Nov 18, 2008

 

By Jill Decker

Q: Why do the police print DUI checkpoint locations in the newspaper before they take place? Won’t drunk drivers just go a different way home?

The 411: Well, if they were thinking clearly, they would just avoid the whole mess and get a ride from a sober driver.  That’s the hope, but not always the reality.

The police started announcing DUI checkpoints in the early 1990s, based on a court ruling, though disclosure of the exact location was never required—and the police don’t announce the exact location, ahead of time.

Now the courts don’t mandate that the checkpoints be pre-announced at all, but the Visalia Police Department still does it. It gives people a head’s up so they can make a different choice—hopefully to get a designated driver or stay sober, Traffic Sgt. Bill Blankenship told me.

The police department has a zero tolerance policy for driving under the influence, he said. If a police officer stops someone who has been drinking, that driver will be checked to see if he’s intoxicated.

Driving under the influence “is a significant problem,” Blankenship said. Visalia’s “ranked high in the state for DUI crashes,” compared to other cities our size.

The location and time of the checkpoints aren’t specified in the newspaper. The police announce that a checkpoint is coming, the day it will take place and that’s all the head’s up you get, according to Blankenship.

But the word gets out fast—thanks to cell phones and texting—about where the checkpoints are and where drunk drivers should avoid on their way home.

Blankenship also said that on checkpoint nights there are enough officers on the streets of the Visalia with their eyes open for signs of intoxication in drivers, that even avoiding a checkpoint itself isn’t a sure bet that a tipsy driver will stay out of the law’s reach.

Aside from the dozen or so officers at the checkpoint, he said, the police typically “saturate” the city with personnel looking for unsafe drivers.

And they find those unsafe drivers—at and away from the checkpoints. Blankenship said that at one summer DUI checkpoint, the Visalia Police Department stopped 399 vehicles, gave 39 tickets, and made four arrests for driving under the influence. They also made four warrant arrests that night and found about 18 unlicensed drivers or drivers on a suspended license.

Plus one Visalia resident was arrested for hitting an officer in the face with a stylus—you know, the pointer for a personal digital assistant. And that citizen wasn’t even drunk!

Most people who are stopped at the checkpoint are more agreeable, Blankenship told me. He said that 90 percent of them are happy that the police are working to keep the streets safe.

Of course, not all are happy to be stopped, Blankenship said, but the unhappy ones are typically the ones the police are looking for—the intoxicated ones.

These checkpoints also net a lot of drivers with either suspended licenses or no license at all. Blankenship told me that alcohol is a factor when most suspended licenses are suspended, so it’s all related.

Q: How does the police department decide where a DUI checkpoint will be?

The 411: Traffic Sergeant Bill Blankenship navigated the answer to this question for me.

“We look at the routes DUI drivers take,” he said. These are the streets that have the most crashes, the most collisions, the most arrests involving drivers under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

From there, the road is evaluated on whether the checkpoint can be done safely. If the road’s speed limit is too high, it may not be suitable. If there’s not enough room on the sides for officers to conduct field sobriety tests and to hold intoxicated drivers—or to keep their cars until they are towed—then it wouldn’t be a suitable place for a DUI checkpoint, Blankenship said.

The police are required to post a sign that announces the DUI checkpoint ahead of it and in front of a turnoff that a driver can take to avoid the stop.

Blankenship said it’s not illegal to turn off to avoid the checkpoint, but if you do, expect that there are lots of cops in the area and they’ll pull you over if you give them a valid reason to. Blankenship said sometimes people turn off from the checkpoint and then toss alcohol containers out of their cars. I bet that’s probable cause to stop them.

Some drivers take even more extreme measures to avoid the checkpoint, like abandoning their car and running. Blankenship said that this summer a driver apparently didn’t notice the sign announcing the checkpoint, but soon realized what he was heading into. So he put his car into reverse and backed up for close to a block before plowing into a utility pole. Not good decision-making for someone who wants to stay out of custody.

What’s the 411?
The 411 checks out the answers to your questions on local law enforcement, firefighters, and emergency medical personnel. So if there’s a question weaving erratically across the lanes in your mind, send it to me at tk tk tk, I’ll be the designated fact finder. 
(Read the full article in our premier issue coming out November 2008)

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Nov 18, 2008

 

Unplug the Outlet, Shut Off the Stove:
A Plea for Home Fire Prevention
By Jim Blanks

I’ll be the first to admit that when it comes to fire safety, I am woefully negligent. On two occasions I have nearly burned down my kitchen. I light candles and leave the house. I plug sixty-five electronic items into a single outlet, never once considering that this could result in a devastating blaze.

I understand the risks in a theoretical sense: “Hey, that’s a lot of plugs to put in one outlet, hope there’s not a short.” Or “Wow, almost burned my face off trying to cook that chicken. That could’ve been a real disaster.” I, like many people, think of a fire as something that happens on television, to other people, but not to me, not to my loved ones.
This is an attitude that needs to be changed. After all, I am very much aware of the threat of home invasion (I lock my doors even when I’m home), of theft (I never forget to set the car alarm). I’m great at keeping danger out of my home, but what about the dangers that already exist within the home? 

