Thanks.
Thanks.
This is what happened:
I was driving home from work like a normal white guy does, listening to a story about Billy the Mountain and Studebaker Hoch, and veering from the white ribbon onto the proper exit ramp.
I glanced across the overpass to my left to check for cars before turning right, and I saw an odd thing. There was a fellow on the outside of the security fence, and he was maneuvering his way over the interstate.
Wait...
What...
Holy fuck.
I turned left.
As I stopped the car on the side of the bridge directly across from him, I frantically tried to remember the number for 911. The operator told me she had received several calls. I stepped out of the car and froggered through the traffic to talk to him.
“Hey man, I know these are crazy times, but maybe you can come back around the corner and let's talk about this.” I had no plan on what to say---dealing with suicidal people is not my day job---but I felt like I had to do something, and I had to do it calmly to defuse the situation.
I don't think I've ever seen that much pain in a man's face. Tears and snot were flowing freely, and he was very much a man on a mission. He was 25 to 30, dressed in a t-shirt and khakis, and he had a death grip on the chain-link. His Chuck Taylor All-Stars were on the metal pipe that runs across the bottom of the fencing, his left foot pointing due east, his right due west. That pipe was the only thing between him and the breakdown lane below, and he was laboriously inching his way over the north-bound traffic.
“It's not worth it...it's not worth it...”
“Man, things change all the time. Tomorrow's another day, and we really need every good man right now.”
“I'm not a good man!,” he blurted out through his sobs, “I'm an abusive asshole!”
Hmm.
“My wife kicked me out, she said I'll never see my kids again!,” steadily moving his way over the slow lane where he wanted to be.
“Man, I've been through two major custody battles, they can't keep you from seeing your kids. Look...you're upset and you're not thinking clearly. Come back over here and let's talk this out.”
Traffic was still flowing across the bridge behind me. Where are the cops?
Another fellow joined me to my left. “Hey buddy, what's your name?” He didn't respond. “Where do you live?”
“I'm homeless...my wife just kicked me out!”
Another man joined, followed by a small Mexican lady.
She said, “Sir, don't do this! You have people who care about you!”
“NOBODY CARES!” he screamed.
Suddenly these three new arrivals started telling him how they care, and how much they care, and how much they love him. I was no longer talking with him. I had lost any angle I had.
He looked down to the interstate below to assure he was where he needed to be. Then he looked at the four of us, like he couldn't believe the crap he was hearing, and he shook his head.
Then he leaned back, his arms and legs fully extended. His death grip loosened, and his fingers slowly slipped off the chain-link, to the middle knuckles, then to just the first knuckles of his index and middle fingers. None of us were talking now, because we were far too busy watching a man kill himself. He took a deep breath, and his face went calm.
“Dude, everybody makes mistakes!” I yelled. “I screw things up all the time! This guy here [I grabbed the arm of the stranger on my left] is a major fuck-up! This woman [I pointed my thumb at the lady] messes up everything she touches! (“It's true, I do!” she said.) “You need to come back around this corner, and be the father that your children need you to be!”
He opened his eyes and looked directly into mine. And he pulled himself back upright. Holy fuck, where are the cops?
I looked to my right. There was a patrol car maneuvering to block traffic. I looked to my left to see that end being blocked as well, and a trooper walking towards us. I quickly walked to meet him to tell him what I knew. He waved me off. “Sir, go back to your car.” And as we got back to the others, “You need to return to your vehicles, and get off the bridge.”
Well? Um. Okay? I mean...well?...okay.
As I crossed back to my car, I turned and said firmly, “Dude, you have to be the man your kids need you to be!” The cop waved me along.
I drove off the bridge to the northeast corner, where there was an overlook about 100 yards away. Two police officers were talking to him by this time. And he leaned back again. Dear God, I don't need to see this.
I put my hand over my rapidly beating heart, just to try to control myself, and I felt the crucifix on my necklace...and I began praying. I prayed that God would help this man find and use the strength he had inside him.
After about 30 seconds, he pulled himself upright again, inched his way back around the corner of the chain-link, and laid down on the bridge to be cuffed.
I talked with my brother a little later, and the question came up, “What if he was a pedophile?” We decided he would likely get beat to death in prison, and a painful prolonged beating would be much better than a quick death by a passing semi, and all of the collateral damage and potential death that would bring.
I wonder if, when that other fellow tells the story, he leaves out the part where I called him a major fuck-up.
_______________
Hi guys. I started s/ThingsThatShape for interesting or odd or terrifying true stories that have made an impact on your life in some way.
We've all had our lives shaped by events. If you feel the lessons you've learned may be of interest to others, please share!
