. Lorca indicts society, and the reader might be inclined to condemn Bernarda as well.Although she is not aware of it, Bernarda is a victim turned victimizer. In the same way that her daughter, Adela, is symbolically suffocated by her mother’s oppression, as she commits suicide by hanging, Bernarda’s maternal feelings have been suffocated by society. As a widow, she uses her newly found powers to perpetuate those values that benefit men. She becomes their accomplice. Her husband was a womanizer, and she claims that men should enjoy the freedom of the streets. Women should be confined in the house, against their natural instincts.Bernarda is, at best, an imperfect man, as exemplified in her failed attempt to use the gun —a phallic symbol. BERNARDA: The gun! Where's the gun? She rushes out. La Poncia runs ahead of her. Amelia enters and looks on frightened, leaning her head against the wall. Behind her comes Martirio. ADELA: No one can hold me back! She tries to go out. [†¦] A shot is heard. BERNARDA, entering: Just try looking for him now! MARTIRIO, entering: That does away with Pepe el Romano. ADELA: Pepe! My God! Pepe! She runs out. PONCIA: Did you kill him?MARTIRIO: No. He raced away on his mare! BERNARDA: It was my fault. A woman can't aim (p. 210) Within the play another mother figure, Maria Josefa, vehemently distances herself from Bernarda and approaches Adela, thus leaving Bernarda without support and helpless. She sings a lullaby while holding a â€Å"baby† (a lamb) in her arms, an act that Bernarda – devoid of maternal instincts – seems incapable of performing. Bernarda as a mother figure becomes dehumanized and therefore closer to the dimensions of a grotesque caricature.At the beginning of the play the maid La Poncia threatens Bernarda’s public image with her gossip. At the end of the play, and despite Bernarda’s call for silence, we know that the neighbours have awakened. The thick walls have been rendered useless and the tyrannical figure of Bernarda fall a prey to societal judgement. Bibliography L ORCA, Federico Garcia Three Tragedies: Blood Wedding, Yerma, Bernarda Alba. Translated by J. G. Lujan and R. L. O'Connell. New York, New Directions Publishing, 1955.

The Life of Susan B. Anthony Essay - 578 Words

Susan B. Anthony has gone through many rough times and had to go through many obstacles. She has had many ideas to try and get women equal rights. Susan, I believe, is an amazing person to accomplish what she did. This is the reason she should be in the History Hall of Fame. Susan B. Anthony was born on February 15, 1820 (Bio.com). She studied at a Quaker school near Philadelphia and found work as a teacher (Bio.com). The article â€Å"Susan B. Anthony† states that Susan was paid less than men. Susan and her family became involved in the fight to end slavery (Bio.com). The article â€Å"Susan Brownell Anthony† states that she devoted more of her time to social issues. Sochen states that Susan B. Anthony became close friends with Elizabeth Stanton†¦show more content†¦The article â€Å"Susan B. Anthony† states that she was active in the antislavery movement and became an agent for the American Antislavery Society. Bio.com says that Susan and Elizabeth est ablished the women’s New York State Temperance Society in 1852 and the New York State Women’s Rights committee. They helped established the American Equal Rights Association in 1866 (Bio.com). Sochen states that Susan was one of the first leaders of the campaign for women’s rights. Susan published a weekly journal that demonstrated equal right’s, Sochen says. She became an editor of The Revolution the newspaper of the American Equal Rights Association (National Parks Service). Susan coedited three volumes of a book called History of Women Suffrage. She completed the fourth volume of the book in 1902, Sochen states. Sochen also says, she helped organize the Women’s Suffrage Movement. She was an icon of woman’s suffrage movement (National Parks Service). Bio.com states that she started petitions for women and gave speeches around the country. Sochen says she supported a dress reform by wearing bloomers which became a symbol of the womenâ€℠¢s rights movement. Sochen also says that the US made a one dollar coins with her picture on it, she was the first women to be pictured on a US coin. She helped get women the right to vote Sochen states. Susan was a figure in women’s voting rights movement (Bio.com). Sochen saysShow MoreRelatedThe Heroic Of Women Rights807 Words   |  4 Pagesearly eighteen century in Canajoharie New York, Susan B. Anthony, a teacher discovered that men and women have different hourly wages. This commotion made Susan B. Anthony and other female to join the â€Å"teacher union to fight for equal wages.† (â€Å"SusanBAnthony† par.5) Nevertheless there was one problem, - Susan B Anthony continued to fight for the teacher union actively but she had to end her career as a teacher. Under the circumstances, Susan B Anthony had taken a role to acknowledge that women wereRead MoreSusan B. Anthony : An American Icon1462 Words   |  6 PagesSusan B. Anthony Susan B. Anthony was a born a fighter she never stopped protesting the morally incorrect in her first years to her last she fought for equality. Susan B. Anthony is an American icon known for her work with the Women Suffrage Movement she influenced the American culture and brought all American women a better future. Her legacy sculpted feminism and helped the community pave the way to equality. Susan B. Anthony was born an activist her family being involved in the Anti-SlaveryRead MoreFeminism : The Advocacy Of Women s Rights On The Basis Of Equality1645 Words   |  7 Pagesman. There were women that were just fine living like that although there were women like Susan B Anthony. She became a key player in the women’s suffrage movement. Anthony would go on to protest, participate in different causes, and give speeches. Fast forward to today where there has been drastic changes for women. Women are allowed to do things like vote and run for office. Many women credit Susan B Anthony for standing up for all women during a time where it was needed. Although during her timeRead More`` What Is A Hero Without Love For Mankind `` By Doris Lessing1559 Words   |  7 Pagespursuit of reform, and those who are passionate about their work are the worthy, deserving heroes. In the aspect of encompassing said traits, Susan B. Anthony is the definition of a worthy hero. In 1820, Susan B. Anthony was born in Adams, Massachusetts, to Daniel and Lucy Anthony. Raised as a Liberal Quaker with sharp features and beliefs, Susan B. Anthony was prompted by her parents to be hard-working, confident, and self-sufficient. In 1846, she moved to Canajoharie, New York, where she acceptedRead MoreWomen Activists Essay example1126 Words   |  5 PagesAmerica? One women activist was Susan Brownell Anthony who was born February 15, 1820 in South Adams, Massachusetts (â€Å"Susan B. Anthony†). Susan B. Anthony was a great woman who was determined to change women’s rights. For example, there is a quote that states, â€Å"Susan B. Anthony dedicated her life to the cause, the woman Suffrage Movement† (qtd. in â€Å"Susan Brownell Anthony†). Through Susan’s life she