According to the Visalia Fire Department website, I am not alone. “The public does not appreciate the magnitude of the fire problem in the home or the importance of doing its share to reduce fires in the home.” The result of home fires is very real, however. On average, 5,300 people die a year from fire; another 29,000 are injured, and property losses total over $9 billion. 
So what can be done to prevent home fires? Having a working smoke detector is a good start. When working properly, smoke detectors allow early fire detection and allow homeowners to extinguish small fires before they burn out of control. Fire Marshal Charlie Norman of the Visalia Fire Department reminds us that having a smoke detector is only valuable if it works properly. “You need to remember to change the batteries in the smoke detector,” he says.
Chief Norman also recommends clearing any dry brush from around the house as it can easily catch fire and affect the rest of the house. “Most of our advice for homeowners is seasonal. In the summer, keep the yards free of dry brush and debris. In the winter, be careful when using space heaters and never use your oven as a heater.”
With winter fast approaching and temperatures beginning to drop, many people will use space heaters to keep warm. But, remember a few things: Keep space heaters away from blankets and curtains, turn off space heaters before you go to bed, and never use space heaters to dry your clothing. These sound simple, and even though people probably know all of these tips many people don’t follow them. Portable space heaters are the leading cause of fire deaths from home heating equipment.
Another heating option during the winter months is having a fire in the fireplace. This too can be dangerous. Fireplaces and chimneys are the biggest cause of home heating equipment fires, mostly because people neglect to take a few easy steps. A service person should inspect the chimney once a year before it is used; also, never use lighter fluid to start a fire and don’t burn cardboard or trash in the fireplace—they can easily cause a chimney fire. 
Again, these are helpful tips that many of us already know; the important part is the execution.
One of the biggest causes of home fire in any season, Chief Norman says, is electrical equipment. “Sometimes you’ll have faulty wiring running through the house, but a lot of the time it’s having too many things plugged into an outlet.”
I can certainly identify with this situation. After all, it doesn’t seem dangerous. There is an open outlet, I have something to plug in, why not use the outlet? And if I run out of space, just hook up an extension cord, give myself three more outlets. “Best case scenario,” Chief Norman says, “you blow a fuse and all your equipment stops. Worst case scenario …” Worst case scenario, I join the list of statistics.
Unfortunately, this behavior seems to be an extension of a general attitude (that I too have shared): That fire isn’t really that big of a deal. Even if I start a fire, I can just put it out, no problem. But what happens if you can’t immediately put out the fire? A fire doubles in size every minute; within five minutes it can completely involve your house; within ten to fifteen minutes your house can be destroyed. That’s all it takes, fifteen minutes; by the time I finish writing this article my house could be destroyed. By the time you finish reading this article, it might be too late. 
Both the Visalia and Tulare Fire Departments urge people to take fire seriously. Test and maintain smoke detectors in the home; develop and practice an escape plan with family members. Essentially, be prepared. Visalia and Tulare Fire Departments offer home inspections upon request, and recently the Tulare Fire Department was awarded a grant from FEMA for additional smoke detectors as part of an effort to increase fire safety knowledge and prevention within the community.
Both fire departments use presentations in schools to educate young children about fire safety. And the children are listening. “My daughter reminds me to change the smoke detector batteries,” Chief Norman says. “My 6-year-old son told me the other day that we need to practice our emergency plan.” 
I remember the fire presentations of my own youth; I listened, too. But somehow as I grew older the message became softer. My 6-year-old self would be ashamed to see me now. He would say, “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to care about being safe? Do you even have an emergency plan?” And what would I tell him? I’m sorry? I’ll do better in the future? 
That’s what I have to do; it’s what we all need to do. I’ve already unplugged the overworked outlet. I’m creating an emergency plan. The 6 year old in me demands it. And after that, what comes next? What’s your next step? Take it.

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Nov 19, 2008

 

Tragedy—From a Different Perspective
By Bob Daughrity

I spent 30 years working for the California Highway Patrol. I’m no stranger to emergencies, accidents, injuries, or deaths. But my past as a first responder didn’t prepare me for being on the other side of a tragedy. Last Christmastime, I saw an emergency from a different perspective.

December 25, 2007
My wife, Karen and I spent Christmas following the family tradition: making the day special for our grandkids. We saw the bounty that Santa had delivered to our son Jason’s two boys in Coarsegold, allowed them to goad me into playing their new video games with them, and, later, we gorged on a delicious Christmas dinner with our daughter, Rhonda, at her home in Clovis.

As Karen and I lay in bed that evening we both remarked how beautiful the day had been and how much we loved each other. Karen told me how blessed we were to have such a good life. Little did I know as I drifted off to sleep that Christmas night our world would soon take a drastic turn.

As I woke up at around 7:30 the next morning I heard sirens. Sirens are not uncommon, so I didn’t give the noise a lot of thought. I went into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee and flipped to the all-important sports section of the paper. Karen usually rises earlier than I and takes a morning walk with our Queensland Heeler, Weema.

Karen and Weema usually return from their walk around 8:30 and at 9:10 I thought it was odd that I hadn’t heard them. I went out and looked down our street but didn’t see them so I quickly dressed and called Karen’s cell. I heard her ring tone in the distance, but my relief was short-lived as I tracked the sound to her purse, under a desk in our kitchen.

