“Are They Alive？”
Wadlow escorted Toops to the edge of the flood-scoured field and had another volunteer take him to an ambulance. Then Wadlow returned to search. Meanwhile, Gary Maize and two others had begun hunting about a half-mile north of Wadlow and the command post.
With one weak flashlight between them, Maize's group inched through a minefield of slimy waste and barbed-wire fences. “Anybody out there？” Maize shouted. Then he said to the others, “Shhh！ I heard something.” He killed his radio and listened intently. Slowly, deliberately, he scanned the field with the light. Just ahead there was something in the rubble.
Wearing only a nightshirt, Lisa Toops sat limp and incoherent on the soggy ground near the far perimeter of the field about a half-mile from where her home once stood. She held the gurgling infant tightly to her chest, while five-year-old Tanner lay apparently lifeless across her legs. Neither stirred nor spoke. They had been stranded there in the rain and snow for an hour and ten minutes.
“Ma'am, are you all right？” Maize asked. Clearly she was not. He took the baby and cleared its air passages of mud and leaves. Another firefighter wrapped Tanner in his coat and felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one.
Ryan Wadlow had by now joined the others. He lifted Lisa into his arms and carried her toward rescue vehicles at the edge of the field.
One of the volunteers asked her, “Ma'am, how many children do you have？” Lisa was unresponsive, refusing to let go of Wadlow's neck. “How many children, ma'am？”
Lisa seemed to come awake. “I have three ……” she said, and then her voice trailed off into silence.
Somehow, in all the tumult, she'd managed to hold on to her baby. And, miraculously, she'd snagged Tanner as he washed by her, crying for help. But she had not seen or heard anything of Tara, her sweet little girl.
After turning Lisa over to volunteers, Wadlow slogged back to the spot where she'd been found. He stood in the stillness for a moment. Then he heard a weak whimper. A child！ He followed the sound. Sloshing through mud, some 30 feet away, he came to a cedar tree. There beneath the boughs, almost invisible under silt and rubbish, lay a little girl in muddy brown pajamas. He came closer and shone his light. Her blue eyes were wide open； her breath came in shallow rasps. Wadlow swept her up and hurried to the ambulance.
Back down the road near the command post, an anguished Jerry Toops was being tended in the other ambulance when word filtered in that they'd “found the baby and little girl.” Toops thought that meant their bodies had been found. Dreading the answer, he asked, “Are they alive？”
“Yes,” came the reply.
For the first time that night, Jerry Toops wept.
The sun rose behind the mountains. Ten minutes later, he learned that Lisa and Tanner were also alive.
The family members were gathered like pieces of driftwood and taken to the local medical center. From there, they were transferred to Cardinal Glennon Hospital in St. Louis. All were suffering from hypothermia and were covered with cuts and bruises —— except Tara, who survived without a scratch. Tanner was in the worst shape. An EMT described his condition as “not compatible with life.” But the medical team kept working and after almost two hours of CPR, he was revived. Tucker and Tara were hospitalized for six days, Tanner two weeks. Everyone recovered.
The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission has investigated the incident. A report is due out this summer.
The Shut-Ins park was devastated, but is being restored and will open again for swimming and camping in 2007. Jerry Toops has been promoted to assistant field supervisor for the Ozarks District. He's building a home near Lebanon, Missouri —— on a hill nowhere near a dam.
Wadlow escorted Toops to the edge of the flood-scoured field and had another volunteer take him to an ambulance. Then Wadlow returned to search. Meanwhile, Gary Maize and two others had begun hunting about a half-mile north of Wadlow and the command post.
With one weak flashlight between them, Maize's group inched through a minefield of slimy waste and barbed-wire fences. “Anybody out there？” Maize shouted. Then he said to the others, “Shhh！ I heard something.” He killed his radio and listened intently. Slowly, deliberately, he scanned the field with the light. Just ahead there was something in the rubble.
Wearing only a nightshirt, Lisa Toops sat limp and incoherent on the soggy ground near the far perimeter of the field about a half-mile from where her home once stood. She held the gurgling infant tightly to her chest, while five-year-old Tanner lay apparently lifeless across her legs. Neither stirred nor spoke. They had been stranded there in the rain and snow for an hour and ten minutes.
“Ma'am, are you all right？” Maize asked. Clearly she was not. He took the baby and cleared its air passages of mud and leaves. Another firefighter wrapped Tanner in his coat and felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one.
Ryan Wadlow had by now joined the others. He lifted Lisa into his arms and carried her toward rescue vehicles at the edge of the field.
One of the volunteers asked her, “Ma'am, how many children do you have？” Lisa was unresponsive, refusing to let go of Wadlow's neck. “How many children, ma'am？”
Lisa seemed to come awake. “I have three ……” she said, and then her voice trailed off into silence.
Somehow, in all the tumult, she'd managed to hold on to her baby. And, miraculously, she'd snagged Tanner as he washed by her, crying for help. But she had not seen or heard anything of Tara, her sweet little girl.
After turning Lisa over to volunteers, Wadlow slogged back to the spot where she'd been found. He stood in the stillness for a moment. Then he heard a weak whimper. A child！ He followed the sound. Sloshing through mud, some 30 feet away, he came to a cedar tree. There beneath the boughs, almost invisible under silt and rubbish, lay a little girl in muddy brown pajamas. He came closer and shone his light. Her blue eyes were wide open； her breath came in shallow rasps. Wadlow swept her up and hurried to the ambulance.
Back down the road near the command post, an anguished Jerry Toops was being tended in the other ambulance when word filtered in that they'd “found the baby and little girl.” Toops thought that meant their bodies had been found. Dreading the answer, he asked, “Are they alive？”
“Yes,” came the reply.
For the first time that night, Jerry Toops wept.
The sun rose behind the mountains. Ten minutes later, he learned that Lisa and Tanner were also alive.
The family members were gathered like pieces of driftwood and taken to the local medical center. From there, they were transferred to Cardinal Glennon Hospital in St. Louis. All were suffering from hypothermia and were covered with cuts and bruises —— except Tara, who survived without a scratch. Tanner was in the worst shape. An EMT described his condition as “not compatible with life.” But the medical team kept working and after almost two hours of CPR, he was revived. Tucker and Tara were hospitalized for six days, Tanner two weeks. Everyone recovered.
The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission has investigated the incident. A report is due out this summer.
The Shut-Ins park was devastated, but is being restored and will open again for swimming and camping in 2007. Jerry Toops has been promoted to assistant field supervisor for the Ozarks District. He's building a home near Lebanon, Missouri —— on a hill nowhere near a dam.