had many major accomplishments toward women’s rights. In 1869 with a life-long friend Elizabeth Cady StantonRead MoreThe Journey Of Susan B. Anthony1088 Words   |  5 PagesDare to Vote: The Journey of Susan B. Anthony Susan B. Anthony entered the juryless courtroom. A judge sat before her. Just shortly after she arrived, Anthony said, â€Å"I have many things to say. My every right, constitutional, civil, political and judicial has been tramped upon. I have not only had no jury of my peers, but I have had no jury at all† (ecssba.rutgers.edu). Anthony stressed that the laws were not fair only because they were created by men. The courtroom tensed as she made more pointsRead MoreSusan B. Anthony, A Leader Of The Women s Rights Movement1589 Words   |  7 Pagesgained their full rights including the right to vote, most would recognize Susan B. Anthony, a leader of the women’s rights movement that never gave up. Born and raised in an outspoken Quaker household, Anthony believed from a young age that all should be treated equally despite their gender. She took after her father, who had radical views on issues such as temperance and slavery. Susan B. Anthony, a leader for most of her li fe, fought endlessly in a battle against those of ignorance and unfair viewsRead MoreHistorical Female Leaders Exhibiting Civil Disobedience1295 Words   |  6 PagesHistorical Female Leaders exhibiting Civil Disobedience Susan B. Anthony lived in a time, 1820-1906, that lacked equality. Thus, She dedicated most of her life’s time to social issues (Susan B. Anthony†). Anthony was known in history as a suffragist and Women’s Rights activist and is recognized for her demonstration of nonviolent resistance also known as civil disobedience. Civil Disobedience is the refusal to obey governmental demands or commands especially as a nonviolent and usually collectiveRead More Susan B. Anthony Essay531 Words   |  3 PagesSusan B. Anthony Susan Brownell Anthony was a magnificent women who devoted most of her life to gain the right for women to vote. She traveled the United States by stage coach, wagon, and train giving many speeches, up to 75 to 100 a year, for 45 years. She went as far as writing a newspaper, the Revolution, and casting a ballot, despite it being illegal. Susan B. Anthony was born on February 15, 1820, in Adams, Massachusetts. She was the second of eight children in her familyRead MoreBiography of Susan B Anthony1496 Words   |  6 PagesSusan B. Anthony (Your name) (college) Susan B. Anthony On February 15, 1820, Susan B. Anthony was born in Adams Massachusetts to Lucy and Daniel Anthony. Susan out of eight children was raised in a strict Quaker family. Her father, Daniel Anthony, was a very rigid man, a Quaker cotton manufacturer and abolitionist. He believed in making sure children were guided right, not targeting them. Her father did not let his kids experience the childish enjoyments of toys, games, and music, because

Getting to Know George Eliot Her Life and Works

George Eliot was born Mary Ann Evans, on November 22, 1819 in Warwickshire. She was an English novelist and one of the principal figures of Victorian literature. Like Thomas Hardy, her fiction is most striking for its balance of traditional realism with psychological acumen. Eliot’s early life significantly affected her worldview as well as the themes and topics she would explore in her stories. Her mother died in 1836, when Mary Ann was just 17 years old. She and her father moved to Coventry, and Mary Ann would live with him until she was 30, at which time her father passed away. It was then that Eliot began to travel, exploring Europe before making a home in London. Shortly after her father’s death and her own travels, George Eliot began contributing to the Westminster Review, where she eventually become editor. The journal was known for its radicalism, and it launched Eliot into the literary scene. This ascension gave rise to opportunities for Eliot to meet other significant writers of the age, including George Henry Lewes, with whom Eliot began an affair that would last until Lewes’s death in 1878. Eliots Writing Inspiration It was Lewes who ardently encouraged Eliot to write, particularly after Eliot was shunned by her family and friends for the affair, largely because Lewes was a married man. This rejection would eventually find an outlet in one of Eliot’s most dramatic and effective novels, The Mill on the Floss  (1860). Before that, Eliot spent a few years writing short stories and publishing in magazines and journals until the release of Adam Bede, her first novel, in 1859. Mary Ann Evans became George Eliot by choice: she believed that women writers at the time were not taken seriously and were often relegated to realm of the â€Å"romantic novel,† a genre that was not critically lauded. She was not wrong. After publishing many successful novels, which were well-received by critics and general audiences, Eliot finally found acceptance again. Despite their illicit affair that had been severely frowned upon by their close acquaintances, the Eliot-Lewes home became an intellectual oasis, a meeting place for other writers and thinkers of the day. Living After Lewes After Lewess death, Eliot struggled to find her bearings. She had allowed Lewes to manage their social and business affairs for nearly three decades; but suddenly, she was responsible for everything. Even more difficult for her was the fact that her longtime champion, the one who first encouraged her to write and then continued to do so, was gone. In his honor, Eliot founded a â€Å"Studentship in Physiology† at the  University of Cambridge  and completed some of Lewes’s works, especially his Problems of Life and Mind (1873-79). Two years later, and less than a year before her death, George Eliot finally married. John Walter Cross was 20 years younger than Eliot and had served as Eliot and Lewes’s trusted banker, what today we would consider a personal accountant. George Eliot died on December 22nd, 1880 at the age of 61. She is buried at Highgate Cemetery in London. George Eliots Works I. Novels Adam Bede (1859)The Mill on the Floss (1860)Silas Marner (1861)Romola  (1863)Felix Holt, the Radical (1866)Middlemarch (1871-72)Daniel Deronda (1876) II. Poetry Count That Day LostAgatha (1869)Brother and Sister (1869)Armgart (1871)Stradivarius (1873)The Legend of Jubal (1874)I Grant You Ample Leave (1874)Arion (1874)A Minor Prophet (1874)A College Breakfast Party (1879)The Death of Moses (1879)From a London Drawing Room III. Essays/Nonfiction Three Months in Weimar (1855)Margaret Fuller and Mary Wollstonecraft (1855)Silly Novels by Lady Novelists (1856)The Natural History of German Life (1856)Scenes of Clerical Life (1857)The Lifted Veil (1859)Brother Jacob (1864)The Influence of Rationalism (1865)Impressions of Theophrastus Such (1879) Notable Quotes â€Å"It is never too late to be what you might have been.†Ã¢â‚¬Å"Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.†Ã¢â‚¬Å"Adventure is not outside man; it is within.†Ã¢â‚¬Å"Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.†Ã¢â‚¬Å"There is a great deal of unmapped country within us which would have to be taken into account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.†Ã¢â‚¬Å"No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.†