The clock now glared 9:28 and still Karen and Weema hadn’t returned. Worried, I drove my pickup along Clovis Avenue, which parallels the path they always walked on. A short portion of the path winds behind a residential section away from the road, but I drove alongside the rest of the path. They were nowhere to be seen. I also checked the nearby Starbucks but didn’t see the faces I was now urgently seeking.

The clock read 9:47 and I called Rhonda. She hadn’t seen her mother. I filled her in and asked for her help finding her mom. Back home, I phoned the Clovis Police Department. The dispatcher took my information and said she’d call me back within 15 minutes.

Unable to just sit and wait, I got into my pickup again and drove to an area where the pedestrian trail winds through a large orchard bounded by an irrigation canal. I was now thinking Karen could have been abducted and this area was most likely for this type of crime.

At 10:17 I called our son, Jason, a sergeant for the CHP in the Oakhurst Area. I left him a voicemail telling him Mom was missing and that I needed him to help look for her. In the short time it took him to call back he had been able to get support from the CHP Central Division Air Operations Unit. One of their airplanes was already in the air and was notified of the situation.

I recontacted Clovis P.D. and the dispatcher said that a black and white unit was enroute to my home. I asked the dispatcher what was happening and she said I would be informed when the officers arrived.

Within minutes, two units arrived: a patrol car and a motorcycle. My heart was in my throat and the world seemed to be going dark as a sergeant told me Karen and Weema had been hit by a car.

Trying to make sense of it, I explained that they always walk on the pathway. The sergeant said a driver had fallen asleep, run off the roadway and onto the pedestrian path where my beloved Karen and Weema were struck from behind.

When I asked how they were doing, the sergeant said, “All I can say is (Karen) was breathing when she left the scene but you need to get to the hospital right away.”

The sergeant said the motorcycle officer would help Rhonda and me get to Community Regional Medical Center in downtown Fresno, where Karen was transported. As we drove to CRMC, Rhonda and I prepared ourselves for the worst.

At the reception area of the CRMC emergency room I asked to see Karen. The receptionist looked over the roster and said, “We have no patient here by that name.”

“We were told by Clovis P.D. that she was brought in here by American Ambulance,” I said. Again the receptionist couldn’t find Karen’s name in her computer.

Frustrated, I asked her to call back to the emergency room treatment area but again we were met with the same answer. “She’s not back there.”

As I asked to speak to the emergency room supervisor, the emergency room coordinator entered the reception area and Rhonda and I followed him to a room reserved for the hospital Chaplin.

I looked at Rhonda and she looked back at me. “I’m going back into the treatment area to find your mom,” I said.

‘This is my wife’
The Clovis P.D. motorcycle officer took me from the Chaplin’s room, where I had met up with Jason, who briefed the many CHP officers who had arrived at the Emergency Room. Then, through a maze of treatment rooms we finally arrived at the last trauma area.

At first glance, I didn’t recognize the motionless body being attended to by the emergency room doctor. Karen was unconscious, her face was swollen and bruised, her eyes were taped shut, a life support breathing device was taped to her mouth and nose and a cervical collar covered her neck. Intravenous tubes dangled from the hanger and trailed into both arms. Electronic equipment flashed vital diagnostic information.

“This is my wife,” I told the attending physician. The doctor took my hand. “I’m sorry your wife had to go through this,” she said. Looking into the doctor’s eyes I asked, “Is she going to be okay?”

Her eyes drifted away from mine as she explained that Karen had been stabilized as best as could be expected but she suffered so many critical injuries that her blood pressure had dropped perilously low.

The doctor explained that Karen had a life-threatening closed-brain injury that they were closely monitoring. In addition, she suffered a basal skull fracture, a fracture/dislocation of her right shoulder/arm, a double pelvic fracture, and rib injuries plus numerous cuts and abrasions all over.

The E.R. doctor said Karen was being transferred to the Intensive Care Unit. She advised Rhonda and me to go upstairs and meet Karen there.

As I left the emergency room I met with CHP Motorcycle Sergeant Spino who told me his motorcycle crew was out searching for our dog, Weema.

Weema ran from the accident scene and witnesses said she appeared injured. He said when they found her he would see that she was taken to a veterinarian.

Rhonda, Jason, and I met Karen in the ICU where we got to touch her for the first time since her accident. As she lay in a deep coma with medical devices sustaining her life, my thoughts raced through the 40 years I had been married to her. I couldn’t stand to lose her.

As I was making the dreaded calls to inform our relatives and friends of the accident, the chief neuro-surgeon for CRMC, Dr. Myers, walked up and told me he needed to take Karen into emergency surgery right away. The pressure from the bleeding in her brain would kill her if they didn’t operate and relieve it.

At 7:00 Karen was taken to neuro-surgery for an emergency craniotomy. A large gathering of relatives and friends waited anxiously for any word on the outcome of the procedure.

At 9:30, we got news of the surgery—and some guarded relief. Dr. Myers came into the waiting room and said the surgery went well but Karen was not out of the woods. He said that she had taken quite a blow to her brain and it would take a long time to recover.

