Berets, Bill Nye, and Arthur C. Clarke

"The more wonderful the means of communication, the more trivial, tawdry, or depressing its contents seemed to be."
— Arthur C. Clarke (2001: A Space Odyssey)

I was probably a 14-year-old Boy Scout when I first became CPR certified. I remember putting my official CPR card in my Velcro wallet where it would be easily accessible should I ever come across someone in need of my newly acquired services. I imagined that I would whip it out, flash it to bystanders like Jake Blues flashed a pack of Chesterfields to “The Good Old Boys” band in the Blues Brothers, and make a path to the lucky recipient of my heroic ability to save a life. “Who was that boy in the jaunty red beret and the yellow neckerchief?” the nameless multitudes would ask. My plan was to tip my cap wade through their applause, and off into the sunset.

Fortunately the opportunity never presented itself.

Years later, maybe 8 or 9, when I had a newer CPR card in my now grown up leather wallet and I worked on search and rescue boats in Southern California, the opportunity, unfortunately, did present itself. A boat full of scuba divers, returning at the end of the day, capsized in the entrance to our harbor. All the divers, still in wetsuits, just swam to a nearby sailboat that stopped to help. But the skipper of the boat was trapped in the pilot house.

When we got on scene we found a sailboat, greatly over loaded with shivering divers who were all standing on one side, looking over at the keel of the capsized dive boat; like mourners at a grave site. My partner and I jumped in and found the skipper of the dive boat, pulled him to our boat, and handed him off to other crew members who laid him in the stern well deck. On the ride back to our dock, just a couple of hundred yards away, the two of us performed CPR on him.

I think the ride too maybe three minutes. When we got to the dock there were paramedics waiting for us. They came aboard and instantly pronounced the skipper dead. Later I found out he had a broken neck and had probably been dead before we even got the call. So our efforts at CPR would never have worked, but for three minutes I thought I was going to save a life.

Right here I must apologize for neither remembering the name of that boat or my partner.

This week I got CPR certified again. I don’t think my certification has lapsed since my days of Velcro wallets and red berets. Also this week Bill Nye of the educational TV show, “Bill Nye the Science Guy” collapsed on stage during a lecture at the University of Southern California. He got back up and continued his lecture, but after slurring some words and stumbling he was removed from the stage and turned over to L.A. County Fire Department paramedics. I understand he is now doing okay. He was passed out for what one witness said was probably 10 seconds. Probably because he had made a late night speech the night before. What is unusual was that during the entire time he was unconscious no one, not one person, went up to him to check on how he was. Now I know 10 seconds doesn’t seem like time enough to offer help, but for many of the students watching the lecture, it was plenty of time to text and tweet about it. Yes, texts and Twitter tweets flooded across the Internet, describing what happened to the Mr. Nye. There are even videos.

These young men and women, at the same age I found my self when I tried to save that dive boat skipper down south, decided that texting their most trvial observances took priority over just touching a fallen man's shoulder and asking if he was okay.

Now I am neither a fan of texting or the greater Los Angeles area, but come on! Could not one person put down their IPhone, Droid, or other device and at least stand up? The quote at the top of the blog today was written by Mr. Clarke in 1969, and I can’t believe how accurately it seems to describe the technology that allows Twitter and other forms of social communication. Amazing technology / trivial and depressing content.