First Aid - 2010 Words

first aid kit is a collection of supplies and equipment for use in giving first aid.[1] First aid kits may be made up of different contents depending on who has assembled the kit and for what purpose. It may also vary by region due to varying advice or legislation between governments or organisations. |Contents | | [hide] | |1 Format | |2 Appearance | |3 Contents | |3.1 Airway, Breathing and Circulation | |3.2 Trauma injuries†¦show more content†¦[edit]Airway, Breathing and Circulation First aid treats the ABCs as the foundation of good treatment. For this reason, most modern commercial first aid kits (although not necessarily those assembled at home) will contain a suitable infection barrier for performing artificial respiration as part of cardiopulmonary resuscitation, examples include: ââ€" ª Pocket mask ââ€" ª Face shield Advanced first aid kits may also contain items such as: ââ€" ª Oropharyngeal airway ââ€" ª Nasopharyngeal airway ââ€" ª Bag valve mask ââ€" ª Manual aspirator or suction unit ââ€" ª Sphygmomanometer (blood pressure cuff} ââ€" ª Stethoscope [edit]Trauma injuries Trauma injuries, such as bleeding, bone fractures or burns, are usually the main focus of most first aid kits, with items such as bandages and dressings being found in the vast majority of all kits. ââ€" ª Adhesive bandages (band-aids, sticking plasters) - can include ones shaped for particular body parts, such as knuckles ââ€" ª Moleskin— for blister treatment and prevention ââ€" ª Dressings (sterile, applied directly to wound) ââ€" ª Sterile eye pads ââ€" ª Sterile gauze pads ââ€" ª Sterile non-adherent pads, containing a non-stick teflon layer ââ€" ª Petrolatum gauze pads, used as an occlusive( air-tight) dressing for sucking chest wounds, as well as a non-stick dressing ââ€" ª Bandages (for securing dressings, not necessarily sterile) ââ€" ª Gauze roller bandages - absorbent, breathable, and often elastic ââ€" ª Elastic bandages - used for sprains,Show MoreRelatedFirst Aid1435 Words   |  6 PagesINTRODUCTION First aid is the immediate assistance or treatment given to someone injured or suddenly taken ill before the arrival of an ambulance, doctor, or other appropriate qualified persons. It is a skill, based on knowledge, training and experience. First aid training is important as it is relevant at home, work place or industries and any other place. The term â€Å"FIRST AIDER† is usually applied to someone who has completed a theoretical and practical instruction course, and passed a professionallyRead Morefirst aid2113 Words   |  9 Pagesadvised to obtain medical aid if symptoms such as headache or blurred vision develop later. Recognition †¢ Brief period of impaired consciousness following a blow to the head. There may also be: †¢ Dizziness or nausea on recovery †¢ Loss of memory of events at the time of, or immediately preceding, the injury †¢ Mild, generalised headache. Your aims †¢ To ensure the casualty recovers fully and safely †¢ To place the casualty in the care of a responsible person †¢ To obtain medical aid if necessary. TreatmentRead MoreFirst Aid Essay2939 Words   |  12 PagesPart One # - Assessment Task: PEFAP 001 Paediatric Emergency First Aid (1.1) Identified the responsibilities a of a paediatric first aider. The responsibilities of a paediatric first aider is to make sure that every person you attend to you have to make sure that you have comforted the individual, making sure that they are as calm as possible. This is to ensure that you can treat that individual as best as you can, it is important to act quickly and efficiently as possible. (1Read MoreThe Abc Of First Aid Essay1472 Words   |  6 PagesINTRODUCTION This coursework requires me to explain about the concept of ABC, how it’s applied in casualty management as well as the unconscious patient, the causes of unconsciousness and many others. My first approach I will define ABC then I will do other requirements. The ABC of first aid is a mnemonic designed to help people remember how to respond to an emergency situation in which someone is injured. There are many other mnemonics and variants, but it is probably the most useful one for layRead MoreFirst Aid Study Notes1390 Words   |  6 PagesFirst Aid Notes Q. Why is first aid important? A. It is better to know first aid and not need it than to need it and not know it. Q. What is first aid? A. First aid is the immediate care give to an injured or suddenly ill person. Q. What is Duty of Care? A. While providing first aid you have a duty of care which requires you to assess and treat the casualty within the confines of your training and expertise i.e. you must only do what you are trained to do. Q. What is CPR A. CPR stands for CARDIOPULMONARYRead MoreEffectiveness Of Integrating First Aid Education Essay1507 Words   |  7 PagesTitle: Effectiveness of integrating first-aid education in school curricula at Wenzhou-Kean University. Description: The timely first-aid provided by bystanders is critical to minimize deaths or permanent injuries resulting from accidents. Although the first-aid training programs have been systemically integrated into undergraduate curricula in most advanced countries, little recognition for first-aid education is currently given in most non-medical universities in China. Therefore, the aims of thisRead MoreWhy Cpr and First Aid Are Important746 Words   |  3 Pagesmaster the skills of CPR (Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation) and first aid training. You can learn CPR and first aid training by taking a training course that teaches vital skills people can use, so they can handle and cope with emergencies, such as a chocking child, burns or scalds, or someone who has stopped breathing. Learning CPR and first aid is the simplest and most important skills anyone can learn. You can learn CPR and first aid in as little as 4.5 hours. Taking this time to learn these skillsRead MoreEssay about First Aid in the Workplace2125 Words   |  9 PagesFirst Aid is extremely important in the work place. Sudden injuries or illnesses, some of which may be life-threatening, occur at work. It can be something that is often overlooked in the workplace because of its simplicity. First Aid can be as simple as treating a small scrape so it does not become infected to keeping a person alive by performing CPR. OSHA describes the definition of first aid as medical attention that is usually administered immediately after the injury occurs. This attentionRead MoreTraining Plan Proposal: First Aid and Cpr Training1447 Words   |  6 Pagesstakeholders, including patients and employees. In order to discover the strengths and weaknesses of first aid and CPR training in our office, a needs assessment was conducted during a period of several months prior to the development of this training program. The needs assessment revealed that the current staff is unfamiliar with the concepts and skills needed to properly assess and administer first aid. A pre-training assessment administered by the American Red Cross revealed that the potential traineesRead MoreLevel 2 Paediatric Emergency First Aid Essay3947 Words   |  16 PagesCU1514 Paediatric Emergency First Aid 20 pages 1.1 Identify the responsibilities of a paediatric first aider. I should aim to preserve life, prevent the condition worsening, and promote recovery. Responsibility Description -Remain calm at all times Appear confident and reassuring -Conduct a scene survey Assess the situation without Endangering my own life. -Conduct a primary survey Identify and assess the extent of the Illness, injury or condition of the casualty