Karen stayed in the ICU at CRMC for seven days. For four of those days, she survived on life-support. She remained in a coma for five days and when she woke she was very lethargic and barely able to speak.

Healing and rehabilitation
From CRMC Karen was transferred to Horizon Sub-Acute Medical Care Facility where she underwent six weeks of healing and rehabilitation. There she was assisted in learning how to walk with her fractured pelvis. She went through intensive rehabilitation on her right shoulder, arm, and hand.

Her right hand remains partially paralyzed but doctors are optimistic she will regain full function. Karen continues her follow-up treatment for her other injuries.

Weema was found lying, injured, in a front yard near the scene of the accident. Clovis SPCA transported her to a local veterinarian where she was treated for abrasions and bruises. She stayed there overnight under observation and I picked her up the day after the accident.

Later, some of the puzzle pieces that made the day so confusing were put together and the details became clearer.

When Karen and Weema went for their walk the morning of the accident Karen was dressed in her jogging suit. She didn’t have her identification or her cell phone with her.

Karen was taken to CRMC and admitted as an anonymous patient, since no one knew her identity. Hospitals don’t use John or Jane Doe for patients who come in without identification any more. CRMC assigns names like the National Weather Service assigns hurricane names, beginning with the letter A and working through the alphabet as the season progresses. CRMC was down to the letter R, thus the name Raven was assigned to Karen and this was the name on her hospital identification wristband. We still chide her with the name Raven sometimes.

Karen was struck by the errant driver at approximately 7:20 a.m. on the Clovis pedestrian/bicycle trail where it winds through a residential section. This was the only place I didn’t thoroughly search that morning. You can see most of the trail from the roadway and this seemed the most unlikely place for a person to be struck by a vehicle.

Gratitude
Our family owes a debt of gratitude to the agencies whose superior actions and life-saving efforts helped us invaluably: Clovis Police Department, Clovis Fire Department, American Ambulance, California Highway Patrol Central Division and Fresno Area, Clovis SPCA, the doctors, nurses, and staff personnel at CRMC and Horizon Health. Without their quick response and dedication to duty, this story would have ended much differently.

More than nine months after Karen’s accident she is still experiencing pain and partial paralysis.  Under the care of doctors, specialists, and physical therapists, she attends weekly rehabilitation with hopes of some day being fully recovered.  Her attitude remains very positive.  She tells me almost daily that she is extremely thankful for the good Lord allowing her to continue on in life.

And I’m just as thankful that she continues to be the heart of my life. 

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Nov 19, 2008

 

Lori Canaba: Fit For Duty
By Kimberly Sherman

Erase any clichéd notions you may have about the husky cop hanging out in the local donut shop, and meet Lori Canaba, a bundle of energy neatly packaged into the title of Police Sergeant for the City of Tulare.

Canaba cherishes the time she spends donning badge and boots. “As a young lady I was told by several people that women did not belong in law enforcement, but my father told me to follow my dreams and to be good at whatever I decided to do,” she said. “I became a Tulare Police explorer when I was sixteen and this guided me and allowed me to see that this was the career that was meant for me.”

With two years under her belt as a patrol sergeant, Canaba has a total of 20 years law enforcement experience. “I am an expert in the field regarding sexual assaults,” she said. “As a detective, these were the cases that I was primarily assigned to investigate.” One of Canaba’s greatest accomplishments as an officer was the Tulare County Investigator of the Year award she received for her sexual assault investigations.

“Lori has won several awards over the years,” said Canaba’s supervisor, Captain Tom Munoz. “She received the Latino Peace Officer of the Year award, and she participated in the Police Olympics and won a medal for power lifting.”

Munoz appreciates the energy Canaba brings to the force in all aspects of her career. “One of the attributes I find most impressive is her innate ability to get people to talk to her,” he said. “Victims (of sexual crimes) tend to not want to open up. I am impressed with her ability to have both victims and suspects open up and truthfully admit what happened,” he said.

The many facets of Canaba’s career reach beyond patrol supervision. As an instructor for the Tulare-Kings Police Academy, she has been a physical fitness instructor for the past 13 years, teaching cadets the skills needed to become well-rounded officers. Lifting weights with her family is a regular activity in Canaba’s household, helping her refine both her physical endurance and teaching technique.

Canaba’s sexual assault investigation experience has also come into play at the academy. For the past ten years she has been an instructor for sexual assault classes as well as classes for future officers on how to communicate with the disabled. “Because I know sign language, I teach the portion regarding people who are hearing impaired,” she said.

Munoz recognizes the different pressures and stresses facing female officers being pulled between family and career. He appreciates Canaba’s diverse set of qualifications. “I look to Lori as a mentoring coach for female officers coming into service,” he said. “She has weathered all types of stress and remains successful. She is very well-balanced.”

In the hours left over after Canaba’s workday is done, she spends time with her family. “We like to take camping trips and go on long runs,” she said. “We are also big sports fans. We love the Dodgers, Galaxy, and the Lakers. We differ in football teams, though. I’m a Steelers fan,” she laughed.

Interested in becoming a police officer? Canaba suggests, “Go for it! Take plenty of writing classes, a typing class, and start working out. Follow your dreams, work hard and you can accomplish any goals you have set for yourself.”

