THE FLYING WINNEBAGO STORY
He didn’t belong there. My first thought when I saw Dr. Blackburn, was that he had a waiting room full of patients in Rigby. But there he was, standing out on the Lorenzo Bridge, overlooking the South Fork of the Snake River, talking to some firemen. I could not see what was happening down below, but it was evident from the multiple emergency vehicles, that this was the scene of a serious wreck of some kind. As I drove past on my way to Island Park, I knew from Dr. Blackburn’s body language that he was ready to take charge if a live one was fished out of the river. The Idaho State Police were directing traffic around the fleet of emergency vehicles—encouraging us rubberneckers to just keep moving. I had a feeling that I would hear this story the next time we were in the operating room together—I was right.
A few weeks later. we were in a three-hour surgical procedure together and the story began to unravel. Dr. Blackburn explained, that an elderly couple from Arizona had been traveling to Ricks College in Rexburg to escape the desert heat for the summer. The woman was driving ahead in the family car. Her husband was following, driving their large Winnebago. She did not notice that he was not in her rearview mirror until she reached Rexburg.
Dr. Blackburn opined that after the husband died at the wheel, he slumped forward and must have stomped on the gas pedal. He may have been dead, but the Winnebago was still very much alive. Speeding up before it left the highway, it careened onto a dirt ramp that had been built to help with bridge construction. Threading the gap between the two new parallel spans of the Lorenzo Bridge would have taken considerable driving skill, had there been a driver. Tire tracks in the dirt ended where the Winnebago had become airborne. Although there were several witnesses to brief portions of the accident, the one with the most dramatic vantage point was in no condition to file a report.
When the first responders arrived, all they knew was that a Winnebago had crashed into the Snake River. They found a man lying at the base of the construction ramp. He had been fishing when the Winnebago flew right over his head and crashed into the Snake River. He was in shock—the EMTs figured he had a heart attack and hauled him off in an ambulance.
Dr. Blackburn didn’t tell me what happened to that fisherman after the ambulance took him away, nor did he say what happened to the woman in Rexburg waiting for her husband. It would not be unlike him to seek her out and offer his help and not tell anyone about his kindness. If so, that would not have been his first experience as a Good Samaritan—nor would it be his last. He was one of a handful of people that I know who could successfully be in three places at the same time, often leaving what he was doing to help others with a greater need. As a man who did not wear his heroics on his sleeve—I only heard about his acts of kindness from others. He lost his battle with stomach cancer a few years ago, and I can say with great confidence that, unlike most of the rest of us mortals, his life was even bigger than his stories.
Ever vigilant,
RT
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