Black House Chapter Seventeen Free Essays

string(70) " his ordinary routine without much mercy, and needs to vent a little\." 17 GEORGE POTTER is sitting on the bunk in the third holding cell down a short corridor that smells of piss and disinfectant. He’s looking out the window at the parking lot, which has lately been the scene of so much excitement and which is still full of milling people. He doesn’t turn at the sound of Jack’s approaching footfalls. We will write a custom essay sample on Black House Chapter Seventeen or any similar topic only for you Order Now As he walks, Jack passes two signs. ONE CALL MEANS ONE CALL, reads the first. A.A. MEETINGS MON. AT 7 P.M., N.A. MEETINGS THURS. AT 8 P.M., reads the second. There’s a dusty drinking fountain and an ancient fire extinguisher, which some wit has labeled LAUGHING GAS. Jack reaches the bars of the cell and raps on one with his house key. Potter at last turns away from the window. Jack, still in that state of hyperawareness that he now recognizes as a kind of Territorial residue, knows the essential truth of the man at a single look. It’s in the sunken eyes and the dark hollows beneath them; it’s in the sallow cheeks and the slightly hollowed temples with their delicate nestles of veins; it’s in the too sharp prominence of the nose. â€Å"Hello, Mr. Potter,† he says. â€Å"I want to talk to you, and we have to make it fast.† â€Å"They wanted me,† Potter remarks. â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"Maybe you should have let ’em take me. Another three-four months, I’m out of the race anyway.† In his breast pocket is the Mag-card Dale has given him, and Jack uses it to unlock the cell door. There’s a harsh buzzing as it trundles back on its short track. When Jack removes the key, the buzzing stops. Downstairs in the ready room, an amber light marked H.C. 3 will now be glowing. Jack comes in and sits down on the end of the bunk. He has put his key ring away, not wanting the metallic smell to corrupt the scent of lilies. â€Å"Where have you got it?† Without asking how Jack knows, Potter raises one large gnarled hand a carpenter’s hand and touches his midsection. Then he lets it drop. â€Å"Started in the gut. That was five years ago. I took the pills and the shots like a good boy. La Riviere, that was. That stuff . . . man, I was throwing up ever’where. Corners and just about ever’where. Once I threw up in my own bed and didn’t even know it. Woke up the next morning with puke drying on my chest. You know anything about that, son?† â€Å"My mother had cancer,† Jack says quietly. â€Å"When I was twelve. Then it went away.† â€Å"She get five years?† â€Å"More.† â€Å"Lucky,† Potter says. â€Å"Got her in the end, though, didn’t it?† Jack nods. Potter nods back. They’re not quite friends yet, but it’s edging that way. It’s how Jack works, always has been. â€Å"That shit gets in and waits,† Potter tells him. â€Å"My theory is that it never goes away, not really. Anyway, shots is done. Pills is done, too. Except for the ones that kill the pain. I come here for the finish.† â€Å"Why?† This is not a thing Jack needs to know, and time is short, but it’s his technique, and he won’t abandon what works just because there are a couple of State Police jarheads downstairs waiting to take his boy. Dale will have to hold them off, that’s all. â€Å"Seems like a nice enough little town. And I like the river. I go down ever’ day. Like to watch the sun on the water. Sometimes I think of all the jobs I did Wisconsin, Minnesota, Illinois and then sometimes I don’t think about much of anything. Sometimes I just sit there on the bank and feel at peace.† â€Å"What was your line of work, Mr. Potter?† â€Å"Started out as a carpenter, just like Jesus. Progressed to builder, then got too big for my britches. When that happens to a builder, he usually goes around calling himself a contractor. I made three-four million dollars, had a Cadillac, had a young woman who hauled my ashes Friday nights. Nice young woman. No trouble. Then I lost it all. Only thing I missed was the Cadillac. It had a smoother ride than the woman. Then I got my bad news and come here.† He looks at Jack. â€Å"You know what I think sometimes? That French Landing’s close to a better world, one where things look and smell better. Maybe where people act better. I don’t go around with folks I’m not a friendly type person but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel things. I got this idea in my head that it’s not too late to be decent. You think I’m crazy?† â€Å"No,† Jack tells him. â€Å"That’s pretty much why I came here myself. I’ll tell you how it is for me. You know how if you put a thin blanket over a window, the sun will still shine through?† George Potter looks at him with eyes that are suddenly alight. Jack doesn’t even have to finish the thought, which is good. He has found the wavelength he almost always does, it’s his gift and now it’s time to get down to business. â€Å"You do know,† Potter says simply. Jack nods. â€Å"You know why you’re here?† â€Å"They think I killed that lady’s kid.† Potter nods toward the window. â€Å"The one out there that was holdin’ up the noose. I didn’t. That’s what I know.† â€Å"Okay, that’s a start. Listen to me, now.† Very quickly, Jack lays out the chain of events that has brought Potter to this cell. Potter’s brow furrows as Jack speaks, and his big hands knot together. â€Å"Railsback!† he says at last. â€Å"I shoulda known! Nosy goddamn old man, always askin’ questions, always askin’ do you want to play cards or maybe shoot some pool or, I dunno, play Parcheesi, for Christ’s sake! All so he can ask questions. Goddamn nosey parker . . .† There’s more in this vein, and Jack lets him go on with it for a while. Cancer or no cancer, this old fellow has been ripped out of his ordinary routine without much mercy, and needs to vent a little. You read "Black House Chapter Seventeen" in category "Essay examples" If Jack cuts him off to save time, he’ll lose it instead. It’s hard to be patient (how is Dale holding those two assholes off ? Jack doesn’t even want to know), but patience is necessary. When Potter begins to widen the scope of his attack, however (Morty Fine comes in for some abuse, as does Andy Railsback’s pal Irv Throneberry), Jack steps in. â€Å"The point is, Mr. Potter, that Railsback followed someone to your room. No, that’s the wrong way to put it. Railsback was led to your room.† Potter doesn’t reply, just sits looking at his hands. But he nods. He’s old, he’s sick and getting sicker, but he’s four counties over from stupid. â€Å"The person who led Railsback was almost certainly the same person who left the Polaroids of the dead children in your closet.† â€Å"Yar, makes sense. And if he had pictures of the dead kiddies, he was prob’ly the one who made ’em dead.