For those not interested in the world of law enforcement, Canaba’s passionately makes a different recommendation. “Understand that there are so many more aspects to this job,” she said.  “Please take the time to schedule a ride-along so you can develop an understanding of what we do and how hard we work to protect the citizenry of Tulare.”

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Nov 19, 2008

 

The Pages in Between: A Cage Fighter’s Story
By Carole Firstman

They call him The Black Superman. His name is Carlton Jones. At six foot one and 255 pounds, this former linebacker is a lean, mean fighting machine—and current rising star in the ultra-macho sport of cage fighting.

To fans and followers of combat sports, Jones needs little introduction. Since taking up cage fighting less than three years ago, The Black Superman already has four wins to his name. He’s performed in Texas, Fresno, and Lemoore, and he’s in training for upcoming Palace Fighting Championship events at Tachi Palace Hotel and Casino later this year.

Jones is a tour de force to be sure—in more ways than one. Cage fighting is just what he does for fun. Jones is also a fire fighter for the City of Fresno, a City Councilman for the City of Tulare, a dedicated father, and a devoutly spiritual man. In a candid interview, this soft-spoken Goliath is an open book, revealing a surprisingly gentle nature.

And like a compelling novel, his multi-layered life story has a heroic main character. Our leading man is a complex figure who believes in the spirit of community and the power of living by example.

“I’m a team player,” Jones says when asked if there is an overarching theme to his life, “and I have a lot of teams. No man can do it alone.” His fellow firefighters, his City Council peers, even his opponents in the fighting ring—each group is a team, he says, working together and building relationships. “But my number one team,” he says emphatically, “is my family. My kids always come first.”

Plucked and Protected
Jones’s own childhood was an uphill climb. Hard knocks made him a go-getter kind of warrior, a kid who somehow emerged from his many struggles to find wisdom and a bit of clarity.

Born and raised in Tulare, Jones lived with his paternal grandmother from the tender age of four. His own family was riddled with drug and alcohol abuse, so he saw first-hand the downward spiral of addiction and its dismal, life-altering results. He credits his grandmother with giving him the stable home life and enduring love he needed to stay on the straight and narrow. “I never touched drugs as a teenager,” he says. “I was never even tempted. To this day I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in my life.”

Despite the many roadblocks he faced growing up, Jones has no regrets. “We’re all products of our environment. My parents’ decision to leave me with my grandmother turned out to be the best thing for me. Tulare is a tight-knit community, and my grandmother filled our home with love,” he says. “I was somehow plucked and protected by God. I wouldn’t trade my childhood for anything. Our past makes us who we are.”

Without much contact with his own father, Jones grew up relying on other male role models for guidance, often calling on his uncles and his friends’ parents. “I learned my compassion for people because of the help I got,” he says. As an adult he has a restored relationship with his father.

Now in his thirties, Carlton is a single father himself, with five kids—three of whom were adopted—ranging in age from four to fourteen. And when he’s not coaching his kids’ baseball, basketball, football, and soccer teams or working a 24-hour firehouse shift, this mountain of a man is often found in the City Council chambers sifting through staff reports and reviewing meeting minutes.

Jones is just the second black person in Tulare’s history to serve on the City Council. With African Americans accounting for only two percent of the county’s population and with half of Tulare’s black residents living below the poverty level, Jones’s position as an elected official is significant indeed.

His main concern is the fair treatment of all city employees and the open communication required for cooperation between the ranks. “This community gave so much to me when I was a kid,” he says. “Now I’m giving back.”
 
Long before taking a seat on the City Council four years ago, though, Jones began serving the community as a fireman. For the past fourteen years this gentle giant has been putting out fires, responding to emergencies, and keeping all of us safe and secure.

How does a firefighting hero become a cage-fighting star? Is there a connection? Or inversely, is there a discrepancy in motives or mission? “It’s just a sport,” Jones says with a disarming smile. “Pure sport.”

Out of the ring, he says, the other fighters are like him—regular guys who get along and go along. Many of his sparring partners and opponents have become close friends, in fact, even coming to his aid in times of need. But in the ring, it’s no-holds-barred; may the best man win.

Let the Games Begin
The sport of unarmed, man-to-man combat has been around a long time, predating it’s official inclusion in the Olympic Games of 648 BC. Like many long-standing cultural phenomena, this sport’s popularity and perceived legitimacy has waxed and waned through the centuries. Although it hasn’t been an Olympic sport for centuries, it’s definitely here to stay. Commonly referred to as cage fighting today, the sport’s official name is Mixed Martial Arts (MMA).

MMA is a full contact sport in which a variety of traditional and modern fighting techniques are used, including striking (kicks, knees, and punches) and grappling (throws, takedowns, sweeps, pinning holds, submission holds, and clinch holds).

Modern MMA first entered pop culture’s ring about fifteen years ago. In an effort to determine which martial arts disciplines would be most effective in real, unregulated combat situations, competitors of various arts were pitted against one another with minimal concern for rules or safety.

More recently, however, a few safety rules have been added. Biting, eye-gouging, and strikes to the groin are definite no-no’s. And the word on elbows, head butts, and spinal locks? The allowance of those maneuvers varies according to competition and organization. In other words: Even with rules, MMA is pretty much a he-men-only, all-out fight. No wimps allowed.

