The blinds separated, leaving an inch of blackness between them. Somewhere in the darkness two eyes peered out; they saw me, I couldn’t see them.

“Rescue 1 to fire alarm, do you have a callback number?”

“Stand by.”

We stood on the snow-covered doorstep. No sounds came from inside. I knocked again. Nothing.

“Rescue 1?” my portable radio cracked the silence.

“Go ahead.”

“The person should be opening the door, I’ve got her on the phone.”

“Roger, the door is opening.”

A disheveled, intoxicated thirty-year-old female opened the door widely, begging us to come in and shut the door. The place was in shambles. Dirty dishes, laundry, spent cigarette butts; animal waste and cockroaches had taken over. The patient scurried about, pretending to tidy up the place but in actuality couldn’t have tied her shoes at this point, she was too far gone.

“Rescue 1, do you need the police?” the radio blared.

“No police!” screamed the patient, “I’m sick, not a criminal!”

And so it goes.

The fire department is called for a variety of reasons. Nestled among the building fires, chest pain, intoxicated persons, building collapses, car accidents and other emergencies are a surprising number of calls for psychologically unstable patients. The labels vary, Emotional, Change of Mental Status, Anxious, Suicidal, but all are potentially dangerous.

Society is filled with people suffering from emotional and psychological problems. Many of these folks lead productive lives once helped by remarkably effective treatments; therapy and medication produce tangible results in the mentally ill. Some patients have given up on treatment, choosing to make their own way in the world unimpeded by modern medicine. Most are not successful. Many have no access to the healthcare system. Whether that is their own decision or beyond their control is irrelevant, what matters is there are a lot of untreated mentally ill people living among us.

When crisis occurs, and if they are able to recognize the warning signals their damaged minds send out, a good resource is the 911 system. Highly trained personnel are waiting to take care of these patients, get them the help they so desperately need. Or are they?

Those in the field of EMS (emergency medical services) are given rudimentary training regarding the mentally ill. They cannot solve their problems, nor do they have the qualifications to try. The best they can do is to keep the patient calm and get them to the help they so desperately need. Sound simple? It’s not.

When a person decides to call for help, they are at the end of a long, downward spiral. Making that cry for help is a courageous step, fraught with uncertainty. They wait by the phone, wondering if they did the right thing by calling. From the time the initial call is made to the time help arrives a lot can happen. They change their mind. They hear voices. They begin to see their rescuers as threats to their independence. At times violent struggles ensue. Sometimes the situation is diffused with care and compassion, often, force must be used. But whose responsibility is it to use force?

The majority of calls for help concerning the mentally ill are handled by the fire department EMS, not the police. Family members and friends who call for help want to avoid a confrontation. They are at the end of their rope, helpless and afraid. They look to EMS as saviors when they arrive to take their loved one to a hospital or psychiatric facility, only to find their options limited by law and lack of training.

Patients who make the call of their own accord don’t see themselves as a threat. What lucidity remained when they called for help is often gone when help arrives. These emotionally charged situations often lead to violent confrontations with would-be rescuers.

Mental health care professionals call 911from their facilities looking for an “ambulance” to take a problem patient off their hands. EMT’s are then expected to put that volatile patient into a four x eight-foot space filled with glass and needles. It is a recipe for disaster.

EMS professionals cannot restrain, subdue or abduct. Doing so is a violation of a persons civil rights. There are no “men in the white coats.” They don’t carry straitjackets. All they have is common sense, compassion and a willingness to help a person in need. Often, it is not enough.

In the tragic aftermath of one such recent call in Pawtucket a mentally ill man was shot and killed. The police solved the crisis the only way they could at the time. The officer justifiably felt his life in danger and responded accordingly. Would the result have been different if the fire department had been called, or would there be a dead EMT in the patient’s place? We will never know.

A rapid intervention team consisting of a psychiatrist with power to commit a patient, a law enforcement officer with power to restrain a person against their will and a pair of EMT’s to provide support and transportation in a safe environment is what is needed on these type of calls. Until that happens we are sending under trained, unarmed and overwhelmed people into dangerous situations. There needs to be a definitive approach to handling the mentally ill who call for help. The lack of a system currently used is a time bomb. You can hear it ticking if you care to listen.

“No police,” I said as softly as possible. “Get your things and come with us. We’ll get you some help.” I looked around for potential weapons, kitchen knives especially. A caseworker was stabbed in the neck on Broad Street a few years ago by an emotional patient, bled to death in the doorway, leaving a wife and two small children.

