Are You Ready?

Copyright © 2013 Charlene D. Rasmussen.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-0931-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-0930-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916959

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/9/2013

Contents

Chapter One: 1971 Are You Ready? (1971)

Chapter Two: 1971 Accept the Things I Cannot Change (1971)

Chapter Three: 1971-1973 Silver Linings (1971-1973)

Chapter Four: 1973-1974 Memory Flashes (1973-1974)

Chapter Five: 1974-1978 The Maze of Life (1974-1978)

Chapter Six: 1978 The Tape (1978)

Chapter Seven: 1978-1980 Missing Children (1978-1980)

Chapter Eight: 1980-1981 A Serious Situation (1980-1981)

Chapter Nine: 1982-1988 The Trial (1982-1988)

Chapter Ten: 1988-1990 Mountain Man (1988-1990)

Chapter Eleven: 1991-1995 The Music Man (1991-1995)

Chapter Twelve: 1996-1999 Montana’s Exclusive (1996-1999)

Chapter Thirteen: 1999-2005 Chasing the Wind (1999-2005)

Chapter Fourteen: 2006-2009 Spiritual Sparks (2006-2009)

Chapter Fifteen: 2010-2013 I Am Ready (2010-2013)

Dedicated to Bill’s Children:

Lynn, Darreld, Lance, Trina, Jeremy, and

Our Old Folks Everywhere

Credits

The Coeur D’Alene Press, 201 N 2nd, Coeur D’Alene, ID

Jordan Tribune, PO Box 322, Jordan, MT

Lewiston Tribune, 505 Capital Street, Lewiston, ID

Our Thanks to

Toni McLaughlin, Photographer,

who provided the photograph of Bill as well as

sharing her photography and video of his performance

on her Webpage Soultones.com (Bill Rasmussen)

Chapter One: 1971

Are You Ready?

Watch out for that wire, Bill. It’s hot.

Bill nodded. He carefully pulled the long-handled paint roller between the black electric wire and the railing that surrounded the flat roof of the Mosch Electric building. Bill rested the roller in the bucket of paint so he could stretch his arms. I think I’m feeling old, he said as he leaned backward to loosen up.

You’re feeling like a Neanderthal at 24 years old? His friend Tom stretched his hand toward him to offer him a bottle of beer.

Bill shook his head. I’ve got to get this done tonight. He peered over the roof to examine his work.

’Come on, it’s time for a break, Tom insisted. And stop leaning over that ledge so far!

Tom was tall and well built, and he nearly lifted Bill off his feet when he pulled him back by his belt with his free hand.

Bill made a fist and shook it at his friend, pretending to be offended. You wanna fight?

You’re too small to kill a bug.

Bill clinched his jaw; his eyes narrowed. You wanna fight? he repeated in a fake tone of anger.

Tom laughed. Bill, you’re a man of a million expressions, and they’re all entertaining. Have a beer with me.

You splashed half of yours all over me! Susan will think I’ve been at a pub. I told her I’d finish this tonight.

Tom pointed toward the transistor radio. Turn it up. Great song. Johnny Cash. He leaned against a wall and slid downward to a sitting position. Can you turn this into a honky-tonk piece?

‘Sunday Morning Coming Down,’ Bill said. Kristopherson wrote it.

Tom cursed when Bill grabbed the handle of the paint roller. You’re a workaholic.

I’ve got a wife and one kid to feed and three-quarters of another one on the way.

Bill’s friend lit a cigarette and gazed listlessly at the darkening sky as he slowly exhaled. He sat quietly listening to the music until it was interrupted with the news.

Charles Manson. Tom sneered and waved toward the radio in disgust. You can turn that off. How could any human being want to slaughter people like they’re animals? And Sharon Tate’s baby about to pop. He paused to belch his beer. You know that Dad’s talking about making you a partner here at Mosch Electric, don’t you? ‘Can’t figure it. ‘Can’t be your wit or that honky-tonk piano you try to play.

What do you mean ‘try’? Bill knew that underneath Tom’s course, tough-guy facade was a bundle of warmth. Bill grinned and stretched himself to his tallest height, about 5 feet 8 inches. It’s my wisdom. Immediately, his proud-as-a-peacock appearance turned into one of concern. My friend, that partnership should be yours. I have no right…

Tom interrupted Bill with a wave of his hand. I don’t want it; it’ll make me old before my time. Don’t you go refusing it because we’re friends. Take it and be proud. How many men your age have a chance to go into a partnership, especially with your reputation? Tom started to laugh. "‘Hope you’re not thinking that you’ll be gettin’ more money. Not from my dad. He’ll be all too glad if Nixon’s price-and-wage-freeze proposal goes through."