Want to see these tough guys in action? Join the crowd. “MMA is one of the fastest-growing sports in the country,” says Bruce Bucz of BB Advertising, the company that acquires sponsorships for local fight venues for one of the top-rated MMA event series in the nation—Palace Fight Champions, held in Lemoore. Televised via Comcast SportsNet, 3 million viewers from six western states are tuning in to catch the PFC bad-boys in action. “We’re lucky to have so many good fighters come from around the country to be featured in our own backyard,” says Bucz.

First Things First
When asked about his first MMA fight, Jones recalls two stories: The Would-Have-Been first fight and the For-Real first fight.

He was all set for what would have been his first fight—dressed and ready to go, hands taped. The Porterville event was under way, the crowd roaring. Jones was psyched, poised for action and ready for his turn in the ring. But at the very last minute he got a phone call that changed everything. His baby son had lapsed into seizure and was being rushed to Valley Children’s Hospital at that very moment.

“I apologized for about 10 seconds,” Jones says, and he was outta there, racing full speed from Porterville to Fresno. In taped hands, fighting shorts and all, he stormed through the hospital doors with Hulk-like authority, his only concern to find his 14-month-old son. “I spent five days in those shorts, by my son, in that hospital. I never left his side.” Today Jones’s baby boy is a healthy and happy four-year-old.

When he finally did enter the ring for the first time, Jones experienced the first-time jitters that all fighters know. New surroundings, the crowd’s frenzied cheers, the TV cameras, the lights, the expectations, the pressure—some new-timers say it’s hard to breathe and impossible to concentrate, let alone fight—and Jones was no exception. But every now and then there’s a guy who’s made to stand up in the ring, and then even a loss turns to a victory. And that’s Jones.

Winning a match is great, he admits, and he’s had his share in just a few short years, but Jones sees beyond the mere win-or-lose of a single event. The long-term camaraderie he’s developed with his fellow sportsmen over the years, the friendships he’s formed with the fighting-tribe with whom he trains and spars: the duel is in the ring, but the synergy of teamwork is all-pervasive.

Public protector, community leader, courageous sportsman, dedicated father. He’s The Black Superman, and he’s fierce. Fiercely courageous, that is, and fiercely himself. In his own words, “Don’t judge this book by its cover.”

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Nov 19, 2008

 

Anatomy of a 9-1-1 Call
What Really Happens at the Other End of the Line
By Aaron Collins

Justin Montoya is heading straight for the gate his dad installed to keep him safely away from the family swimming pool. The gate—which is now unlatched—is intended as a barrier for active and curious two-year-olds like Justin. It is there to prevent harm should the freak moment arise when any child—Justin or maybe a wandering neighbor kid—is unattended.

Just moments before, Justin’s mom, Jennifer (fictional names are used in this article), by all accounts a great mom, was there alongside him, watching over him in their Tulare home. But when one of their smoke alarms went off—having been malfunctioning intermittently the last few days—she bolted into the house to quiet it, but also to make sure it wasn’t, in fact, going off for good reason.

Her split-second concern and distraction, then her absence gives Justin the very opportunity he craves to explore. But the “smoke alarm incident” will take an unfortunate turn, becoming the “pool incident.” By the time Jennifer returns from quieting the device intended to keep everyone safe from fire, Justin is unconscious, having sunk precious minutes ago to the bottom of the deep, frigid water.

Thus begins the examination of the anatomy of a 9-1-1 call, often from those desperate to save the lives of their loved ones, or themselves.

Each call routes differently, depending on whether they are placed from a landline or cellular phone, according to Anna Smith, who is director of communications for the Tulare County Consolidated Ambulance Dispatch (TCCAD). Add new voice-over-internet services, and 9-1-1 systems have their work cut out for them, doing their best to have information in-hand even before a caller can give it—if the stricken even know where they are when disaster strikes. Depending on the nature of the emergency, calls may go to police, fire, or ambulance.

Clearly, Justin needs an ambulance. Jennifer dives in and pulls her limp and pale son from the water. Hearing her frantic screams, her neighbor, Bill Hallman, is over the fence and into the Montoya yard. Luckily, the real estate agent never leaves his house without his cell phone in hand—even on a sunny Saturday morning when he likes to enjoy his coffee in the garden. Home sales have slowed to a crawl lately, so his phone is his lifeline. Now it is also Justin’s.

STEP 1: The Call
Bill dials 9-1-1 from his cell. That means his call reaches the California Highway Patrol, rather than the Tulare Police Department, as it would have done if he had run into the Montoya home and dialed from their landline.

STEP 2: The Answer
The call-taker clearly says, “9-1-1, state your emergency.” Fortunately when asked, Bill is clear-headed enough to give the Montoyas’s address and his cell phone number, rather than his own address and landline next door. Also beneficial, he is still audible to the call-taker at the CHP over the din of Jennifer’s hysterical screams. Bill says, “We have a kid here who fell in the pool and isn’t breathing.” The CHP call-taker instructs Bill to stay on the line while she transfers him to ambulance dispatch.