† â€Å"Right. So I have to wonder â€Å" Potter waves an impatient hand. â€Å"I guess I know what you got to wonder. Who there is around these parts who’d like to see Chicago Potsie strung up by the neck. Or the balls.† â€Å"Exactly.† â€Å"Don’t want to put a stick in your spokes, sonny, but I can’t think of nobody.† â€Å"No?† Jack raises his eyebrows. â€Å"Never did business around here, built a house or laid out a golf course?† Potter raises his head and gives Jack a grin. â€Å"Course I did. How else d’you think I knew how nice it is? Specially in the summer? You know the part of town they call Libertyville? Got all those ‘ye olde’ streets like Camelot and Avalon?† Jack nods. â€Å"I built half of those. Back in the seventies. There was a fella around then . . . some moke I knew from Chicago . . . or thought I knew Was he in the business?† This last seems to be Potter addressing Potter. In any case, he gives his head a brief shake. â€Å"Can’t remember. Doesn’t matter, anyway. How could it? Fella was gettin’ on then, must be dead now. It was a long time ago.† But Jack, who interrogates as Jerry Lee Lewis once played the piano, thinks it does matter. In the usually dim section of his mind where intuition keeps its headquarters, lights are coming on. Not a lot yet, but maybe more than just a few. â€Å"A moke,† he says, as if he has never heard the word before. â€Å"What’s that?† Potter gives him a brief, irritated look. â€Å"A citizen who . . . well, not exactly a citizen. Someone who knows people who are connected. Or maybe sometimes connected people call him. Maybe they do each other favors. A moke. It’s not the world’s best thing to be.† No, Jack thinks, but moking can get you a Cadillac with that nice smooth ride. â€Å"Were you ever a moke, George?† Got to get a little more intimate now. This is not a question Jack can address to a Mr. Potter. â€Å"Maybe,† Potter says after a grudging, considering pause. â€Å"Maybe I was. Back in Chi. In Chi, you had to scratch backs and wet beaks if you wanted to land the big contracts. I don’t know how it is there now, but in those days, a clean contractor was a poor contractor. You know?† Jack nods. â€Å"The biggest deal I ever made was a housing development on the South Side of Chicago. Just like in that song about bad, bad Leroy Brown.† Potter chuckles rustily. For a moment he’s not thinking about cancer, or false accusations, or almost being lynched. He’s living in the past, and it may be a little sleazy, but it’s better than the present the bunk chained to the wall, the steel toilet, the cancer spreading through his guts. â€Å"Man, that one was big, I kid you not. Lots of federal money, but the local hotshots decided where the dough went home at night. And me and this other guy, this moke, we were in a horse race â€Å" He breaks off, looking at Jack with wide eyes. â€Å"Holy shit, what are you, magic?† â€Å"I don’t know what you mean. I’m just sitting here.† â€Å"That guy was the guy who showed up here. That was the moke!† â€Å"I’m not following you, George.† But Jack thinks he is. And although he’s starting to get excited, he shows it no more than he did when the bartender told him about Kinderling’s little nose-pinching trick. â€Å"It’s probably nothing,† Potter says. â€Å"Guy had plenty of reasons not to like yours truly, but he’s got to be dead. He’d be in his eighties, for Christ’s sake.† â€Å"Tell me about him,† Jack says. â€Å"He was a moke,† Potter repeats, as if this explains everything. â€Å"And he must have got in trouble in Chicago or somewhere around Chicago, because when he showed up here, I’m pretty sure he was using a different name.† â€Å"When did you swink him on the housing-development deal, George?† Potter smiles, and something about the size of his teeth and the way they seem to jut from the gums allows Jack to see how fast death is rushing toward this man. He feels a little shiver of gooseflesh, but he returns the smile easily enough. This is also how he works. â€Å"If we’re gonna talk about mokin’ and swinkin’, you better call me Potsie.† â€Å"All right, Potsie. When did you swink this guy in Chicago?† â€Å"That much is easy,† Potter says. â€Å"It was summer when the bids went out, but the hotshots were still bellerin’ about how the hippies came to town the year before and gave the cops and the mayor a black eye. So I’d say 1969. What happened was I’d done the building commissioner a big favor, and I’d done another for this old woman who swung weight on this special Equal Opportunity Housing Commission that Mayor Daley had set up. So when the bids went out, mine got special consideration. This other guy the moke I have no doubt that his bid was lower. He knew his way around, and he musta had his own contacts, but that time I had the inside track.† He smiles. The gruesome teeth appear, then disappear again. â€Å"Moke’s bid? Somehow gets lost. Comes in too late. Bad luck. Chicago Potsie nails the job. Then, four years later, the moke shows up here, bidding on the Libertyville job. Only that time when I beat him, everything was square-john. I pulled no strings. I met him in the bar at the Nelson Hotel the night after the contract was awarded, just by accident. And he says, ‘You were that guy in Chicago.’ And I say, ‘There are lots of guys in Chicago.’ Now this guy was a moke, but he was a scary moke. He had a kind of smell about him. I can’t put it any better than that. Anyway, I was big and strong in those days, I could be mean, but I was pretty meek that time. Even after a drink or two, I was pretty meek. † ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘there are a lot of guys in Chicago, but only one who diddled me. I still got a sore ass from that, Potsie, and I got a long memory.’ â€Å"Any other time, any other guy, I might have asked how good his memory stayed after he got his head knocked on the floor, but with him I just took it. No more words passed between us. He walked out. I don’t think I ever saw him again, but I heard about him from time to time while I was working the Libertyville job. Mostly from my subs. Seems like the moke was building a house of his own in French Landing. For his retirement. Not that he was old enough to retire back then, but he was gettin’ up a little. Fifties, I’d say . . . and that was in ’72.† â€Å"He was building a house here in town,† Jack muses. â€Å"Yeah. It had a name, too, like one of those English houses. The Birches, Lake House, Beardsley Manor, you know.† â€Å"What name?† â€Å"Shit, I can’t even remember the moke’s name, how do you expect me to remember the name of the house he built? But one thing I do remember: none of the subs liked it. It got a reputation.† â€Å"Bad?† â€Å"The worst. There were accidents. One guy cut his hand clean off on a band saw, almost bled to death before they got him to the hospital. Another guy fell off a scaffolding and ended up paralyzed . . . what they call a quad. You know what that is?† Jack nods. â€Å"Only house I ever heard of people were calling haunted even before it was all the way built. I got the idea that he had to finish most of it himself.† â€Å"What else did they say about this place?