This is what happened:
I was driving home from work like a normal white guy does, listening to a story about Billy the Mountain and Studebaker Hoch, and veering from the white ribbon onto the proper exit ramp.
I glanced across the overpass to my left to check for cars before turning right, and I saw an odd thing. There was a fellow on the outside of the security fence, and he was maneuvering his way over the interstate.
Wait...
What...
Holy fuck.
I turned left.
As I stopped the car on the side of the bridge directly across from him, I frantically tried to remember the number for 911. The operator told me she had received several calls. I stepped out of the car and froggered through the traffic to talk to him.
“Hey man, I know these are crazy times, but maybe you can come back around the corner and let's talk about this.” I had no plan on what to say---dealing with suicidal people is not my day job---but I felt like I had to do something, and I had to do it calmly to defuse the situation.
I don't think I've ever seen that much pain in a man's face. Tears and snot were flowing freely, and he was very much a man on a mission. He was 25 to 30, dressed in a t-shirt and khakis, and he had a death grip on the chain-link. His Chuck Taylor All-Stars were on the metal pipe that runs across the bottom of the fencing, his left foot pointing due east, his right due west. That pipe was the only thing between him and the breakdown lane below, and he was laboriously inching his way over the north-bound traffic.
“It's not worth it...it's not worth it...”
“Man, things change all the time. Tomorrow's another day, and we really need every good man right now.”
“I'm not a good man!,” he blurted out through his sobs, “I'm an abusive asshole!”
Hmm.
“My wife kicked me out, she said I'll never see my kids again!,” steadily moving his way over the slow lane where he wanted to be.
“Man, I've been through two major custody battles, they can't keep you from seeing your kids. Look...you're upset and you're not thinking clearly. Come back over here and let's talk this out.”
Traffic was still flowing across the bridge behind me. Where are the cops?
Another fellow joined me to my left. “Hey buddy, what's your name?” He didn't respond. “Where do you live?”
“I'm homeless...my wife just kicked me out!”
Another man joined, followed by a small Mexican lady.
She said, “Sir, don't do this! You have people who care about you!”
“NOBODY CARES!” he screamed.
Suddenly these three new arrivals started telling him how they care, and how much they care, and how much they love him. I was no longer talking with him. I had lost any angle I had.
He looked down to the interstate below to assure he was where he needed to be. Then he looked at the four of us, like he couldn't believe the crap he was hearing, and he shook his head.
Then he leaned back, his arms and legs fully extended. His death grip loosened, and his fingers slowly slipped off the chain-link, to the middle knuckles, then to just the first knuckles of his index and middle fingers. None of us were talking now, because we were far too busy watching a man kill himself. He took a deep breath, and his face went calm.
*“Dude, everybody makes mistakes!”* I yelled. *“I screw things up all the time! This guy here* [I grabbed the arm of the stranger on my left] *is a major fuck-up! This woman* [I pointed my thumb at the lady] *messes up everything she touches!* (“It's true, I do!” she said.) *“You need to come back around this corner, and be the father that your children need you to be!”*
He opened his eyes and looked directly into mine. And he pulled himself back upright. Holy fuck, where are the cops?
I looked to my right. There was a patrol car maneuvering to block traffic. I looked to my left to see that end being blocked as well, and a trooper walking towards us. I quickly walked to meet him to tell him what I knew. He waved me off. “Sir, go back to your car.” And as we got back to the others, “You need to return to your vehicles, and get off the bridge.”
Well? Um. Okay? I mean...well?...okay.
As I crossed back to my car, I turned and said firmly, “Dude, you *have* to be the man your kids need you to be!” The cop waved me along.
I drove off the bridge to the northeast corner, where there was an overlook about 100 yards away. Two police officers were talking to him by this time. And he leaned back again. Dear God, I don't need to see this.
I put my hand over my rapidly beating heart, just to try to control myself, and I felt the crucifix on my necklace...and I began praying. I prayed that God would help this man find and use the strength he had inside him.
After about 30 seconds, he pulled himself upright again, inched his way back around the corner of the chain-link, and laid down on the bridge to be cuffed.
I talked with my brother a little later, and the question came up, “What if he was a pedophile?” We decided he would likely get beat to death in prison, and a painful prolonged beating would be much better than a quick death by a passing semi, and all of the collateral damage and potential death that would bring.
I wonder if, when that other fellow tells the story, he leaves out the part where I called him a major fuck-up.
_______________
Hi guys. I started s/ThingsThatShape for interesting or odd or terrifying true stories that have made an impact on your life in some way.
We've all had our lives shaped by events. If you feel the lessons you've learned may be of interest to others, please share!
(post is archived)