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April 1971—Keeseville, New York
Mike Gorman strolled along the sidewalk, smoking his tobacco pipe while his aging German shepherd, Sheila, followed along. He’d lived in Keeseville all his life, except for the couple of years he spent fighting the Nazis in Europe. They gave him his limp. The bright spring sunshine was pleasant in the cool air. He looked back and caught a glimpse of Sheila’s tail disappearing around the corner of the house he just walked by. “Sheila, come here!” he called out. She didn’t reappear, so he followed her and saw her nudging a person who had fallen.
He quickly went over and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder, giving her a little shake. “Are you all right, miss?” She was cold to the touch and didn’t respond. He felt for a pulse but didn’t find one. There was a small puddle of congealed blood below her face. “Oh my God,” he said to himself. He took off his jacket and covered her, then he went to the back door, knocking and yelling. Nobody responded. He ran out front and saw a woman across the street letting her cat out, so he called out to her, but she had already shut the door.
He ran up and desperately knocked on her door. She answered and he said, “There’s a young woman out behind that house, and I think she might be dead! We need to call the police!”
“Oh my God! Come in, Come in!” she said. She ran over to a yellow rotary phone on the kitchen wall and she said, “The number is on the sticker.”
Mike told the police what he’d seen, and they asked for the address. “What’s the number of that house?” he asked the neighbor.
She looked out the front door, then said, “Forty-two.”
Mike relayed it and hung up, and the woman followed him back across the street. “What’s your name?”
“Don’t you remember me, Mike? I’m Ginny Cross, Helen Markham’s sister. Oh my! That’s Jacqui. Jacqui Foy.”
“Oh, I do remember you! I went to school with Helen.” They heard a siren, then saw a sheriff patrol car coming down the street. Mike waved them down, and two deputies followed him to the back of the house. One asked Ginny to wait out front for the ambulance, so Ginny went.
Deputy LeBrun introduced himself while steering Mike a distance away and asked him what happened. Mike told them what he knew. “Is she dead?” he asked at the end.
“She might be, but that’s not for me to say. I asked dispatch if the ambulance could bring a doctor or a nurse.” In that area, ambulance drivers were not yet trained to give medical assistance, only transport.
The ambulance pulled up, and a nurse ran out back with an equipment bag. She threw aside Mike’s jacket and listened with her stethoscope. “She’s alive, but just barely. I’m gonna start an IV. She checked her head and neck. Help me turn her over.” Deputy LeBrun helped her. The nurse got the IV going, and the ambulance crew loaded her into the ambulance on a gurney.
The other deputy came out of the back door. “Nobody’s home.”
Deputy LeBrun sighed. “Mike, do you know this woman?”
“No, but Ginny does.” Mike grabbed his jacket off the ground and petted Sheila for being a good dog. The deputies questioned Ginny for a few minutes. As they all were leaving, Ginny asked, “Hey, Mike, would you like a cup of coffee? I’m still shaking.”