† Jack puts the question idly, as if he doesn’t care much one way or the other, but he cares a lot. He has never heard of a so-called haunted house in French Landing. He knows he hasn’t been here anywhere near long enough to hear all the tales and legends, but something like this . . . you’d think something like this would pop out of the deck early. â€Å"Ah, man, I can’t remember. Just that . . .† He pauses, eyes distant. Outside the building, the crowd is finally beginning to disperse. Jack wonders how Dale is doing with Brown and Black. The time seems to be racing, and he hasn’t gotten what he needs from Potter. What he’s gotten so far is just enough to tantalize. â€Å"One guy told me the sun never shone there even when it shone,† Potter says abruptly. â€Å"He said the house was a little way off the road, in a clearing, and it should have gotten sun at least five hours a day in the summer, but it somehow . . . didn’t. He said the guys lost their shadows, just like in a fairy tale, and they didn’t like it. And sometimes they heard a dog growling in the woods. Sounded like a big one. A mean one. But they never saw it. You know how it is, I imagine. Stories get started, and then they just kinda feed on themselves . . .† Potter’s shoulders suddenly slump. His head lowers. â€Å"Man, that’s all I can remember.† â€Å"What was the moke’s name when he was in Chicago?† â€Å"Can’t remember.† Jack suddenly thrusts his open hands under Potter’s nose. With his head lowered, Potter doesn’t see them until they’re right there, and he recoils, gasping. He gets a noseful of the dying smell on Jack’s skin. â€Å"What . . . ? Jesus, what’s that?† Potter seizes one of Jack’s hands and sniffs again, greedily. â€Å"Boy, that’s nice. What is it?† â€Å"Lilies,† Jack says, but it’s not what he thinks. What he thinks is The memory of my mother. â€Å"What was the moke’s name when he was in Chicago?† â€Å"It . . . something like beer stein. That’s not it, but it’s close. Best I can do.† â€Å"Beer stein,† Jack says. â€Å"And what was his name when he got to French Landing three years later?† Suddenly there are loud, arguing voices on the stairs. â€Å"I don’t care!† someone shouts. Jack thinks it’s Black, the more officious one. â€Å"It’s our case, he’s our prisoner, and we’re taking him out! Now!† Dale: â€Å"I’m not arguing. I’m just saying that the paperwork â€Å" Brown: â€Å"Aw, fuck the paperwork. We’ll take it with us.† â€Å"What was his name in French Landing, Potsie?† â€Å"I can’t † Potsie takes Jack’s hands again. Potsie’s own hands are dry and cold. He smells Jack’s palms, eyes closed. On the long exhale of his breath he says: â€Å"Burnside. Chummy Burnside. Not that he was chummy. The nickname was a joke. I think his real handle might have been Charlie.† Jack takes his hands back. Charles â€Å"Chummy† Burnside. Once known as Beer Stein. Or something like Beer Stein. â€Å"And the house? What was the name of the house?† Brown and Black are coming down the corridor now, with Dale scurrying after them. There’s no time, Jack thinks. Damnit all, if I had even five minutes more And then Potsie says, â€Å"Black House. I don’t know if that’s what he called it or what the subs workin’ the job got to calling it, but that was the name, all right.† Jack’s eyes widen. The image of Henry Leyden’s cozy living room crosses his mind: sitting with a drink at his elbow and reading about Jarndyce and Jarndyce. â€Å"Did you say Bleak House?† â€Å"Black,† Potsie reiterates impatiently. â€Å"Because it really was. It was â€Å" â€Å"Oh dear to Christ,† one of the state troopers says in a snotty look-what-the-cat-dragged-in voice that makes Jack feel like rearranging his face. It’s Brown, but when Jack glances up, it’s Brown’s partner he looks at. The coincidence of the other trooper’s name makes Jack smile. â€Å"Hello, boys,† Jack says, getting up from the bunk. â€Å"What are you doing here, Hollywood?† Black asks. â€Å"Just batting the breeze and waiting for you,† Jack says, and smiles brilliantly. â€Å"I suppose you want this guy.† â€Å"You’re goddamn right,† Brown growls. â€Å"And if you fucked up our case â€Å" â€Å"Gosh, I don’t think so,† Jack says. It’s a struggle, but he manages to achieve a tone of amiability. Then, to Potsie: â€Å"You’ll be safer with them than here in French Landing, sir.† George Potter looks vacant again. Resigned. â€Å"Don’t matter much either way,† he says, then smiles as a thought occurs to him. â€Å"If old Chummy’s still alive, and you run across him, you might ask him if his ass still hurts from that diddling I gave him back in ’69. And tell him old Chicago Potsie says hello.† â€Å"What the hell are you talking about?† Brown asks, glowering. He has his cuffs out, and is clearly itching to snap them on George Potter’s wrists. â€Å"Old times,† Jack says. He stuffs his fragrant hands in his pockets and leaves the cell. He smiles at Brown and Black. â€Å"Nothing to concern you boys.† Trooper Black turns to Dale. â€Å"You’re out of this case,† he says. â€Å"Those are words of one syllable. I can’t make it any simpler. So tell me once and mean it forever, Chief: Do you understand?† â€Å"Of course I do,† Dale said. â€Å"Take the case and welcome. But get off the tall white horse, willya? If you expected me to simply stand by and let a crowd of drunks from the Sand Bar take this man out of Lucky’s and lynch him â€Å" â€Å"Don’t make yourself look any stupider than you already are,† Brown snaps. â€Å"They picked his name up off your police calls.† â€Å"I doubt that,† Dale says quietly, thinking of the doper’s cell phone borrowed out of evidence storage. Black grabs Potter’s narrow shoulder, gives it a vicious twist, then thrusts him so hard toward the door at the end of the corridor that the man almost falls down. Potter recovers, his haggard face full of pain and dignity. â€Å"Troopers,† Jack says. He doesn’t speak loudly or angrily, but they both turn. â€Å"Abuse that prisoner one more time in my sight, and I’ll be on the phone to the Madison shoofly-pies the minute you leave, and believe me, Troopers, they will listen to me. Your attitude is arrogant, coercive, and counterproductive to the resolution of this case. Your interdepartmental cooperation skills are nonexistent. Your demeanor is unprofessional and reflects badly upon the state of Wisconsin. You will either behave yourselves or I guarantee you that by next Friday you will be looking for security jobs.† Although his voice remains even throughout, Black and Brown seem to shrink as he speaks. By the time he finishes, they look like a pair of chastened children. Dale is gazing at Jack with awe. Only Potter seems unaffected; he’s gazing down at his cuffed hands with eyes that could be a thousand miles away. â€Å"Go on, now,† Jack says. â€Å"Take your prisoner, take your case records, and get lost.† Black opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. They leave. When the door closes behind them, Dale looks at Jack and says, very softly: â€Å"Wow.† â€Å"What?† â€Å"If you don’t know,† Dale says, â€Å"I’m not going to tell you.† Jack shrugs. â€Å"Potter will keep them occupied, which frees us up to do a little actual work. If there’s a bright side to tonight, that’s it.† â€Å"What did you get from him? Anything?† â€Å"A name. Might mean nothing. Charles Burnside. Nicknamed Chummy. Ever heard of him?