Big John

Big John

Recently I heard a Jimmy Dean oldie on the radio entitled “Big John. It was about a heroic man who played a fateful role in saving many lives in a coal mine disaster. It listed his many attributes. It got me to thinking about another “John” I was familiar with back in my middle teens. What he did was very heroic in my eyes even thought it involved only him.

He definitely was not a “Big John” in physical stature! He was of medium build, about 5 ft 7 in tall. But he was big in every sense of the word in every other way! A brief description of him would include the following words. Russian. Émigré. Socialistic. Strong. Determined. Father. Husband. Dependable. Committed. Faithful. Reliable. Innovative. Survivor. He survived a great famine as a young man. His family picked grass and put it into a container of brine just like what was done to pickle cucumbers or cabbage. They ate this concoction to keep alive.

He and my dad became quite good friends when we moved to Wroxton from our farm. John had emigrated about 15 years earlier and was a jack-of-all-trades in our village. His services were in great demand because of his reliability and skilled workmanship. He often played devil’s advocate during his political discussions with my dad.

 A few years later when we moved back to the farm, my dad was elected to the municipal council of our area which encompassed about a 1000 square kilometres. And he eventually became reeve. He hired John to be their “cat-skinner” in municipal road construction. John was knowledgeable and could work on road building with minimal supervision. They also hired another two men to assist him in the construction.

 John drove the caterpillar which had a big blade in the front. Behind the caterpillar was a 4 wheeled scraper which was used to scoop up dirt and clay from the ditches and to transfer it to the surface of the road thus raising the road surface to make it more drivable in both winter and fall. He was good at what he did and his two helpers who chopped and removed and burnt bushes and trees that the caterpillar had bull-dozed to enable the scraper to scoop up the materials to put into the new roadbed liked him as a foreman.

One day they were working on a grid road about 5 kilometres north of our house. They had just finished for the day and it was getting late. John told his crew to go home as it was Friday night and they did not work on weekends. They left and then John decided that there was one patch of road that needed to be raised a bit so that anyone driving over it would not suddenly find themselves fighting the steering wheel as they passed over it. He would do that and then shut down for the weekend.

As he drove the caterpillar into the ditch to scoop up some dirt, he didn’t notice a downed tree in the now gathering dusk. As the treads passed over the tree, one of the branches was bent back and when the treads passed over it, the branch snapped back. As it did, it broke and a section of the branch which was about 10 centimetres in circumference was thrust forward and upward. It impaled him just below his ribcage but missed penetrating his stomach.

He immediately stopped the caterpillar and assessed the “damages”. It was serious but he could see that no blood was spurting so the branch hadn’t hit an artery. But the wound was bleeding and the pain was almost unbearable. He could not do anything with this 3 metre branch sticking out of him and immobilizing him. His first order of business was to cut the excess amount of branch protruding from him.

Beside his seat there was a toolbox containing what John considered essentials for on-the-spot repairs. In here he found a small steel cutting saw. Painfully and slowly, he laboriously cut his way through the branch, each stroke of the blade sending shooting pains through his body.

He finally cut through and the branch part sticking out of him was now only about 6 inches long. Grabbing some oily rags that were in the toolbox he pressed them down onto the wound’s entry point to slow down the seeping of blood. How much of the branch was still stuck into him he did not know. Now he had to decide what to do. He had to get to a hospital. If he started to drive the cat to our house on the highway, it would take him two hours to get there. To get to the nearest neighbours would also take some time and he did not know if they were home or awake or could even transport him to the hospital. No, he would have to some how get to his truck and drive to our place.

The next formidable task was to get this injured body of his to his truck. He slowly engaged the clutch and drove the caterpillar to his truck. There he stopped and shut the caterpillar’s engine off. Now to dismount. With every movement sending waves of pain through his body, he slowly crawled onto the tread and proceeded to lower himself to the ground. Taking moments of respite, he made his way to driver’s side of the truck.

Fortunately for him his truck keys were in his pocket. Retrieving them and then pulling the door open was accomplished. Now would he be able to hoist his body into the cab? Slowly he pulled himself up and into the cab. He started the motor and then began to drive very slowly to our place. Waves of pain made it difficult for him to concentrate. He picked up speed and soon was driving along at about 20 mph, as fast as he dared go.

He drove onto our yard. My mom and dad and I had already retired for the night. My dog, Harry, a black Lab, started barking loudly to alert us to strangers in the yard. John stopped in front of the door and leaned on his horn and kept honking the horn until we had been roused.

The three of us dressed hastily and then burst out the front door. John upon seeing us relaxed and simply lay back against the seat. My dad recognizing who it was, immediately pulled the driver’s side door open, and took stock of the situation. He called to my mom and she opened the passenger side door. Quickly she assessed the situation and hurried back to the house. This was going to require a trip to the emergency room. 

My dad and I attempted to move John to the passenger side of the seat. I held on to his belt and got a grip on his right pantleg. My dad slipped one hand behind John’s knees and the other hand carefully under John’s behind. Together we slowly pushed/pulled him from behind the wheel. Each movement caused John a lot of pain, but it was a necessary move.

My mom came out with a basin of warm water which she used to rinse down the wound after she removed the oily rags. She then took some clean towels and pressed them down onto the wound. Using some old adhesive tape we had, she taped the towels so they were pressing down slightly and would help slow the flow of blood. She also carefully laid a small pillow between John’s head and the passenger door window. John smiled weakly at her, politely thanked her, and then passed out.

 Meantime my dad had wiped the seat down and got behind the wheel. In a moment he had fired up the engine and he and John  were off in John’s truck to Yorkton to the Union Hospital emergency room, which was about 50 kilometres away over a graveled highway.

The doctors and nurses at the hospital managed to remove the branch, clean out the wound and sterilize it. They sewed it up and then John received a transfusion of blood and IV drip tubes. Fortunately the branch had not hit any major organs or blood vessels. He spent 2 weeks in the hospital and then another month at home recuperating. Soon he was back at work. It would take more than some poplar tree branch to stop our Big John!