After fifteen minutes of negotiations, crying, laughing, and a temper tantrum or two we left the woman’s apartment, from the looks of things for a long time.

The view from the ramp of the Messer Street Fire Station, home of the Screaming Eagles, Engine 8 Tower Ladder 2 and Battallion 2. The Hells Angels are actually pretty good neighbors.

Engine 3 to Rescue 1, unconscious male, looks like a heroin overdose.”
“Rescue 1, received.”

Rob stopped the rescue in front of the building and got out. I grabbed the blue bag from the side compartment, Rob went to the rear doors and pulled the stretcher from the rig. I placed the bag full of drugs and supplies on top of the stretcher and we made our way in. A man held the door for us, informing us that the elevators were out of order. We left the stretcher at the bottom of the stairs and made our way up.

A man in his fifties lie on his back, shallow respiration’s, normal pulse with a bluish tint to his skin.

“He’s been down for about ten minutes,” said Joe, Engine 3′s officer, “went to the bathroom and didn’t come out. His friends went in to get him, this is how they found him.”

The clear plastic of the non-rebreather clouded up every eight seconds or so, the reservoir of pure oxygen barely dented.

“Rob, get the trauma board.” I said. I hoped the narcan would be effective and we wouldn’t need it. “Better get a bag ready.”

Another Joe from Engine 3 prepared an IV as I drew up 2 mg of narcan. Instead of waiting for a line I administered the drug into the dying man’s triceps. Instead of the patient improving he stopped breathing completely.

We had the man intubated and the first round of epi on board just as Rob returned with the board. We secured all 200 lbs of him, ventilated and got ready for descent. Everybody on scene pitched in every way possible getting him down the stairs and into the rescue. We brought him to the Rhode Island Hospital ER where the trauma team took over. Half an hour later they called it.

Time of death, 1836 hrs. Engine 3 headed back to the barn, Rob put the truck together and I tried to make sense of the paperwork.

We are all in this field for similar reasons. Saving lives, helping the sick and injured, making money, gaining self respect and the camaraderie are all part of the bigger picture. The people I work with in the local emergency rooms are just as dedicated as the firefighters I live with.

A group of people that seldom, if ever get mentioned or praise is the Security Guards. These men and women are vital to the successful operation of the ER, especially those at Rhode Island Hospital. Just today a guard named John, a big quiet guy from the South Providence neighborhood helped get a patient who refused to leave the back of the rescue into the ER. I never asked, just informed him that I was bringing him a combative patient. He took it upon himself to help us out. Another guard, Amir, also from South Providence helped a Spanish speaking patient communicate with the nurse trying to figure out what was ailing her. I’m sure no compensation is involved for the extra work and it would be just as easy to walk away, but Amir and most of his peers are willing to help when needed.

I’ve seen these people respectfully restrain the most violent, abusive patients in a calm, professional manner, never losing their cool while taking some obscene abuse from those they are helping. Black guards are routinely called niggers by drunken fools, the female guards endure their own share of harassment.
They somehow manage to turn the other cheek and do a great job.

A lot of pieces have to come together for things to work, lives to be saved and safety ensured. These folks are a bigger part of the puzzle than most people realize.

I know, I’ll put five key rings around my penis just to see what happens. Nothing yet, maybe I’ll thumb through the recent Penthouse to see what happens. Uh oh, didn’t see this coming, better call 911 and have them take a look.

A thirteen year old girl visiting from out of town had a bloody nose while attending an event at the Rhode Island Convention Center. The staff there called 911 when the mother and young girl requested first aid. They were strongly advised to seek medical treatment for the girl at a nearby hospital.

Our Rescue 5 responded, Al in charge and my old friend Renato driving. There are a number of ways to operate in the EMS field. You can go about your job in a businesslike, efficient manner, never connecting with the patients, more clinical than personal. You can treat the patients like cattle, just another number in an endless stream, covering your ass by doing the bare necessities and transport. Or, you can treat the patients with the kindness and respect you would show your own family and friends. Al and Renato fall into the latter category.

The patent’s nose had stopped bleeding by the time EMS showed up. The people running the event made it clear that they had no intention of being liable for the girl’s condition. Al decided to give them a ride to Hasbro Children’s Hospital for an evaluation. En route he learned that the girl’s father was en route to Foxwoods Casino, looking forward to a little gambling. He had to cancel his outing in Connecticut and head back to Rhode Island with the family car.