† Dale sticks out his lower lip and pulls it thoughtfully. Then he lets go and shakes his head. â€Å"The name itself seems to ring a faint bell, but that might only be because it’s so common. The nickname, no.† â€Å"He was a builder, a contractor, a wheeler-dealer in Chicago over thirty years ago. According to Potsie, at least.† â€Å"Potsie,† Dale says. The tape is peeling off a corner of the ONE CALL MEANS ONE CALL sign, and Dale smoothes it back down with the air of a man who doesn’t really know what he’s doing. â€Å"You and he got pretty chummy, didn’t you?† â€Å"No,† Jack says. â€Å"Burnside’s Chummy. And Trooper Black doesn’t own the Black House.† â€Å"You’ve gone dotty. What black house?† â€Å"First, it’s a proper name. Black, capital B, house, capital H. Black House. You ever heard of a house named that around here?† Dale laughs. â€Å"God, no.† Jack smiles back, but all at once it’s his interrogation smile, not his I’m-discussing-things-with-my-friend smile. Because he’s a coppice-man now. And he has seen a funny little flicker in Dale Gilbertson’s eyes. â€Å"Are you sure? Take a minute. Think about it.† â€Å"Told you, no. People don’t name their houses in these parts. Oh, I guess old Miss Graham and Miss Pentle call their place on the other side of the town library Honeysuckle, because of the honeysuckle bushes all over the fence in front, but that’s the only one in these parts I ever heard named.† Again, Jack sees that flicker. Potter is the one who will be charged for murder by the Wisconsin State Police, but Jack didn’t see that deep flicker in Potter’s eyes a single time during their interview. Because Potter was straight with him. Dale isn’t being straight. But I have to be gentle with him, Jack tells himself. Because he doesn’t know he’s not being straight. How is that possible? As if in answer, he hears Chicago Potsie’s voice: One guy told me the sun never shone there even when it shone . . . he said the guys lost their shadows, just like in a fairy tale. Memory is a shadow; any cop trying to reconstruct a crime or an accident from the conflicting accounts of eyewitnesses knows it well. Is Potsie’s Black House like this? Something that casts no shadow? Dale’s response (he has now turned full-face to the peeling poster, working on it as seriously as he might work on a heart attack victim in the street, administering CPR right out of the manual until the ambulance arrives) suggests to Jack that it might be something like just that. Three days ago he wouldn’t have allowed himself to consider such an idea, but three days ago he hadn’t returned to the Territories. â€Å"According to Potsie, this place got a reputation as a haunted house even before it was completely built,† Jack says, pressing a little. â€Å"Nope.† Dale moves on to the sign about the A.A. and N.A. meetings. He examines the tape studiously, not looking at Jack. â€Å"Doesn’t ring the old chimeroo.† â€Å"Sure? One man almost bled to death. Another took a fall that paralyzed him. People complained listen to this, Dale, it’s good according to Potsie, people complained about losing their shadows. Couldn’t see them even at midday, with the sun shining full force. Isn’t that something?† â€Å"Sure is, but I don’t remember any stories like that.† As Jack walks toward Dale, Dale moves away. Almost scutters away, although Chief Gilbertson is not ordinarily a scuttering man. It’s a little funny, a little sad, a little horrible. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, Jack’s sure of that. There is a shadow. Jack sees it, and on some level Dale knows he sees it. If Jack should force him too hard, Dale would have to see it, too . . . and Dale doesn’t want that. Because it’s a bad shadow. Is it worse than a monster who kills children and then eats selected portions of their bodies? Apparently part of Dale thinks so. I could make him see that shadow, Jack thinks coldly. Put my hands under his nose my lily-scented hands and make him see it. Part of him even wants to see it. The coppiceman part. Then another part of Jack’s mind speaks up in the Speedy Parker drawl he now remembers from his childhood. You could push him over the edge of a nervous breakdown, too, Jack. God knows he’s close to one, after all the goin’s-ons since the Irkenham boy got took. You want to chance that? And for what? He didn’t know the name, about that he was bein’ straight. â€Å"Dale?† Dale gives Jack a quick, bright glance, then looks away. The furtive quality in that quick peek sort of breaks Jack’s heart. â€Å"What?† â€Å"Let’s go get a cup of coffee.† At this change of subject, Dale’s face fills with glad relief. He claps Jack on the shoulder. â€Å"Good idea!† God-pounding good idea, right here and now, Jack thinks, then smiles. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, and more than one way to find a Black House. It’s been a long day. Best, maybe, to let this go. At least for tonight. â€Å"What about Railsback?† Dale asks as they clatter down the stairs. â€Å"You still want to talk to him?† â€Å"You bet,† Jack replies, heartily enough, but he holds out little hope for Andy Railsback, a picked witness who saw exactly what the Fisherman wanted him to see. With one little exception . . . perhaps. The single slipper. Jack doesn’t know if it will ever come to anything, but it might. In court, for instance . . . as an identifying link . . . This is never going to court and you know it. It may not even finish in this w His thoughts are broken by a wave of cheerful sound as they step into the combination ready room and dispatch center. The members of the French Landing Police Department are standing and applauding. Henry Leyden is also standing and applauding. Dale joins in. â€Å"Jesus, guys, quit it,† Jack says, laughing and blushing at the same time. But he won’t lie to himself, try to tell himself he takes no pleasure in that round of applause. He feels the warmth of them; can see the light of their regard. Those things aren’t important. But it feels like coming home, and that is. When Jack and Henry step out of the police station an hour or so later, Beezer, Mouse, and Kaiser Bill are still there. The other two have gone back to the Row to fill in the various old ladies on tonight’s events. â€Å"Sawyer,† Beezer says. â€Å"Yes,† Jack says. â€Å"Anything we can do, man. Can you dig that? Anything.† Jack looks at the biker thoughtfully, wondering what his story is . . . other than grief, that is. A father’s grief. Beezer’s eyes remain steady on his. A little off to one side, Henry Leyden stands with his head raised to smell the river fog, humming deep down in his throat. â€Å"I’m going to look in on Irma’s mom tomorrow around eleven,† Jack says. â€Å"Do you suppose you and your friends could meet me in the Sand Bar around noon? She lives close to there, I understand. I’ll buy youse a round of lemonade.† Beezer doesn’t smile, but his eyes warm up slightly. â€Å"We’ll be there.† â€Å"That’s good,† Jack says. â€Å"Mind telling me why?† â€Å"There’s a place that needs finding.† â€Å"Does it have to do with whoever killed Amy and the other kids?† â€Å"Maybe.† Beezer nods. â€Å"Maybe’s good enough.