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From the front page of the Oregonian:
[SIZE=14pt]To protect, serve and never let go[/SIZE]
Crisis - A man dangling from a ledge finds his fate riding on the strong arm of the law
Friday, February 09, 2007
MAXINE BERNSTEIN
Portland police Officers Michael Schmerber and Homero Reynaga raced into a Southeast Portland assisted living center, finding two staff members stretched out a third-floor window desperately clinging to a 72-year-old, 240-pound man teetering on a ledge below.
The officers pushed their way into the narrow window: Schmerber stood on a large cushioned chair to gain leverage, grabbing the man's left wrist. Reynaga, his foot leaning against a wall, gripped the man's right wrist.
The man suffered from dementia and could not fully grasp the danger he was in. He also couldn't maneuver himself, his legs immobile because of heavy dressings on each. So the two young cops found themselves supporting his full weight, the only ones standing between the man's life and death. "We're not going to let you go," Schmerber assured the man.
But Reynaga saw the man's wrists bleeding, his skin peeling. Firefighters followed on the heels of police. The first engine truck's 24-foot ladder wasn't high enough. An aerial truck arrived, but firefighters felt it too risky to take the man down the ladder because of his size and immobility.
They had to wait for a bucket truck from downtown.
As the minutes passed, Schmerber and Reynaga adjusted their grips, struggling to hold the heavy man.
Firefighters raced upstairs. As firefighter Steven Johnson got in place, he heard the officers say, "We're losing our grip."
Resident breaks window
The 72-year-old man had been admitted Monday to the St. Andrews Care Center, a stately 1921 building at Southeast 76th Avenue and Main Street. The center holds 80 residents who suffer from Alzheimer's or dementia. That evening, the man wandered down the third-floor hallway and broke out a window, saying he was trying to get some fresh air. The staff used cardboard and tape to patch up the window, which was about a foot and a half wide and 2 feet tall. They tried to block it off with furniture and a screen.
But sometime later, the man returned and climbed out the window. A staff member called 9-1-1 at 10:32 p.m.
It was the first call of the night for Schmerber, 30, who is going on six years with Portland police, having followed in the law enforcement path of his older brother, a Hillsboro lieutenant. Reynaga, 35, came to Portland police in June 1998 because he wanted the action of a bigger city after working for Molalla police for 31/2 years. He wasn't far from the care center when he got the call.
As Schmerber pulled up to the south side of the building at 10:35 p.m., he could see the man's legs dangling from above. He shined his patrol car's spotlight on him. He and Reynaga rushed inside.
Reynaga, the more muscular of the two officers at 5 feet 9, 215 pounds, squeezed into the narrow window opening, shoulder to shoulder with Schmerber, smaller at 5 feet 6, 220 pounds, as they reached out to take hold of the man's wrists.
Reynaga benches weights every day, but his workouts never prepared him for this. The two officers first tried to pull the man up from the 8-inch-wide ledge. They tried to cinch a belt around his waist.
"We grabbed arms, clothing," Schmerber said.
"But the window was so narrow there was no way of pulling him back," Reynaga said.
"We were kind of stuck," Schmerber added. Other officers radioed for Portland fire to respond as Reynaga and Schmerber struggled to hold the man.
"We pretty much explained to him we were going to be there for the long haul," Schmerber said.
"We're doing our best"
The 72-year-old man was coherent, able to answer questions. Officers realized that he wasn't suicidal, he had just wanted to get out of the center.
The man pleaded with the officers to leave him be. His lower body faced outward toward Main Street; his upper body was twisted toward the building, his arms extended over his head.
"Please, let go of my arms," the officers heard the man say. He said his legs hurt and didn't know how much longer he could last, the officers recalled.
Schmerber, who is trained as a crisis intervention officer, worked to calm the man. Yet the officer's mind raced ahead. What would happen if the man suddenly got furious and struggled to break free?
"Your wheels are turning. If things go for the worse," Schmerber recalled thinking, "we're leaning out this little tiny window. . . . How are we going to do this?"
The officers were starting to feel strain in their arms and legs as well, but they didn't let on to the man.
"No, we're not going to let go of you," Schmerber kept saying. "We're doing our best, and others are on their way to help." But Reynaga acknowledged, "It seemed like forever."
"You start feeling the fatigue in you, but you think, 'It's OK, it's not that bad . . . and what's the alternative?' " Schmerber said. "Either you hold on, or the guy is going to drop."
When they felt their grip slipping, the two officers worked together to reach down and pull the man closer to the window, then reapply their wrist holds. "Any point we felt him slipping, we'd say, 'Hey, hang on, we're going to pull you up. It's going to hurt,' " Schmerber recalled, and they'd reach down to grab his belt or shirt and yank him closer to them.