Finding there was a six hour wait at the hospital, considering the girls condition had stabilized and being an all around good guy, Al decided he would take the girls back to the Convention Center and let the dad continue on his way.

Everybody was happy. Everybody except the passerby who saw two women get out of a rescue at the front door of the Convention Center. He had nothing at all to do with the incident but took it upon himself to call the mayors office to complain about the inappropriate use of a city vehicle. An investigation is underway.

Keep the faith Al and Renato.

“Is that guy an idiot?” I asked Ron who was in charge of triage.
“Overweight, history of hypertension, chest pain, history of heart attack, diaphoretc…” he counted off the risk signs on his fingers while shaking his head.

A few minutes prior I brought an overweight, sweat covered fiftyish man to the ER. Ron took one look at the guy, quickly read my report and put him into a critical care room.

“Why is he here?” asked the doctor on call impatiently, annoyed that we brought the patient to critical care.
“Look at him,” replied Ron as Rob and I transferred the patient from our stretcher to theirs.
“He needs and EKG,” said the doctor.
“We’ll do it here, this is where he belongs,” said Ron.
The doctor shook his head and walked away.

The critical care team got to work, IV’s started, leads placed, oxygen administered.
We had already done an EKG prior to nitro and aspirin, I handed the results to the doctor when he returned. He put the paper aside without a second glance. I wasn’t surprized.

“Is that guy an idiot?” I asked Ron when I left the trauma room and returned to the triage desk.

The patient’s nephew stood nearby, listening. A few minutes later the charge nurse approached Ron and told him that the patients family had filed a complaint against him, and maybe me, I’ll find out in a few days. He didn’t like the way we were talking about his uncle.

You would think he had more important things to worry about.

The first place prize in the first annual Detroit EMS Honor Guard Raffle goes to….

Lt. Michael Morse, Providence Fire Department!

Much thanks to Eric and entire The Detroit EMS Honor Guard. The king sized, handmade EMS themed quilt is the only thing I ever won. I’m happy to support a good cause, winning a beautiful prize makes it even better!

Please check out their site, https://detroitemshonorguard.org/

The baby was still, staring blankly at nothing. This had happened before, only not for as long. After a minute the parents called 911. Two more minutes before the first help arrived. The guys from Engine 4 entered the home just as the baby came out of his seizure. We were still five minutes away, responding from the other end of Providence.

The East Side is different from South Providence. The streets are tree lined and quiet, a fire truck causes quite a commotion. I don’t think we are even noticed on the other side, our trips into the neighborhood commonplace.

“Engine 4 to Rescue 1, we have an eighteen month old male, conscious and alert at this time following three minutes of seizure activity. History of febrile seizures.”

“Rescue 1, received.”

I put the mike back into the cradle as Rob, my new partner turned onto North Main. Two minutes later we joined Engine 4 and the patient. Neighbors looked out windows and filled doorways, concerned. Bob Randle, the officer of Engine 4 met me outside and gave the preliminary report. The baby was in the doorway of his home, held by his dad as his mother sat in a chair in the living room holding an infant. An old dog came over, sniffed my leg, decided I was ok and went back to the couch, satisfied there was no danger here.

The baby was fine, the parents had the proper medication to treat the situation and decided to take care of the situation themselves. They apologized for “bothering” us. We talked for a while, insisted they call for help whenever the felt it necessary, no bother whatsoever, this is our job. They stood in the doorway and waved as we drove away.

Sometimes I think a space ship picked me up and put me on another planet, then I remember, this is how it’s supposed to be.

Well, that was kind of fun but it got to be a little dull as the shift dragged on. If you read the activities of Rescue 1 over the last twenty-four hours you may notice that a lot of what we do is actually pretty mundane. This is not a glorious job. When someting exciting does happen, that usually means some poor soul is having the worst moment of their life. We do the best we can, try to make things better and move on. There is always another call.

0140 hrs

A small Guatamalan man called because he had been working all day and drinking all night and now his back hurt and he is intoxicated. Hmm… Transported to RIH.

0401 hrs

A drunken boy at Johnson and Wales University barricaded himself in his dorm room. Transported to RIH for detox.

2209

Seizure. Called to new York Avenue for a man unconscious. When we arrived he was lying on the floor in his basement apartment, postictal. He knew where he was, what time it was and who he was. He refused transport against medical advice and signed a refusal.

2328

Maternity. A twenty-six year old was concerned she may have contracted a STD because her boyfriend, also the babyfather insisted on looking at her vagina a few days ago and now it was itching and burning, even in the tub. She had a million questions, to which I had no answers. I took her and her eight year old daughter to Woman and Infants Hospital to be checked.

