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Today's Christian, September/October 1998
Elevator Crash!
A courageous split-second reaction averts disaster
by Larry Boyd as told to Linda M. Boyd
Using my hands and arms these days to rake leaves or to hug my wife brings me a rush of gratitude. I'm thankful my arms are still attached to my body. A year ago, I feared the worst.
I had been servicing and repairing elevators for 33 accident-free years. Working on top of and underneath elevators can be a dangerous business, so I was very blessed. I had always taken necessary safety precautions, not only for myself, but for my assistants as well. Over the years, no one who worked with me had ever been injured.
In addition to my duties as elevator mechanic and field supervisor for my company, I had recently acquired the extra "hat" of branch safety manager. I trained our mechanics, helpers, and even local firemen in proper elevator safety procedures.
Yet on a Tuesday afternoon in 1997, a careless instruction to my assistant, Jason Carter, almost resulted in his death.
A complicated job
Jason and I were repairing a two-floor dumbwaiter in a restaurant near Atlanta, and our workday was almost over.
Most dumbwaiters are driven by cables or chains, making them a little safer to maintain than this particular dumbwaiter—an older model driven by worm gears, gears with a spirally threaded shaft and a wheel with marginal teeth that mesh into it. In addition, though some dumbwaiters have the drive system located above them, this one had the drive system located on the floor below the dumb-waiter. Empty, the steel dumbwaiter would weigh approximately 200 pounds; but with the load of dishes it now carried, it probably weighed 300 pounds.
In one nauseating second,
I realized the horror
of my mistake. All 300 pounds
of steel and cargo were
falling straight for Jason!
Jason was working on the drive system underneath the dumbwaiter at ground level. The dumb waiter hovered about nine feet above him. I was outside the shaft, giving Jason instructions and handing him tools.
Jason had removed a belt from a worn pulley, which needed replacing. The part would have to be ordered. We couldn't do anything more, so I began packing up our tools.
As an afterthought, I decided we should inspect the other pulley before leaving. At my direction, Jason removed the belt from the other pulley. He didn't question my request.
Hurtling steel
Instantly gears began to rattle. I glanced up to see the lower edge of the dumbwaiter appear at the top edge of the doorway. In one nauseating second, I realized the horror of my mistake. With both belts removed from the pulleys, there was nothing to hold up the dumbwaiter. All 300 pounds of steel and cargo were falling straight for Jason!
I felt totally helpless. Jason was my responsibility. If anything happened to him, I could never forgive myself.
It seemed as if everything was happening in slow motion. I lunged forward and thrust both forearms into the space under the falling dumbwaiter—as if I could somehow catch it and stop its fall.
I broke its fall, but at a price. The dumbwaiter immediately rammed the inside of both of my arms just below the elbow and scraped to a halt halfway to my wrists. When the motion stopped, my forearms were pinned in a one-inch space between the dumbwaiter and its waist-high door frame.
"Jason, are you okay?" I screamed, fearful that he'd been crushed.
Miraculously, he was unscratched. He had no time to think when he heard the dumbwaiter falling, but he managed to drop to the floor and curl his 5-foot 8-inch, 190-pound frame into a space 3-1/2 feet long by 2 feet high by 2 feet deep. As soon as I knew Jason had not been hit, my mind jolted back to the excruciating pain in my arms. I moaned a prayer for the Lord to protect my arms and keep them from being broken.
A convincing miracle
From Jason's position on the floor, he saw nothing but arms hanging below the dumbwaiter. Reacting quickly, he rolled over onto his back and pushing with his feet, he lifted the dumbwaiter off my arms.
When my arms were free, he lowered the dumbwaiter another few inches to the floor of the shaft, resting it on the drive mechanism. Jason crawled out the small access door in the shaft. Once again, I breathed a prayer of thanks that we thought to unlock the access door before beginning the work. If we hadn't, Jason could have been trapped.
My forearms looked miserably distorted, the right arm especially grotesque. It had such deep indentions it looked like the bones had been crushed. Both arms were black and blue almost up to the shoulder, and I felt like they had been hit with a sledgehammer.
A restaurant employee grabbed an apron and quickly folded it into a makeshift sling to support my right arm, packing it with ice from a nearby icemaker.
Jason rushed me to the emergency room about 40 minutes away. He was panicked, but relieved my arms had not been severed. When the x-rays showed no fractures, everyone was amazed. I came away from the accident with only severe bruising, swelling, and a few scratches.
Cleaning up my wounds, the nurse couldn't believe how even my scratches were beginning to heal so quickly. Within 24 hours I was back on the same job. Jason and I finished quickly, relieved we were both still able to work.
It took five months for the bruises and swelling to disappear. The only reminder of the accident is a numb spot three inches long on my right forearm that tingles whenever I touch it.
But then I'm reminded that, because of God's grace, I still have an arm! That numb spot is proof of the Lord's abundant blessings. He spared my arms from being broken or severed. More important, he saved the life of a fine young man that day!
Editor's note: Larry Boyd continues to work as a field supervisor for Thyssen Elevator Company. He and Linda attend Trinity Chapel of God in Powder Springs, Georgia. Jason is grateful for Larry's courageous act and thankful that Larry was not injured more severely. "Somebody was watching out for him," says Jason. "It was a miracle that his arms weren't cut off."
Singing with Aunt Alice and Friends
"Are you looking for Cookie? She's in the social room. They're having a hymn sing," the nurse informed me. "Cookie" was my Aunt Alice, a patient in the long-term care unit at the hospital.
I located the social room and my aunt. She was one of a dozen seniors gathered. Some had trouble finding the page in the hymnal and their voices were scarcely audible. Aunt Alice, who had been a church soloist, was doing well and enjoying every minute of it.
The song leader had a beautiful tenor voice. I was impressed that he didn't use the hymnal. Obviously, he knew all the words. As I joined in, I thought what a pleasant way to pass the time.
Unfortunately, I had arrived during the last song. As the singers waited to be wheeled back to their rooms, the song leader pulled a metal handle out of his pocket—a handle that extended into a full-length cane. The song leader was blind!
A nurse's aide noticed my surprise.
"That's Mr. Davis," she explained. "He comes here every Thursday night to lead the singing."
I thought of Mr. Davis that night at home. Instead of dwelling on what he didn't have—his sight—he gave generously of what he did have—a joyful song to the Lord.
—Robert S. Smith
Copyright © 1998 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
Click here for reprint information.
September/October 1998, Vol. 36, No. 5, Page 59
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