Thanks, my friend. It’s getting dark. Back to work.

Back to work, back to work. By next year that white streak in your black hair won’t be paint.

At least it will be cut and combed, not tied back in a hippy piggy-tail like yours.

Don’t forget. I warned you.

Bill would forget. He would never remember that evening of May 11, 1971.

Are you ready?

It wasn’t a voice Bill actually heard, but the question was clear. It seemed he had been relocated to a cloudy-like surrounding, yet a brilliancy penetrated it. He was overwhelmed with warmth and contentment. It was remarkably soothing. His body felt weightless, freed from the pressure of gravity and stress.

Someone stood beside him, though not in body form. Bill had never met his uncle Earl, but he knew it was he. His uncle talked to him, and Bill knew it was imperative for him to soak up every word. Uncle Earl had been in the Death March in World War II. He did make it back home. However, within two weeks after his return, he died when he was electrocuted while at work in a lumber mill at Potlatch, Idaho.

Are you ready? he was asked again. His uncle was not the one asking him the question. Are you ready, Bill?

Am I ready for what? Bill wondered. He heard it again and wished it would go away because it was pulling him away from that peaceful place.

How much time passed was immeasurable because time does not exist while sleeping; but again the voice disturbed him. Are you ready? Are you ready now, Bill? Why was it goading him?

No! he hollered.

Bill, are you with us? It was a woman’s voice, but it seemed so far away. Open your eyes.

Were you asking me if I was ready? he mumbled.

I can’t understand you. Don’t go back to sleep, Bill. Stay with us.

Did you ask me if I was ready?

No, Bill.

I guess it was God.

Open your eyes. Try to wake up, he heard her say, but he wanted to return to that lovely, quiet place.

That quiet place was interrupted by a harsh clatter. Though it seemed that weights were on his eyelids, he managed to open them. He heard voices and laughter. A door was half open, which let some light into the room. Nothing looked familiar. He certainly was not in that place of peace.

Bill knew he was lying on his back, but his legs were raised up and tied to something. In an impulsive effort to free himself, he tried to move his arms to untie his feet; but they were also tied firmly to something. His thighs felt bound up—so tightly that they throbbed. He tried to lift his head, but it was so heavy that his neck trembled. With another gritty attempt, he was able to see bottles hanging from a post at the foot of his bed before his head fell back to the pillow.

Why are my arms tied? Again, he raised his head enough to see that his arms were heavily wrapped with white bandages. Wow, my principal really slapped me hard this time. He tried to remember what happened. What did I do? His attention turned to a low rhythmic beep coming from the head of the bed. I know that sound. I’m in a hospital.

He looked toward the window at some faintly lit clouds that were moving slowly across the dim, early morning sky. Where are all the trees? The closest hospital to Potlatch and Princeton, Idaho, was in Moscow, and trees surrounded the 2-story hospital building.

He watched clouds change into different shapes and thought about the days when his boyhood troubles would build up, and he felt it was time to run away from home again. He kept a rope hidden in his room so he could lower himself to the ground from his upstairs window. The palms of his hands heated up and skin was torn from them as he slid down the rope, but the blisters were worth the adventure. Dawn would be breaking the darkness of the night as he hiked along the railroad tracks that were close to a river where he planned to fish. Sometimes he would lie on the mossy grass under the trees in the warm morning sun and look for animal formations in the clouds.

The rhythmic beeping faded away as he fell asleep. He dreamed that his mother was calling him; there was urgency in her voice. Another woman began calling him. A sharp pain in his mouth roused him, and he opened his eyes. The room was so white and bright that he squinted to see a young woman with a chubby, smiling face and a white cap leaning toward him.

You’re awake! she said.

You’re not my mother, he whispered. I thought I heard Mom calling me.

We’ve all been calling you. We wondered if you were going to sleep your life away! Welcome back. She made an attempt to plump up his pillow, but the back of his neck felt like the pillow was stuffed with rocks. How’s your mouth? I saw you doing a tongue exam. You fell out of bed about a week ago. I think you were trying to get up, in spite of your arms and feet being tied to boards and IVs and all these other tubes hooked to every appendage you have. I heard a crash and came running in and found you on the floor. Now you’ve got stitches in your forehead and a few broken teeth. Here’s one that you spit at me.