Fire Engine 19 arrived at 10:44 p.m. But its 24-foot ladder wouldn't reach the ledge. Firefighter Johnson, 32, and his partner, Steve Sparks, 40, ran to the third story. Two other adjacent window panels were bolted shut. Johnson grabbed his Leatherman tool and unbolted one of the windows.
"We need to get some kind of rope around this gentleman," Johnson recalled thinking.
He saw the officers struggling to hold on as the man's buttocks had almost entirely slipped off the ledge.
Johnson went around to another panel of windows. His partner busted one out with a police baton. Because of the urgency, Johnson crawled out onto a third-floor ledge nearby. Sparks leaned out the window, holding Johnson by his belt.
That's when Johnson heard the officers say, "We're losing our grip."
Roped, then rescued
Johnson approached the man and wrapped ropes around one of his legs and his waist. He connected the ropes to make a harness, then threw the end of the rope back up to the bank of windows by the police officers.
Police Sgt. Scott Westerman, who was on the scene by then, grabbed the harness.
By 10:48 p.m., firefighters tried to position an aerial ladder next to the man, but decided that taking him down that way wouldn't be safe. They radioed for the downtown bucket truck, which arrived by 11:07 p.m. It took some time to move the aerial ladder truck and position the bucket truck in the rear parking lot. Finally, the bucket was raised with a couple of firefighters inside, reaching out for the man.
By 11:20 p.m., firefighters radioed that the man was "in the bucket coming down now."
By the time Reynaga and Schmerber released their grips, 45 minutes had passed. They stepped back into the third-floor hallway. Reynaga's hands were trembling.
"I couldn't write," he said. "They were shaking."
Schmerber said his right arm felt hot, itchy. He saw red speckles on it -- he had ruptured hundreds of blood vessels.
"The police officers were phenomenal," said Johnson, the firefighter. "The guy wasn't able to assist so they were basically holding dead weight."
Schmerber said it was a collaborative effort. "We did our deal to hold the fort until the fire guys arrived," he said. "We all pretty much worked as a team."
Reynaga shrugged off their efforts as part of the job, what any cop would do.
Once the man was taken by ambulance to Providence St. Vincent Medical Center, the police and firefighters packed up their gear.
Outside, they exchanged high-fives, and cleared themselves for the next call.
Maxine Bernstein: 503-221-8212; [email protected]
[SIZE=14pt]To protect, serve and never let go[/SIZE]
Crisis - A man dangling from a ledge finds his fate riding on the strong arm of the law
Friday, February 09, 2007
MAXINE BERNSTEIN
Portland police Officers Michael Schmerber and Homero Reynaga raced into a Southeast Portland assisted living center, finding two staff members stretched out a third-floor window desperately clinging to a 72-year-old, 240-pound man teetering on a ledge below.
The officers pushed their way into the narrow window: Schmerber stood on a large cushioned chair to gain leverage, grabbing the man's left wrist. Reynaga, his foot leaning against a wall, gripped the man's right wrist.
The man suffered from dementia and could not fully grasp the danger he was in. He also couldn't maneuver himself, his legs immobile because of heavy dressings on each. So the two young cops found themselves supporting his full weight, the only ones standing between the man's life and death. "We're not going to let you go," Schmerber assured the man.
But Reynaga saw the man's wrists bleeding, his skin peeling. Firefighters followed on the heels of police. The first engine truck's 24-foot ladder wasn't high enough. An aerial truck arrived, but firefighters felt it too risky to take the man down the ladder because of his size and immobility.
They had to wait for a bucket truck from downtown.
As the minutes passed, Schmerber and Reynaga adjusted their grips, struggling to hold the heavy man.
Firefighters raced upstairs. As firefighter Steven Johnson got in place, he heard the officers say, "We're losing our grip."
Resident breaks window
The 72-year-old man had been admitted Monday to the St. Andrews Care Center, a stately 1921 building at Southeast 76th Avenue and Main Street. The center holds 80 residents who suffer from Alzheimer's or dementia. That evening, the man wandered down the third-floor hallway and broke out a window, saying he was trying to get some fresh air. The staff used cardboard and tape to patch up the window, which was about a foot and a half wide and 2 feet tall. They tried to block it off with furniture and a screen.
But sometime later, the man returned and climbed out the window. A staff member called 9-1-1 at 10:32 p.m.
It was the first call of the night for Schmerber, 30, who is going on six years with Portland police, having followed in the law enforcement path of his older brother, a Hillsboro lieutenant. Reynaga, 35, came to Portland police in June 1998 because he wanted the action of a bigger city after working for Molalla police for 31/2 years. He wasn't far from the care center when he got the call.