2046 hrs

Vaginal bleed at one of the Hi-rises. Patient decided she didn’t want to go to the hospital.

2102 hrs.

One of our regulars fell going up the steps to his apartment and split his head open. Nice guy, drinks too much. I’m hoping for an hour without a call. Long night ahead. Getting tired, waiting for the third wind.

1741 hrs.

Called to 81 Washington Street for an emotional female threatening to slice her throat. The address is a group hem where we respond often. The Providence Police secured the scene. Apparently the female was “just kidding.” No transport.

1848 hrs

Sumter Street for a female with “side pain.” She is a forty-three year old Spanish speaking patient. Through my expert Sesame Street Spanish I’m able to find out that the pain began yesterday, is located on her right side, under her rib and she has no previous history. Her vitals were stable, trandported to RIH for evaluation.

1950 hrs.

Intoxicated female. We found her after a small search of Elmwood Ave, being held up by her boyfriend. She’s twenty-two, intoxicated and nasty. Half way to the hospital she decides she doesn’t want to go. The seat belt was too complicated for her to figure out, she had to stay put, struggling all the way. Her boyfriend insisted on coming with us, only to be shown the door. Speaking of doors..

2020 hrs.

As I walked out the door the Providence Police sped onto the ramp with an unconscious male in their cruiser. He was not breathing and pulseless when Jan and I pulled him from the back of their car. I did CPR for a while, the ER staff took over. They were still doing CPR when I left. It doesn’t look good.

1505 hrs

Unconscious female. Cancelled enroute @ 1510 hrs, R-6 cleared Roger Williams Hospital and was closer to the incident.

1529 hrs

Elderly female with flu-like symptoms. Second floor, transported to Roger Williams.

1559 hrs

Seven year old with a twisted ankle from a previous assault. All of the other rescues are tied up. Gillen Street is on the exact opposit end of Providence. Friday rush hour has begun. The exodus begins…

Ten minutes later we arrive on scene, nobody there but a Providence Police officer. He was sent to the same address for an assault. Nobody home. I called fire alarm for an address check and was sent to 33 Gillen Street. Supposedly the victim would meet us in front. 33 Gillen, nobody home. Back on the highway, hopefully toward home.

1615 hrs.

Waldo Syreet for an elderly female with difficulty breathing. Enroute Engine 12 is dispatched to 16 Greely Street for a seven year old with an ankle injury. No rescues available, mutual aid was called, again.

The patient at Waldo is diaphoretic and anxious, possibly in Congestive Heart Failure. The Cambodian family with her aren’t much help, I have no idea of the woman’s past history, allergies, medications taken, severity of pain or if she is even in pain. We get her into the rescue, start an IV, run a 12-lead and put her on 10 liters of oxygen for the ride to Rhode Island Hospital. The EKG is normal, her vitals not so. BP 190/100, spo2 92%, pulse 100. Transport to the ER was uneventful. Heard on the radio while enroute a member of Engine 12 was bitten by a dog at 16 Greeley and needed medical attention. No patient at that address.

Day shift over, night has begun….

1343 hrs. Called for back pain at a physicians office. Our patient is a sixty-one year old male with bloody stools. He has had lower back pain since Christmas Eve. Because of a syncopal episode last night the man’s doctor thought it best to have him transported to an emergency room. I agreed. The doctor informed me that he had already contacted Miriam Hospital and we were on our way. Rhode Island Hospital is less than a mile from the office. The patient looked stable but you never know. His vitals were normal so against better judgement and to keep the patient happy I agreed to transport him across the city, past two other hospitals(Enroute the patient began vomiting chunky blood and coughing uncontrollably. His history of Hepatitas C turned the back of the rescue into a haz-mat incident.

1150 hrs.

Sixty year old male with an abnormal EKG. Pt. is alert and conscious, no pain or other symptoms, his routine EKG showed a heart rate of 50. borderline bradycardia. The staff at the doctors office thought it was a wate of resourses to send an engine company and a rescue to a 911 emergency call with an abnormal EKG. I explained that it was they who initiated the 911 system, we respond assuming there is an emergency. They didn’t understand and probably never will.

1220 hrs.

Eighty-six year old female with difficulty breathing. Nice Spanish speaking lady who has been coughing for four days. Transported .8 miles to Rhode island Hospital without incident.

0840 hrs

Housework. This place doesn’t stay clean by itself. Every day the floors are swept and wetmoppes, the bathrooms cleaned and kitchen area scrubbed. Five minutes in the bell tips. Perfect timing, I hang up the mop.

