We were dispatched as a second medic unit to an electrocution near a section of land running high-voltage transmission lines. No further information on the MDC. The first medic had already left for the trauma center by the time we arrived.
The engine officer and site supervisor met us. They needed the lineman’s apprentice transported — he had no apparent injuries and wasn’t complaining of any, but power company policy required an ER evaluation. He had been in the lift when the lineman made contact with the high-voltage line.
A big farm boy was standing off to the side. The supervisor waved him over and told him we were taking him to the ER. Not up for debate.
We got him loaded, took a base set of vitals, and I started a line. After contacting the trauma center where his co-worker had been taken, I asked him what happened.
What followed was one of the most heroic things I have ever heard a civilian describe.
They had been moving transmission lines to new towers all week. His regular lineman had to leave midday, and a replacement was brought in from another part of the farm. This was a Friday afternoon.
Figure 1 Firefly Generated
The apprentice took the lift up. At the ER the crew told us what had happened next — the lineman had been moving transmission lines all week, pulled off one tower mid-task to go to the next. He was exhausted. In his mind he had already grounded himself. He had — but on the other tower. He reached out and grabbed the transmission line with both hands. The electricity clamped his muscles shut instantly — his hands locked onto the line and would not release. He was dying in the small space of that lift while his apprentice watched.
The apprentice moved toward him.
The lineman screamed at him to get back. He knew that contact meant they both died.
This young man in his early twenties said he could not stand there and watch him die. If it meant his death too, so be it.
He grabbed the lineman’s hands. The electricity blasted him back against the side of the lift.
He got up and grabbed him again. He said it was painful, but he was not letting go. He pried one hand free, then the other. Both of them dropped to the floor of the lift. The apprentice got up, lowered the lift, and yelled for help.
I was in awe of him. He expressed no ego, no pride — just a matter-of-fact account of what he had done.
I told him that was legitimately, no-BS heroic.
He said, “I couldn’t stand there and watch him die right in front of me.”
It choked me up.
I have told high school kids in DUI classes, new firefighters, and medic students for years — you will live with the decisions you make. The wrong ones will find you when you close your eyes. So will the ones where you weren’t prepared, weren’t ready, weren’t good enough when it counted.
This young man made a conscious decision to act knowing they would probably both die. He couldn’t live with doing nothing. So, he didn’t.
We met the other crew at the ER. The lineman was alive. The electricity had blown a hole out through his heel on its way to ground — it always finds its way back to earth. He’d be kept for observation. So would the apprentice.
As it turned out, his mother was my mail carrier. When I mentioned where I lived, he recognized the route. The next time I saw her I told her she had raised a good man, and she should be very proud.
She was.
The department wrote him up for a Valor Award. The power company declined it. Making physical contact with an energized victim violates safety procedures — because it almost always results in two casualties.
Those of us on that call will remember his courage regardless of what any award says.
I teared up with this one. Incredible. Gives a new meaning to "we are all connected."