She pointed at a tooth that was hanging from a string around her neck. Yeah, I know that you’re thinking it’s silly, but when other patients ask me ‘why the tooth?’ they’ll understand why we keep the rails up on the bed. I’m Betty Jo, your nurse. You and I are friends, even though you don’t know it. I’ve been taking care of you—and praying a lot, too—especially when your life-support equipment was disconnected. God must’ve heard me. Or maybe He didn’t want you.

This cheerful nurse was talking faster than Bill could listen. Bill tried to touch his mouth, but couldn’t move his arms.

Why am I tied up?

You’re healing.

Where am I?

Betty Jo bent forward, leaning her ear toward his face. If you asked where you are, you are in the Sacred Heart Hospital in Great Falls.

Great Falls. Montana? Why am I in Great Falls? He looked toward a young woman as she moved beside Betty Jo. She was dressed in a bulky sweater, not uniformed, as was Betty Jo.

How are you feeling? she asked.

Like I’m in limbo.

She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder; her hazel eyes were filled with concern. The doctor called the family. We didn’t think you were going to pull through.

Uncle Earl. I remember talking to Uncle Earl. Was Uncle Earl here?

The lady slowly shook her head. No, I don’t remember an Uncle Earl coming to see you; but your mother and your sister and your dad…

My dad? I must be dead. The relationship between his dad and him never had been a good one.

The Red Cross flew your brother Chris up from the Air Force Base in Texas. Chris wouldn’t leave your side, and he’d still be here if it weren’t for getting into trouble with the military.

Bill gazed at the lady wondering why she knew the family when he had no idea who she was. Why did she say that Chris was in the military when he was supposed to be in high school? He turned his attention to Betty Jo. What happened to me? Why am I here?

Your doctor will talk to you in a few days when you’re clear enough to comprehend what’s going on. Betty Jo smiled as she spoke more slowly. You have had the shock of your life—a 13,000 volt power-line shock, as I understand.

I don’t remember any of it, Bill murmured.

God is merciful. Betty Jo pushed a straw against his lips and insisted that he take a drink of water.

I’m really tired.

Tired? You’ve been dead to the world for almost three months. Haven’t you had enough sleep? I wish I could sleep like that. Now that you’ve wakened… Betty Jo’s voice gradually disappeared as Bill dozed off.

He slept most of that day and the next, wakening briefly when he heard his family trying to talk to him. He was too muddled to talk. His doctor made a brief appearance, but didn’t have much to say except, You’re going to make it, Mr. Rasmussen. When you’re more focused, I’ll talk to you.

Whenever Bill opened his eyes, the pretty young lady he didn’t know was usually sitting on a chair at the foot of his bed reading a book. He silently watched her. Why was she there? Who was she?

Every time Betty Jo came in, she banged whatever she could find that would make noise, jerked his blankets and pillows, made him drink water and chattered continuously to keep him awake. Once she blew in his face when he closed his eyes. Wake up, young man. What if someone sees me leaning toward you with puckered lips? I’ve been here for ten years and that’s not something I’d want to leak out. It could be misconstrued.

Betty Jo stopped talking when the mysterious young lady peaked in to let her know that she would come back later. Bill wondered how he could delicately ask Betty Jo who she was.

She’s here everyday, he said.

Dedicated. I wish there were more like her. Some patients are only visited by candy stripers. I wish I had her figure. ‘Not her pregnancy—just her body. I wish she’d take about 30 of my pounds. I bet I’ve lost over 1000 pounds because I keep gaining them back. I wish I could sell my pounds. I’d be rich.

You wish a lot.

Betty Jo turned her head slowly to give him her best if-looks-could-kill glance, but another tap on the door interrupted them.

Hi Tom. Betty Jo welcomed him like a friend. Bill’s a little rummy, but throw water on his face if he snoozes off again, she said with a chuckle. Tom’s another dedicated person who’s been here almost everyday. I wish I had a friend like him.

Tom raised his hand in a quiet greeting.

Bill looked intently at this young man dressed in faded jeans and a flannel plaid shirt that hung loosely over his belt. He sensed a relationship between them. Hi, my friend. He welcomed him, hoping it was a suitable response. I guess I got myself into a bad situation.

