The Pony Cart Massacre

The Pony Cart Massacre

That impact also destroyed the entire cart, including the wheels.

The smells of blood, manure, and urine were overpowering, and to my amazement,

There was also the smell of gunpowder.

 It was one of those sparkling August days for which we all waited in great anticipation.  The weather in the Pacific Northwest corner of the United States is cold and wet for about eight long months a year.  When a day like this comes along, almost everyone is outside in shorts and tee shirts, taking full advantage of the wonderful, warm sun. 

But this warm August day was even better than usual.  It was the day everyone would gather for the town’s “Our Days” Founding Day celebration, and along with the sun, anticipation filled the air. 

La Center is a small town, more of a village, in rural Southwest Washington State. Everyone knows everyone, and the economy is mostly agricultural.  It is described as home-town rural America, where county living is based on nature’s clock.   

In this little community, people still ride ponies, horses, or bicycles to visit neighbors.  There was even an “official” town Grandpa and his pony cart.  He and the pony cart had been around for decades; he knew everyone, and everyone knew him. 

When the weather permitted, Grandpa would hitch his pony to the cart and head to the local grade school.  Once there, he would give free rides to the kids and anyone else who wanted it.  Some would ride around on lunch breaks, while others would take the pony cart home after school.  Sometimes, even a teacher or two would jump in. 

It was still a simpler time in this village in Washington State.  The parents and the school didn’t require any signed releases of liabilities or permission slips.  Here, still, it was an innocent place lost in a time all its own. 

When not giving free rides at the school, Grandpa and his pony cart could be seen around town taking care of his business.  He preferred the pony cart over his car because people could jump in and out whenever they wanted for short free rides around the central business area. The entire town considered Grandpa and his cart their very own. 

Every public event in La Center wasn’t complete without Grandpa and his pony cart.  Today, he was on his way to join the “Our Days” celebration parade in town.  As an integral part of the community, he had been at every parade for decades.

 His three-year-old grandson was sitting on the front bench seat next to him.   Sometimes, he would give him the reins and let him drive the ponies.  A lady riding her bicycle was on the left side of the empty cart.  She was a neighbor of Grandpa and now and then would join him on her bicycle for some of his outings.  On this day, she, too, was headed to the parade, and they had decided to travel together.

On the other side of the cart, Grandpa’s six-year-old granddaughter was riding her pony named Sugar.  Grandpa had given it to her this last Christmas.  It was the Four-H project she had always wanted. 

The pony cart, the two people on the front bench, the two people with the bicycle and the other pony had about a mile to go before they arrived at the parade.  All of them were laughing and talking together and enjoying this wonderful August day when suddenly, a car traveling way too fast came around a curve in the road.  Because of that curve, they hadn’t seen it until it was upon them. 

Probably every small town has a town drunk, and this small town was no exception.  This man was always drunk.  He would drive into town late afternoons or evenings and get drunk without causing any trouble.  Then, he would drive home until the next day, when he would do it all over again.

The town tolerated him because he was the brother of one of its well-known businessmen, and it was a touchy social situation.  Today, he was drunk much earlier, possibly because of the celebration that was soon to happen. 

Whatever the reason, he came around that curve too fast and slammed head-on into the pony cart group.  In one fatal instant, he ended the lives of two innocent people, two ponies, and all the joy that day was to bring to the people in the town. 

We arrived, driving lights and sirens, to find a dreadful and terrible massacre.  The first thing I noticed was CPR in progress on two people simultaneously, and I knew I needed help.  Then I saw the destroyed pony cart and the two dead ponies.

When CPR is in progress on two or more people, we must immediately call for a co-response.  I called the Life Flight helicopter service and requested they send both of the two we had in our system.  I was informed both were available and that they would send them.

 Then, I requested a second Paramedic ambulance to be dispatched for Grandpa.  I could see he had a broken arm and leg with the bone sticking out of the leg, and I knew he was okay for the moment because he was talking.  That meant he was breathing and could wait until my partner and I had time for him. We needed that second Paramedic unit to arrive quickly. 

The impact of the car on the pony cart killed the pony instantly.  It was lying on the dusty dirt road with its belly split open and the abdominal contents spilling out.  Hundreds of flies had been drawn to the smells and filled the hot summer air with buzzing. 

That impact also destroyed the entire cart, including the wheels.  Only small pieces remained, scattered in and beside the road.  The smells of blood, manure, and urine were overpowering, and to my amazement, there was also the smell of gunpowder. 

The drunk’s car was still in the road just in front of the dead cart pony and had some front-end damage with steam coming from under the hood.  The driver’s side windshield was displaced outwardly and had a classic spiderweb crack inside where the drunk’s forehead had struck it.  That outwardly displaced windshield and the spider web crack are tell-tale signs that he had not worn a seatbelt. 

The other pony was lying down the road behind the cart pieces and the two people who were having CPR done on them.  It, too, was dead.  The only injury I could see was a broken right upper leg, and here again, a bone was sticking out.  There was also a GSW in its head, and blood and brain matter were splattered everywhere.  I could not believe it had been shot at the scene by a county deputy sheriff.