0845 hrs

Our patient is a twenty-five year old female complaining of weakness and dizziness with no history. Her friend follows us to Rhode Island Hospital. BP 140/98, Heart Rate 138, BG 95. EKG shows sinus Tach, borderline SVT. Transported to RIH.

0930 hrs

Out of Service to the DOT for Mass Casulty training. Some new stuff, nothing remarkable.

1045 Hr.

Cancer patient with abdominal pain.

Forty-three year old female with abdominal pain as a complication of Colon Cancer. Chemotherapy is making patient sick. Nice lady in a lot of pain. Transported to Roger Williams Medical Center.

Thanks everybody for sticking around during my “convalescence” When I finally realize that I’m in worse shape than most of the people I bring to the hospital it’s time for some healing. My back is as good as it is going to get and I’ve got a fresh attitude!

I thought I’d try to make posts as they happen. I’ll be here for twenty-four hours. I’ll keep you posted.

Joe Arsenault came on the job with me in 1991. He’s working on Engine 10 on Broad Street now after a long Rescue Run. He’s one of many who one day “had enough.”

A Night in the Life of Rescue

It had been a busy long winter’s night. I had just laid my head down onto the pillow to catch a little rest before the next call. As I closed my eyes the bell tipped, sending a loud gong rushing through my head. The lights flicked on as I instinctually stood up, I quickly slid my feet into my shoes and simultaneously grabbed my sweatshirt in an effort to pull it over my head. The sound of the dispatcher’s voice was all too familiar, as it rumbled through the early morning air. “ Rescue 2, Engine 8 Still Alarm.” The standard 15-second pause was interrupted as the dispatcher blasted out “This will be for a Baby not breathing.” My heart started racing as I slid down the pole and ran across the apparatus floor. The garage door button was pushed and it seemed like eternity waiting for it to open. I started the truck as my officer climbed in, as we pulled the truck out of the station; I flicked the switches for all our emergency lights. They brightly filled the morning darkness. The location of the call was being dispatched as we speed off down the dark damp road.

Being familiar with the location of that street my officer was able to plan our attack instead of giving me directions. I also knew that Engine 8 was right around the corner and would soon be on the scene. The road was wet, from the slight drizzle that had been falling throughout the night, making the challenge of driving to the call even more difficult. Thoughts passed through my mind of my own baby girl sleeping at home, peacefully in her crib. Hoping for an overreacting parent making a mistake on the call, maybe the baby was breathing. The Officer of Engine 8 called over the radio “Code 99”, our worst nightmare, a child in cardiac arrest. I felt the pressure in my foot, as I pressed firmly on the gas pedal, knowing that if I crash this truck there would be no hope for that child. Fortunately the time was around 5 in the morning and the streets were pretty clear of traffic so that made our response a little easier. My officer Rick told Engine 8 to bring the child down from the second floor apartment and to meet us in the street were we would meet them in about thirty seconds. Ricks years of experience taught him not to waste a second of time.

I could see the lights of Engine 8 breaking the silence of the dawn sky as we passed through the last intersection. What had seemed to last a lifetime was less than a three-minute ride to make it to the scene.