As Schmerber pulled up to the south side of the building at 10:35 p.m., he could see the man's legs dangling from above. He shined his patrol car's spotlight on him. He and Reynaga rushed inside.
Reynaga, the more muscular of the two officers at 5 feet 9, 215 pounds, squeezed into the narrow window opening, shoulder to shoulder with Schmerber, smaller at 5 feet 6, 220 pounds, as they reached out to take hold of the man's wrists.
Reynaga benches weights every day, but his workouts never prepared him for this. The two officers first tried to pull the man up from the 8-inch-wide ledge. They tried to cinch a belt around his waist.
"We grabbed arms, clothing," Schmerber said.
"But the window was so narrow there was no way of pulling him back," Reynaga said.
"We were kind of stuck," Schmerber added. Other officers radioed for Portland fire to respond as Reynaga and Schmerber struggled to hold the man.
"We pretty much explained to him we were going to be there for the long haul," Schmerber said.
"We're doing our best"
The 72-year-old man was coherent, able to answer questions. Officers realized that he wasn't suicidal, he had just wanted to get out of the center.
The man pleaded with the officers to leave him be. His lower body faced outward toward Main Street; his upper body was twisted toward the building, his arms extended over his head.
"Please, let go of my arms," the officers heard the man say. He said his legs hurt and didn't know how much longer he could last, the officers recalled.
Schmerber, who is trained as a crisis intervention officer, worked to calm the man. Yet the officer's mind raced ahead. What would happen if the man suddenly got furious and struggled to break free?
"Your wheels are turning. If things go for the worse," Schmerber recalled thinking, "we're leaning out this little tiny window. . . . How are we going to do this?"
The officers were starting to feel strain in their arms and legs as well, but they didn't let on to the man.
"No, we're not going to let go of you," Schmerber kept saying. "We're doing our best, and others are on their way to help." But Reynaga acknowledged, "It seemed like forever."
"You start feeling the fatigue in you, but you think, 'It's OK, it's not that bad . . . and what's the alternative?' " Schmerber said. "Either you hold on, or the guy is going to drop."
When they felt their grip slipping, the two officers worked together to reach down and pull the man closer to the window, then reapply their wrist holds. "Any point we felt him slipping, we'd say, 'Hey, hang on, we're going to pull you up. It's going to hurt,' " Schmerber recalled, and they'd reach down to grab his belt or shirt and yank him closer to them.
Fire Engine 19 arrived at 10:44 p.m. But its 24-foot ladder wouldn't reach the ledge. Firefighter Johnson, 32, and his partner, Steve Sparks, 40, ran to the third story. Two other adjacent window panels were bolted shut. Johnson grabbed his Leatherman tool and unbolted one of the windows.
"We need to get some kind of rope around this gentleman," Johnson recalled thinking.
He saw the officers struggling to hold on as the man's buttocks had almost entirely slipped off the ledge.
Johnson went around to another panel of windows. His partner busted one out with a police baton. Because of the urgency, Johnson crawled out onto a third-floor ledge nearby. Sparks leaned out the window, holding Johnson by his belt.
That's when Johnson heard the officers say, "We're losing our grip."
Roped, then rescued
Johnson approached the man and wrapped ropes around one of his legs and his waist. He connected the ropes to make a harness, then threw the end of the rope back up to the bank of windows by the police officers.
Police Sgt. Scott Westerman, who was on the scene by then, grabbed the harness.
By 10:48 p.m., firefighters tried to position an aerial ladder next to the man, but decided that taking him down that way wouldn't be safe. They radioed for the downtown bucket truck, which arrived by 11:07 p.m. It took some time to move the aerial ladder truck and position the bucket truck in the rear parking lot. Finally, the bucket was raised with a couple of firefighters inside, reaching out for the man.
By 11:20 p.m., firefighters radioed that the man was "in the bucket coming down now."
By the time Reynaga and Schmerber released their grips, 45 minutes had passed. They stepped back into the third-floor hallway. Reynaga's hands were trembling.
"I couldn't write," he said. "They were shaking."
Schmerber said his right arm felt hot, itchy. He saw red speckles on it -- he had ruptured hundreds of blood vessels.
"The police officers were phenomenal," said Johnson, the firefighter. "The guy wasn't able to assist so they were basically holding dead weight."
Schmerber said it was a collaborative effort. "We did our deal to hold the fort until the fire guys arrived," he said. "We all pretty much worked as a team."
Reynaga shrugged off their efforts as part of the job, what any cop would do.
Once the man was taken by ambulance to Providence St. Vincent Medical Center, the police and firefighters packed up their gear.
Outside, they exchanged high-fives, and cleared themselves for the next call.
Maxine Bernstein: 503-221-8212; [email protected]
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