† Jack drives back toward Norway Valley slowly, and not just because of the fog. Although it’s still early in the evening, he is tired to the bone and has an idea that Henry feels the same way. Not because he’s quiet; Jack has become used to Henry’s occasional dormant stretches. No, it’s the quiet in the truck itself. Under ordinary circumstances, Henry is a restless, compulsive radio tuner, running through the La Riviere stations, checking KDCU here in town, then ranging outward, hunting for Milwaukee, Chicago, maybe even Omaha, Denver, and St. Louis, if conditions are right. An appetizer of bop here, a salad of spiritual music there, perhaps a dash of Perry Como way down at the foot of the dial: hot-diggity, dog-diggity, boom what-ya-do-to-me. Not tonight, though. Tonight Henry just sits quiet on his side of the truck with his hands folded in his lap. At last, when they’re no more than two miles from his driveway, Henry says: â€Å"No Dickens tonig ht, Jack. I’m going straight to bed.† The weariness in Henry’s voice startles Jack, makes him uneasy. Henry doesn’t sound like himself or any of his radio personae; at this moment he just sounds old and tired, on the way to being used up. â€Å"I am, too,† Jack agrees, trying not to let his concern show in his voice. Henry picks up on every vocal nuance. He’s eerie that way. â€Å"What do you have in mind for the Thunder Five, may I ask?† â€Å"I’m not entirely sure,† Jack says, and perhaps because he’s tired, he gets this untruth past Henry. He intends to start Beezer and his buddies looking for the place Potsie told him about, the place where shadows had a way of disappearing. At least way back in the seventies they did. He had also intended to ask Henry if he’s ever heard of a French Landing domicile called Black House. Not now, though. Not after hearing how beat Henry sounds. Tomorrow, maybe. Almost certainly, in fact, because Henry is too good a resource not to use. Best to let him recycle a little first, though. â€Å"You have the tape, right?† Henry pulls the cassette with the Fisherman’s 911 call on it partway out of his breast pocket, then puts it back. â€Å"Yes, Mother. But I don’t think I can listen to a killer of small children tonight, Jack. Not even if you come in and listen with me.† â€Å"Tomorrow will be fine,† Jack says, hoping he isn’t condemning another of French Landing’s children to death by saying this. â€Å"You’re not entirely sure of that.† â€Å"No,† Jack agrees, â€Å"but you listening to that tape with dull ears could do more harm than good. I am sure of that.† â€Å"First thing in the morning. I promise.† Henry’s house is up ahead now. It looks lonely with only the one light on over the garage, but of course Henry doesn’t need lights inside to find his way. â€Å"Henry, are you going to be all right?† â€Å"Yes,† Henry says, but to Jack he doesn’t seem entirely sure. â€Å"No Rat tonight,† Jack tells him firmly. â€Å"No.† â€Å"Ditto the Shake, the Shook, the Sheik.† Henry’s lips lift in a small smile. â€Å"Not even a George Rathbun promo for French Landing Chevrolet, where price is king and you never pay a dime of interest for the first six months with approved credit. Straight to bed.† â€Å"Me too,† Jack says. But an hour after lying down and putting out the lamp on his bedside table, Jack is still unable to sleep. Faces and voices revolve in his mind like crazy clock hands. Or a carousel on a deserted midway. Tansy Freneau: Bring out the monster who killed my pretty baby. Beezer St. Pierre: We’ll have to see how it shakes out, won’t we George Potter: That shit gets in and waits. My theory is that it never goes away, not really. Speedy, a voice from the distant past on the sort of telephone that was science fiction when Jack first met him: Hidey-ho, Travelin’ Jack . . . as one coppiceman to another, son, I think you ought to visit Chief Gilbertson’s private bathroom. Right now. As one coppiceman to another, right. And most of all, over and over again, Judy Marshall: You don’t just say, I’m lost and I don’t know how to get back you keep on going . . . Yes, but keep on going where? Where? At last he gets up and goes out onto the porch with his pillow under his arm. The night is warm; in Norway Valley, where the fog was thin to begin with, the last remnants have now disappeared, blown away by a soft east wind. Jack hesitates, then goes on down the steps, naked except for his underwear. The porch is no good to him, though. It’s where he found that hellish box with the sugar-packet stamps. He walks past his truck, past the bird hotel, and into the north field. Above him are a billion stars. Crickets hum softly in the grass. His fleeing path through the hay and timothy has disappeared, or maybe now he’s entering the field in a different place. A little way in, he lies down on his back, puts the pillow under his head, and looks up at the stars. Just for a little while, he thinks. Just until all those ghost voices empty out of my head. Just for a little while. Thinking this, he begins to drowse. Thinking this, he goes over. Above his head, the pattern of the stars changes. He sees the new constellations form. What is that one, where the Big Dipper was a moment before? Is it the Sacred Opopanax? Perhaps it is. He hears a low, pleasant creaking sound and knows it’s the windmill he saw when he flipped just this morning, a thousand years ago. He doesn’t need to look at it to be sure, any more than he needs to look at where his house was and see that it has once more become a barn. Creak . . . creak . . . creak: vast wooden vanes turning in that same east wind. Only now the wind is infinitely sweeter, infinitely purer. Jack touches the waistband of his underpants and feels some rough weave. No Jockey shorts in this world. His pillow has changed, too. Foam has become goosedown, but it’s still comfortable. More comfortable than ever, in truth. Sweet under his head. â€Å"I’ll catch him, Speedy,† Jack Sawyer whispers up at the new shapes in the new stars. â€Å"At least I’ll try.† He sleeps. When he awakens, it’s early morning. The breeze is gone. In the direction from which it came, there’s a bright orange line on the horizon the sun is on its way. He’s stiff and his ass hurts and he’s damp with dew, but he’s rested. The steady, rhythmic creaking is gone, but that doesn’t surprise him. He knew from the moment he opened his eyes that he’s in Wisconsin again. And he knows something else: he can go back. Any time he wants. The real Coulee Country, the deep Coulee Country, is just a wish and a motion away. This fills him with joy and dread in equal parts. Jack gets up and barefoots back to the house with his pillow under his arm. He guesses it’s about five in the morning. Another three hours’ sleep will make him ready for anything. On the porch steps, he touches the cotton of his Jockey shorts. Although his skin is damp, the shorts are almost dry. Of course they are. For most of the hours he spent sleeping rough (as he spent so many nights that autumn when he was twelve), they weren’t on him at all. They were somewhere else. â€Å"In the Land of Opopanax,† Jack says, and goes inside. Three minutes later he’s asleep again, in his own bed. When he wakes at eight, with the sensible sun streaming in through his window, he could almost believe that his latest journey was a dream. But in his heart, he knows better. How to cite Black House Chapter Seventeen, Essay examples