That’s putting it mildly, Betty Jo retorted on her way out the door. The door almost closed, but opened again as she peaked in to add, "I wish I could stay, casting sarcasm on Bill’s wish" remark.

Tom pulled a chair beside the bed, paying no heed to the sharp screech it made, and sat in it like it was the end of a long, hard day. His eyes moved from Bill’s face to his arms that were still heavily bandaged.

Buddy, you could have lit up an entire football field! Your body was skipping around like water hitting a hot, greasy skillet. You were still glowing when you went over the roof.

At last someone said something that made Bill want to wake up. You were there?

Tom pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead and heaved a sigh. ’Not something I’ll ever forget.

Well, friend, I don’t remember any of it. I fell off the roof?

It all happened so fast I don’t remember running down three stories of steps. All I could think about was what I was going to find when I got to you. You were on your back on the railroad tracks. I could smell burnin’ flesh. Buddy, you looked fried and dead. I couldn’t feel a heartbeat, so I kicked you in the ribs. He stopped talking and gazed at the floor, shaking his head.

Bill said, Wow. I’m glad you were there to help me. It’s no wonder my arms aren’t working. They must be broken.

Tom’s face turned white, and his eyes expressed a panic that Bill didn’t understand. His words cracked when he mumbled, No, buddy, they’re not broken.

Well, something’s wrong with them.

Bill caught tears filling Tom’s eyes before he turned his face toward the window.

Tom, what’s the matter? Tell me.

Tom cursed and took in a deep breath. Haven’t they told you? Your arms, your hands, they’re gone. The electricity fried them.

For some time, neither one of them spoke. The dreadfulness of what Bill was hearing didn’t seem as ghastly to him as it was for Tom. Bill didn’t know what to say, so he chuckled, as bogus as it was. I fell three stories off a building and didn’t break a bone; I fell three feet off this bed and knocked my teeth out.

Tom sat motionless, staring at the floor.

The uncomfortable silence between them was interrupted when the door opened. A short, well-suited gentleman was reading a chart as he entered the room. He glanced at them over the rim of his glasses and nodded a hello toward Tom and then at Bill.

You’re a hard man to wake up, he said, laying the chart on the bedside table. I’m Dr. Bloemendahl.

Tom got up, waved a goodbye and made a quick exit.

Dr. Bloemendahl clasped each side of Bill’s cheeks and gently moved his head from side to side. How much pain are you feeling in your neck?

It hurts. It’s been hard to move my head.

The doctor nodded. You may have a brain-stem injury. He pulled the blankets back and positioned his stethoscope to listen to Bill’s heart and lungs. Take in a deep breath. Good. A little congestion. Burns are healing well on your chest and abdomen.

Burns?

You had second- and third-degree electrical burns on your arms, wrists, chest, abdomen, and the anterior of the thighs. Can you move your legs?

My legs feel like weights are on them.

Yes, they’re rigid, and muscles have been damaged. You came very close to losing your legs. You’ll need a lot of therapy. The doctor covered him again and wrote something on the chart. When he finished, he gazed solemnly at Bill. Mr. Rasmussen, I am not sure if you’ll ever walk again. When the electricity exited through the upper part of your thighs, it burned the flesh off down to your bones. You were comatose, but it was necessary to do a number of surgeries.

I guess my arms got the worst of it.

I’m sorry we couldn’t save your arms. You’re left arm was amputated right away, about three inches below your elbow. I thought I could save the right arm, but I had to remove it about four inches below the elbow.

I’m glad I slept through all that.

Indeed. I nearly charted your demise. It’s difficult to predict the effects that 13,000 volts of electricity will have on—or in—your body. How serious the effects of the electric shock are on the body depends on the path through the body that the current takes—and, of course, how much voltage. Voltage makes more energy the longer it is in the body. More energy means more heating and more heating means more damages or burns to tissue.

The details sounded so gloomy Bill was thankful when Dr. Bloemendahl smiled. If I sound smart, it’s only because I’ve been doing some research. Now you should understand that extensive, deep burns could occur and cause internal burning also. If it passes through the heart, it could cause the heart to fibrillate. When I talked to your friend, he told me that he kicked you because he couldn’t feel a pulse.

It was a lot for Bill to take in, and he lay silently, nodding until the doctor stopped talking.

I guess I’m lucky to be here, Bill said.

"You’re very lucky to be here. Volts above 11,000