Several years ago, my sister Katy and I spent the day at Kansas City's Bartle Hall with several of our precious treasures, only to find out that they were mostly sentimental in value. I believe I blogged at the time about being a Roadshow loser. Well, this past Saturday, another appraisal fair came to Kansas City, and my sister Mary and I decided to attend, with even more collectibles in hand.
The fair took place as a fundraiser for the Wornall House, a historic Civil War home and small museum. There was already a huge crowd gathered when we arrived at 10am, and we took our place in the long line outside in the sun waiting to enter the large tent. After about an hour or so of waiting, we got to the entrance of the tent, paid our $25 each and received three "general line" tickets for the three items we each brought to be appraised. There were only two specialist appraisers there, one for artwork and one for pottery/glassware, and the others were for all other items. Those, of course, were the longest lines, and the ones to which we were directed.
Just as with the official Antiques Roadshow event several years ago, there was an eclectic group of people and items under the tent. The young and old, and everyone in between, had come with everything from portraits to toys to lamps to books. There were sculptures, old photographs, samplers and even a harp. Mary had brought a trinket box she purchased in France in the mid '70s, a teddy bear that was Mom's, and a doll that was my grandmother's. I learned my lesson the first time around and brought light-weight items: a first-edition Stuart Little book autographed by the illustrator, Garth Williams, my autographed picture collection (I was most interested in the autograph of Groucho Marx) and my Mom's sterling silver charm bracelet from the '40s.
The wait in line was just awful. It was horribly hot outside, and it was even worse in the tent. The air was super still, and we were all very cramped together. Even though everyone tried to keep their spirits up, it was difficult, especially in our line, as it was definitely the slowest. (Kind of like when you choose the wrong line at Wal-Mart or the grocery store, and it ends up taking twice as long as it should...)
All of a sudden, I heard a slight commotion behind us in line. I say slight because I could tell something was happening, but I couldn't really tell if it was a big deal or not. Mary and I both turned around, and I immediately saw that an elderly man had collapsed and was laying on the ground. The people directly around him were doing absolutely nothing but looking at him, and looking around to see if anyone was going to do anything. The two ladies behind me were asking aloud to each other, "I wonder if someone should do something", yet taking no action whatsoever. Others began to join in by, well, simply standing there and staring. It was ridiculous to see a seemingly intelligent group of people have no clue about what to do in an emergency (or, at the very least, medical) situation.
My adrenaline (or was it just common sense?) took over immediately. First, I yelled across the tent to one of the Wornall House volunteers to get help. She was just a young girl, maybe 19 or 20 years old, and I think she purposely ignored my pleas for assistance as not to get involved. Then, I yelled to another volunteer, an older man this time, who saw what had happened and said he'd go get a wheelchair.
In the meantime, I got my cell phone and called 911. (I'll preface what I'm about to write by saying in my own small town if there is an emergency, I dial the direct number into Central Dispatch. Of course dialing 911 would work just as well, but being a cop's wife, I just feel like I can dial direct.) Anyway, I dialed those important three numbers, your supposed lifeline in the case of any emergency, and what did I get on the other end of the line? A recorded message telling me that all dispatchers were busy, but to stay on the line, because if I hang up, it will take even longer to get someone to help me. I was thoroughly appalled. I had to wait approximately three minutes before a real person answered the phone to speak to me! The first person then transferred me to another person, who asked me a lot of questions, some of which I could answer, and others I asked the wife of the man who had fallen. He was 93 years old, he didn't have any heart problems and he was breathing regularly. They were sending an ambulance, and we were to meet them on Wornall Road, if at all possible.
After hanging up the phone, the male volunteer who had gotten the wheelchair chastised me, saying quite rudely, "You didn't need to call 911. We had it under control. All he did was fall down." Another volunteer, also a man, had a similar opinion and had no qualms about voicing it to me. I told both of them that I was a cop's wife, that 911 needed to be called, and that the gentlemen needed to be checked out by medical professionals.
Soon after, the ambulance arrived. About 15 or so minutes later, I felt the need to go and make sure that the man was going to be okay. The paramedics said that his vitals were stable, but they were going to check him again in about 30 minutes. Between the heat and standing for too long in that tent, it was just too much for him. (Join the club...it was too much for most of us!)
I then turned to his wife to see if if there anything else I could do. "Well, honey," she said with a half smile, holding out a large manila-colored envelope, "I still want to have my item appraised."
"I will make sure that you are at the front of the line. That's the least they can do for you!" I guaranteed her. Taking her item, I went up to the front of the line and explained the situation, pointing to the ambulance a mere 25 feet away. The woman volunteer promised that the couple's item would be next in line, and I watched to make sure that it was.
At the end of the day, my own items weren't appraised for thousands, although Mom's bracelet is worth about $400, which is kind of cool.
I'd like to think, though, that I was under that tent, at that particular time, for a whole different reason. Two men may disagree with me, but I hope that at least one 93-year-old man agrees.
Labels: 911, Antique Roadshow, Good Samaritan