STEP 3: The Hand-Off
The CHP quickly conferences Bill’s call with TCCAD, a nonprofit set up in 1990 to coordinate the various ambulance agencies in the area in order to streamline services and shorten response times. The CHP call-taker also advises the Tulare Police Department to send a City Fire first responder. At this point, the CHP call-taker hangs up, and CHP is no longer in the loop. (However, if Bill were calling about a traffic accident on a freeway, state highway, or county road, CHP would remain in the loop as a responder.)

STEP 4: Dispatching the Ambulance
Using a computer-aided dispatching system, the call-taker at TCCAD immediately inputs the address and chief complaint given verbally by the CHP call-taker on Bill’s behalf while he waits on the line. “Non-breathing child” is the succinct way to state that Justin wandered into the pool and has lungs full of water, inching closer to death as the seconds tick away.

While the call-taker remains on the line, a second TCCAD dispatcher looks at a computerized map with illuminated locations showing the ambulance currently nearest the Montoya address, and contacts that ambulance agency, one of several ambulance companies in the county served by TCCAD including American Medical Response, American Ambulance, Exeter Ambulance, LifeStar, Dinuba Fire, and Imperial.

Then the TCCAD dispatcher (dispatchers and call-takers are cross-trained and can perform either role) confirms with Tulare PD that Tulare City Fire is on the way, just to ensure that a call hasn’t mistakenly been dropped. The call-taker at TCCAD stays on the line with Bill, asks for an update about Justin, and offers life-saving pre-arrival instructions—in this case, Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation (CPR) specific to a two-year-old.

Information about Justin’s condition is gathered by the call-taker then relayed to the responding ambulance company en route to the Montoya home, so they know what is happening with him as they quickly maneuver the streets of Tulare, aware of his condition as they arrive.

STEP 5: Arrival
As the ambulance and fire personnel arrive at the Montoya home, they begin the work of saving Justin’s life, and the call-taker’s work is complete. Thus ends one of many such calls received on a typical day.

Fortunately, 9-1-1 calls like this one are executed in only a fraction of the time it took you to read this article. Those steps are handled by highly-trained dispatchers in an instant. And many emergency callers are unaware just how much medical information dispatchers are called upon to give in a number of diverse emergencies.

But with so many variables, response times can mean circumstances even more dire than Justin Montoya’s, situations whose outcomes are dependent on such factors as the location of an emergency. Tulare County covers an area larger than the state of Connecticut. Fully half of the county consists of remote, steep places, and despite advances in modern communications, large portions of the mountainous and rural parts of the county have sketchy or nonexistent cellular reception.

Kings County is flatter and less populous, and its system varies from that in Tulare County, too (it has no separate fire dispatch like Tulare County does). But the heavily trafficked Interstate 5 cuts through Kings, connecting people in a hurry to get between Los Angeles to the Bay Area mean a host of dire straits particularly in foggy winter months, when auto and big rig pile-ups are not uncommon.

Where technology remains a limited solution, rigorous training is the best response. Dispatchers at TCCAD receive training in-house on local policies and geographical familiarization. Additionally, they attend a twenty-four hour course in Emergency Medical Dispatch where they receive EMD certification. This certification is given by the National Academies of Emergency Dispatch (NAED), which also offers certifications in fire and police dispatching.

These dispatch protocols were initially developed in 1976 and have been refined and revised as standards and technologies change. EMD has become the national as well as the international standard of care and practice for medical dispatching.

That is why—although call routes vary according to the emergency—the information sought does not: Dispatchers are all trained to elicit the same information. Emergency medical dispatch follows a very specific line of questioning used to determine the chief complaint, the appropriate response, and the appropriate pre-arrival or post dispatch instructions. Law enforcement and fire also follow the same standardized routes to gathering 9-1-1 call information from people in perilous situations, panicking, or worse.

Agencies and dispatchers who maintain certifications and appropriately follow the protocol are legally protected because they have followed the accepted standards of care and practice. (The NAED offers legal protection to those it certifies who properly use the protocols, but continued certification requires continuing education totaling twenty-four hours every two years.)

The best advice for emergency callers, according to Anna Smith:

• Remain calm so that you can be understood by the 9-1-1 operator.

• When you’re at home, use your home phone—cordless if possible so that you can be near the patient—so that your home address and phone number will be transmitted automatically (9-1-1 operators will still confirm your address and phone number).

• Know where you are and where the ambulance is needed. Provide helpful information if you are in a location that is difficult to find.

• Listen to the directions given to you by the 9-1-1 operator.

• Understand that when a call-taker remains on the phone asking questions, this does not delay the ambulance response. As soon as the call-taker knows the address and the problem, the police, fire crew, or ambulance is dispatched. Call-takers remain on the line to obtain additional information that could be helpful to the crew responding or to provide you with pre-arrival/post dispatch instructions.

For the Justin and Jennifer Montoyas of the San Joaquin Valley, that advice may be at a level of detail they never thought they would need. Don’t we all, at least on some level. Thankfully, some very dedicated people will be working behind the scenes to keep response times as short as possible, to keep technology up-to-date when someday, inevitably, we have to make a heroic call seeking help from some unsung, anonymous heroes. Be looking for angels not only with wings, but with headsets scanning a computer map with your name on it.