Can you imagine?  A deputy sheriff had shot it in front of all the gathered people and the granddaughter.  It appeared that two dead people and all that horror and suffering weren’t enough.  The deputy also found it necessary right there and then to shoot the granddaughter’s Christmas present, Four-H pony, in front of her right after she had been knocked off by a speeding car.

The smell of the gunpowder and the thought of it stunned me cold. I could only imagine how it must have affected the granddaughter and the others.  I was glad I had not been there when it happened. 

But, the six-year-old granddaughter had.  Been there, I mean.  She had to have seen it shot.  She had to have heard the shot, and now, she had to be smelling the gunpowder.  Not only had she been knocked off her pony and thrown some distance from it, but she also had to watch as it was shot.  All this was beyond belief.

Now, she was standing beside her dead Four-H project Christmas gift with her hands clasped together on the front of her face as they covered her nose with the fingers pointing upward and crying.  Dusty tears were streaming down her face from under her hands and were flowing over her jaw and down the front of her neck.  She looked so very alone.  So very, very alone.

It was a tragedy laid upon a tragedy, and I could not fully understand why I was seeing and smelling what I was.  But, just like for Grandpa, there was no time for her right now.  Simultaneously, two people were not breathing.

My partner began to assist with the CPR being done on the young lady who had been on the bicycle.  I went to the three-year-old boy.  On my way, I picked a lady out of the crowd and looked her in the eyes.

“Take care of the little girl, please,” I said to her and continued on my way.  Immediately, she turned and headed toward her. 

My partner had already started an IV and was doing CPR on the boy when I joined him.  Others in the crowd were helping the lady.  After putting a tube into the boy’s air pipe, I showed a sheriff’s deputy how to puff child breaths into it and do small child CPR with the same fingers he had used to shoot the pony.  My partner was now free to go to the lady and start her IV.

Then I gave the boy some meds directly into his bloodstream through the IV and followed that with three defibrillations to restart his heart.  After my partner had started the IV on the lady, he returned to the boy and relieved me so I could go to the lady and do the same things for her.

We had only one heart monitor and defibrillator, which was still on the three-year-old.  For the adult, I had to go on experience and finger check the pulse during the CPR being done by a Firefighter.  I also gave her the same medicines through her IV in adult doses and took over her rescue breathing through the tube I had placed into her air tube.  The air tube was the first thing I did for both patients.  An EMT is not certified to place the tubes, but he was certified to do the IVs. 

I was then ready for my partner to remove the monitor from the boy and bring it to me to defibrillate the lady.  I did this three times without success.  The sheriff’s deputy then continued her CPR and rescue breathing through the tube, and I returned to the boy with the monitor. 

 Then, from out of the sky, I heard the helicopters approaching.  It was the most beautiful sound I had heard since I was a Navy combat Hospital Corpsman in Vietnam.  The first landed, then the other, and I was relieved of patients. Then, the second Paramedic unit pulled up, and I directed them to Grandpa.

Finally, when everything was being handled, I took a deep breath, looked around, and sat down where I happened to be.  It was in the middle of that dusty county dirt road near all those flies buzzing around the pony’s guts. 

 My partner was busy helping with the medivacs, so after sitting for a while, I went to the drunk and determined he wasn’t hurt badly.  A minor, crush-type laceration to his forehead was present.  It had been caused when his head hit the inside of the windshield.  He was also complaining of some neck pain.  Then, the helicopters rose into the air with CPR still in progress on both patients and disappeared into the sky from where they had just arrived.

Because of his neck pain, I placed a foam collar around the drunk man’s neck for support and then walked him to our ambulance for transport to the hospital.  My partner and I transported him because I didn’t want him in the same ambulance with Grandpa and the little Four-H girl.  I didn’t think that would be a good idea.

With my partner in the back with our two patients, I began to drive away.  As I did, I looked out the window and saw the two dead ponies and the scattered cart parts.

The window was down because the driving compartment was filled with flies, and I was trying to let them out.   Because of the open window, I could still smell all the smells, plus one more.  It was the smell of death.   

In one fatal moment, the beauty of that August day disappeared, and all the Founder’s Day celebration events were canceled.  Upon hearing the news of the accident, most of the people who had already gathered for the parade went home.

As the word spread, almost no one new came to the parade site, so the parade was canceled.  A deep sadness had descended on this village, and the joy had disappeared from the  “Our Day” Founder’s Day celebration.

The girl was released from the hospital the same day and never returned to her Four-H club or replaced her pony.  Grandpa had a short stay in the hospital while he was treated for his broken leg and arm.  Both patients flown by helicopters to the trauma center died in the ER.

The drunk went to jail because he didn’t have the $5,000.00 bail.  That was a large sum in those days, and the brother refused to pay it.  He was sentenced to spend the next twenty-some years in prison.  Too little, too late. 

Because of the events on that day in that village in Southwest Washington State, a fundamental change came to the local way of life.  Grandpa was no longer laughing and giving pony cart rides to school kids or giving free rides around the downtown area.   Those simple, happy things just stopped and went away. 

 On that hot day in August in that friendly village, many lives were changed forever, and an era of simpler times had come to an end, never to return.  

And my partner and I had one more memory of a true horror to add to the others we were already carrying. 

Henry Lansing Woodward

Paramedic