Abstract:
Sisters Violet and Iris Carey died last week in a gas explosion that
could have happened in any of our homes, instead of theirs, that could have
happened up the street or down, in Westwood or Hingham instead of Hopkinton.
Why the Careys, not the Smiths or Joneses?
Instead of stopping the train for EMTs at the West Newton or Auburndale
stations - with their "Safety First" signs posted at the top of 35
creaky wooden steps - the train kept going to Back Bay.
Yesterday by the sweltering mess outside South Station (cranes and massive
piles of dirt and hard hats and "The Big Dig - Worth Its Wait"
signs everywhere), several commuters said they were stunned to know that an
MBTA train would actually stop to pick up and let off riders when a
passenger had suffered cardiac arrest.
| Full Text: |
| Copyright Boston Herald Library Aug
1, 2002 |
There are few things scarier than random tragedy.
There are few moments more upsetting than finding out the
people who're supposed to know what they're doing don't.
Sisters Violet and Iris Carey died last week in a gas
explosion that could have happened in any of our homes, instead of theirs,
that could have happened up the street or down, in Westwood or Hingham
instead of Hopkinton. Why the Careys, not the Smiths or Joneses?
"Heat with oil," some of us used to tell
ourselves. "Then we won't have to worry."
Now we know. So you don't heat with gas. But you may have
a gas stove or gas hot water heater or gas firing the oil furnace or gas in
pipes under or around your yard or in front of your house.
There the workers sometimes put "dig safe"
arrows to tell you they've checked and it's now OK.
But how do you know they know?
Gas lines running into the Careys' home showed no
apparent signs of damage, investigators said.
Everything seemed fine, until a home imploded at 1:30
a.m., with no one to point to or blame, dispelling our comfortable illusions
of immunity or our ability to separate ourselves from them because they did
something wrong. They did nothing wrong.
Tara Carey put her little girls to bed that night as she
had done for hundreds of nights before, one girl on one side, one on the
other, reading bedtime stories, going through back-to-school catalogs, doors
locked, all quiet, safe and sound.
The soft rhythmic breathing of sleeping children is one
of the most peaceful, all's-right-with-the-world sounds on Earth.Or so they
thought.
Then comes the story of Wellesley scientist James Allen.
He did nothing wrong either except maybe to assume, as
most of us do, that if something awful happened between Wellesley and
Boston, the men and women in those crisp blue uniforms would know what to
do.
So Tuesday morning Allen took the commuter train to work
as he had every morning for years. Only this time, he went into cardiac
arrest.
Instead of stopping the train for EMTs at the West Newton
or Auburndale stations - with their "Safety First" signs posted at
the top of 35 creaky wooden steps - the train kept going to Back Bay.
This took extra minutes that might have made a crucial
difference to James Allen's survival.
Yesterday by the sweltering mess outside South Station
(cranes and massive piles of dirt and hard hats and "The Big Dig -
Worth Its Wait" signs everywhere), several commuters said they were
stunned to know that an MBTA train would actually stop to pick up and let
off riders when a passenger had suffered cardiac arrest.
They were quick to ridicule the Green Line, where
half-empty trains routinely breeze by clusters of waiting passengers on
Beacon Street or Commonwealth Avenue.
But most spoke glowingly of commuter trains: on-time,
professional staff, and a pleasant commuting atmosphere one rider described
as "European in feel."
Joe Plett, who typically commutes from Lowell to North
Station, deadpanned, "I'm going to have to start bringing my own
paddles with me now, just to be safe." Yet even he called the commuter
rail "a jewel in the crown" of the "T."
Katherine Boone, a longtime Franklin line rider, said her
trains have stopped many times for medical problems, like women in labor.
She called it "unnerving" to learn what had happened to James
Allen. There are just certain things you expect, she said.
That doctors mostly know what they're doing. So does your
stockbroker, more or less. That your mechanic can fix your car.
That when "you're gasping for breath or bleeding on
a public train, everything would screech to a halt to help you," Boone
said.
And that the people in charge would know what to do. She
said she's not sure what to expect anymore.
Margery Eagan's radio show airs noon to 1 p.m. on 96.9
FM-Talk.