The hysterical look in the mother’s eyes and the look of concern in the eyes of the firefighters brought that all too familiar lump in my chest when tragedy strikes. The guys from Engine 8 quickly passed the lifeless infant into the arms of Rick who continued the process of CPR, he laid the small child onto the large adult size stretcher and told one of the firefighters to do compressions and then he told me I would manage the airway. Watching him put the heart monitor leads on the pint sized person I couldn’t believe I was performing CPR on a baby. I had done CPR many times before but never on a child, never the less someone the same size as my daughter. This child must have been about 18 months old, much to young to die. I slipped a plastic airway into the baby’s mouth, as I squeezed the ambu bag forcing oxygen into the baby’s lungs, my officer Rick yelled out the baby was in asystole or flat lined, meaning no electrical activity in the heart. He told the firefighter from Engine 8 who was already waiting in the drivers seat to head towards the hospital. I felt the truck jerk forward as we started to roll. Several police cars had went ahead of us and blocked some of the major intersections for us, something I had never scene done before. My concentration was broken when a howl from the mother echoed into the back of the truck “ God save my baby “. It was in a deep Jamaican accent and quickly became embedded in my mind. As we raced towards the hospital my officer radioed our dispatch center and asked them to call R.I hospital and to let them know we would be arriving in three minutes with an 18-month-old male in cardiac arrest. The ensuing parade of a Rescue 2, Engine 8 and police cars made me think, so much effort being put into such a little life.
Turning into the hospital driveway I could see that the staff was eagerly waiting our arrival. Wheeling the baby into the trauma room I knew soon I would be passing my methodical job of breathing life into this infant to a nurse who would have that same horrified look in her eyes, that I had in mine. The room was bright and large, everybody was rushing around grabbing equipment, and we slid the baby over to the table and rolled our stretcher out of the way. I watched as the nurse, doctors and techs worked feverishly on the baby, fatherly knowing that such a small child should be at home asleep in their crib tucked so snuggle with their favorite blanket.
Out of the corner of my eye I observed the priest walking the mother off to the family room where she would be consoled. That a small army had now gathered with that one ounce of hope in there eyes that maybe a life may be saved. As we all stood there waiting to see if all of our effort would pay off. Forty minutes had passed since the call was dispatched with numerous medications administered and all the life saving techniques performed the doctor looks up and asks for the time. A time we all know is the end of the battle to fight for this precious life. Every eye in that room was glossy and filled with tears for that baby. A moment passes as the doctor heads towards the family room. That familiar Jamaican shriek again fills the morning air. I walked outside to catch a breath of fresh air, that lump in my chest still there, the morning darkness had now given way to a bright morning sun. The darkness had again robbed this world of another life.

Engine 8 and the police cars pulled away as I headed to the rescue I would now have to clean and restock the equipment that we had used. Rick came out and asked me if I wanted a coffee, silently agreeing I followed him down the hall to the breakroom. He told me we did everything we could have done and to try not to think about. I agreed but a knew I would. Driving back to the station I prayed that we didn’t catch another run, I knew my shift would soon be over and I thought another call right now would ruin me. A call was just then dispatched in our district Rick told me not to worry, he was going to let Rescue 4 take it. We pulled into the station and headed up the stairs, fortunately my relief was there sitting in the dayroom waiting to relieve me, I was glad, all I wanted to do was get home and give my daughter a great big hug. I jumped into my little pickup truck and started the drive home, the sun was extremely bright today and thinking to myself, it seemed like it should have been cloudy that day. When I got home my little girl was waiting to give me a hug. I must have held her for an hour, just seeing her face brought a tear to my eye.

Three years have passed since that call and it still remains vividly etched into my mind. Many children have come and gone, but one thing remains the same that familiar tragic lump in your chest.

Thanks Joe. Stay safe.

On Saturday mornings, after a long shift in the city while driving home I always listen to the Reading With Robin Show, www.readingwithrobin.com. Her energy keeps me awake during the short ride to my house. I love books, and Robin shares that. Her guests are local and famous authors, the interviews always interesting.

Saturday morning at 0700 I’ll be on the show discussing Rescuing Providence, and whatever else Robin cares to ask. WHJJ 920 on your AM dial if you are up.

The little man Henry carried through the snow last month passed away last night. His two year battle with cancer has come to an end. His mom and twin brother must be heartbroken. I remember going to their apartment at all hours of the night when the boy needed help, watching his mom run around the apartment while we put her son on the stair chair, gathering last minute things for the trip to the hospital while a healthy version of the patient looked on, never complaining, just watching, as if the drama that unfolded in front of him wasn’t real. He never said a word, just helped his mother and came along.

I imagine the little family will heal, and move on, no longer needing us. It’s too bad they needed us in the first place. Rest in peace, brother.

My friends over at Anchor Rising have an interesting politically based blog. They always treat my comments with respect. The other people who comment there always make things interesting.

A debate about union workers is underway now. You might find it interesting.

www.anchorrising.com

A little scandal here, Medicaide, the federal health care provider found that The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations has been providing some citizens with free bus passes. Free is only free to those getting the goodies, Medicaide had been picking up the tab. The rational was that poor and disabled people need transportation to the doctors office.

An underground economy exists in Providence. Take away the bus passes, the EBT cards and the illegal drug trade and the increase in B&E’s, hold-ups and robberies would be dramatic. I sometimes think we are paying ransom for our own safety with all of these handouts.

Anybody needing a bag or two of heroin can get it in Kennedy Plaza, right under the watchful eyes of shiny badge. Take the drugs away and chaos will reign.

Bus passes for drugs? You bet.

I just added a new link, The Providence Fireman by Lt. Tom Kenney, Providence Fire Department. I highly reccomend you take a look.