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Nov 19, 2008

A Rare Tale Of Rescue
By Kimberly Sherman

The incident on Crenshaw Avenue in Visalia on the afternoon of January 6, 2008, is one that Visalia firefighters will never forget, for it was an atypical day filled with rescue of life, not recovery of bodies. It was a moment that would forever bond hero to victim.

On that lazy Sunday afternoon, Jeanette Hayes was frying bacon on her gas stove when she realized she needed something from the garage. In an attempt to avoid a fire, she gingerly moved the frying pan to a cold burner before heading outside. Her crucial error was leaving the vacant burner turned on.

Mere seconds passed, and when Jeanette returned to the kitchen, she found her wooden cabinets engulfed in flames, the horrific result of a few drops of grease splattered onto the heated burner. Jeanette grabbed her fire extinguisher, yet her hopes were dashed as the pin stuck, rendering the extinguisher useless.

Unable to put out the fire that would ultimately claim about half of her home, Jeanette called 9-1-1. As she dialed, she tripped and fell. The phone line remained open, allowing dispatch to hear her voice and relay to firefighters that someone was still alive inside the burning home.

As soon as she made the emergency call, Jeanette heard sirens in the distance. At that moment, her attention turned away from her home and her many animals. Instinct took over and Jeanette feared only for her own life. Somehow, she says, she knew in her heart that the moment the sirens stopped she would be safe. The firefighters would save her life— of that she was sure.

Visalia police officers Jared Hughes and Daniel Ford were first on scene and broke the windows of the home, listening for cries of help. “I could see black smoke and flames coming from what I thought was the kitchen area,” Officer Hughes said. “Both of us entered, coughing. I started to yell and heard a female yell back. I went to the rear to try to get closer to the voice and located a sliding glass door. I picked up a shovel, broke the glass and went in again. I looked up and saw flames over my head, and flashlights through the smoke.”

Without proper gear, the officers were forced to leave, but not before rescuing one of Jeanette’s precious family members. “I could hear a dog barking in a bedroom,” Officer Hughes said. “A citizen was with me and we went in for the dog and pulled it out of the house. I then helped the citizen and the dog over the rear fence to safety.”

Officers Hughes and Ford were later taken to the hospital and treated for smoke inhalation.

Jeanette clearly remembers the fervent sounds of chainsaws tearing through the bars on her front door. Iron safety bars designed for protection from intruders transformed into dogged obstacles, but a team of firefighters worked diligently to break through and pull her to safety.

Fire Captain Darrin Hughes was part of a thirteen-member crew that arrived that day. “We knew we had a viable rescue and needed to get to her,” he said. “Our rapid response, within a couple of minutes, allowed us to make it a rescue as opposed to a recovery. About 70 percent of victims are overcome with the fire and succumb to their injuries.”

Indeed, this rescue effort was the first of its kind for many of the firefighters. “This call was rare.  I think it would be safe to say that a lot of firemen go their entire career without this type of rescue,” Hughes said. “What was unique about this incident was that she was barely breathing. Another minute and she would’ve been unsalvageable.”

While Hughes contained the fingers of the flames with his fire hose, firefighter Dameon Malek found Jeanette sprawled, now motionless, on the floor. “They thought I was dead lying in the entry way staring at the ceiling with my eyes wide open,” Jeanette said.

With eight years of experience as a firefighter, six in Visalia, this was Malek’s first recovery. “The whole call went just as we trained, which is rare, because usually something goes wrong,” he said. “Everything went like a well-oiled machine; everything fell into place. There’s an element where you just fall back to what you have trained to do, and that was the case for me.”

Assisted by two other firefighters, Malek pulled an unconscious Jeanette out onto the back porch and resuscitated her.

Multiple cats and dogs were in the home when it erupted into flames. Crews continued the search for the animals, many of which were lethargic, scared, and hiding in the house. “They recouped a lot of animals,” Hughes said. “They were brought out, and those that were still alive were resuscitated.”

For many, the story of rescue would end here. As a first responder with a heart of gold, however, Malek’s continued follow up with Jeanette, a victim without a family, is a true act of heroism. Malek has made it a point to correspond, off-duty, with Jeanette and continue helping her in any way he can. Hughes said that five other firefighters were also deeply moved by the rescue and have visited Jeanette to wish her well.

 “A sleeping fireman dreams about being involved in a rescue situation. We go to calls every day that are depressing and discouraging, so it’s a help to us when we can see people and they can thank us,” said Malek. “This was one of those situations, and we appreciate it. That’s why we do this job—to try and make a difference, to turn a negative situation into a positive.”

After a three month stint in Kaweah Delta Hospital, Jeanette moved to Tulare Memorial Convalescent home, where she is still on the mend for burns across her back and on her arms and hands.

Though she misses her fallen animals terribly, Jeanette remains hopeful and thankful for the new friends she has gained in firefighters from medic engines 51 and 52. “They all did a really good job,” she said. “They truly saved my life.”

It’s sometimes difficult for the average citizen to wrap his head around the nature of the typical first-responder, who duly maintains an altruistic mentality in any life-threatening incident. 
The Crenshaw incident was a textbook example of that selfless mentality, summed up best by Officer Hughes, “If anyone deserves credit for what happened, it’s God. He placed the right people in the right places so that they could all help.”

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