Post by Fuggle on Sept 4, 2004 11:43:45 GMT -5
Riding the Train at Charlotte Regional
North Port resident Bill Condon was on the third floor of Charlotte Regional when Charley hit
Editor's note: In some editions, part one of this story did not run in its entirety.
-- Part one of a two-part series --
Bill Condon describes himself as the toughest guy he knows -- and there is plenty of biographical information to back it up.
At age 18, the Brooklyn native joined the U.S. Army and jumped out of 37 planes as a paratrooper -- one of those times to rescue American citizens caught in an uprising in the Dominican Republic.
Condon's job was to destroy an ammo dump with an M-60 machine gun, striking rebels who had attempted to cut off the paratroopers.
When he returned to New York in 1965, he joined the New York Police Department, a career that would include becoming one of the first anti-crime undercover police officers. He would also be involved in high-profile cases such as the "Son of Sam" serial killings; he booked Sid Vicious -- bassist for the English punk rock group The Sex Pistols -- for killing his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen. He worked grand larcenies. He worked homicides.
But 20 years on the New York City streets couldn't do what two hours in Charlotte Regional Medical Center in Punta Gorda, did as Hurricane Charley wreaked havoc Aug. 13.
"I'm still a whimpering, crying baby with terror in my heart," Condon, 61, said Monday in his Harbor Cove home in North Port, wearing an 'I Survived Hurricane Charley' T-shirt. "I became a whimpering child as this noise, this train, in my hospital room kept getting louder and louder."
Riding the Train
Condon was sick for about a week before he was admitted to Charlotte Regional Hospital in Punta Gorda on Aug. 12. Chilled and feverish by turns, Condon couldn't keep anything in or down. After a CAT scan, it was discovered Condon has a large abscess in his colon. His doctor decided to treat it aggressively with antibiotics and Condon was sent to room 334 on the third floor of Charlotte Regional to recover.
The next morning, Condon was still feverish, sweating and vomiting when he turned on the TV to find a hurricane named Charley was off the Florida Keys and about to come up the coast, predicted to strike the Tampa area. Charley was believed to be a Category 2 hurricane, with sustained wind speeds between 96 and 110 mph.
As time passed, Condon noticed more hospital personnel being brought in.
Condon continued to watch TV, horrified to Charley evolve into a Category 3 -- sustained winds of 111 to 130 mph -- with Sanibel in the cross hairs.
The hospital personnel chatter outside his door became louder, more frantic.
The horror turned to shock as Charley revved up to a Category 4 -- sustained winds of 131 to 155 mph -- and was about to unleash on Charlotte Harbor when it was done with Sanibel.
"I thought, 'My God,'" said Condon, a 17-year area resident. "This thing is going to hit us."
At 2:30 that afternoon, two nurses entered Condon's room and told him he had to be moved away from his window -- they showed him how to disconnect his IV if he had to. About a half hour later, the rains began to come down in sheets and the power went out, sending the hospital into darkness.
"The wind and noise kept increasing, and getting louder, and louder and louder until I realized, there was a train in the room," Condon said, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking. "The toughest person I personally know became a whimpering child as the noise kept getting louder and louder and louder. There was an air vent in the room where the air conditioning air came through and the wind was so loud coming through it, I couldn't hear myself think."
As Condon began to cry, an unexpected noise startled him. It was the telephone in his room.
"I heard the lovely voice of my sister, Clair, calling from New York, and I hear this, 'Billy, it's Clair. How are you?'" Condon holds an imaginary phone in his hand, re-enacting the scenario, his words measured. "I scream into the phone, 'Clair, this is not a good time.' And she says, 'Billy, I can't hear you, there must be something wrong with the connection.'"
Condon put the phone down to the air shaft for a few seconds so his sister could hear the train passing by. He put the receiver back to his mouth.
"Do you hear it now?" he asked.
"There's too much noise," Clair said. "I can't hear you. Here, Mommy wants to say hello."
It was when Condon was reiterating to his 85-year-old mother, Dorothy, that it was not a good time to be on the phone when two panicked nurses ran into his room and unlocked the wheels of his bed, and began to push him out of the room.
A man in a baseball cap and jeans followed, as did a custodian that Condon remembers as being a man about 65 years old, with glasses and gray and black hair. The man in the baseball cap screamed at Condon to get rid of the phone. Condon threw it against the wall in terror.
As Condon was being wheeled out of the room, all parties realized two chairs were partially obstructing the doorway. The custodian sprang into action.
"It was a feat I can't explain," Condon said. "He lifted these two, big, heavy chairs over his head -- one in each hand -- and threw them out of the way."
The nurses, Condon, the custodian and the man in the baseball cap quickly sought shelter in the hall.
"The train came with us," Condon said. "It was a noise I can't explain."
North Port resident Bill Condon was on the third floor of Charlotte Regional when Charley hit
Editor's note: In some editions, part one of this story did not run in its entirety.
-- Part one of a two-part series --
Bill Condon describes himself as the toughest guy he knows -- and there is plenty of biographical information to back it up.
At age 18, the Brooklyn native joined the U.S. Army and jumped out of 37 planes as a paratrooper -- one of those times to rescue American citizens caught in an uprising in the Dominican Republic.
Condon's job was to destroy an ammo dump with an M-60 machine gun, striking rebels who had attempted to cut off the paratroopers.
When he returned to New York in 1965, he joined the New York Police Department, a career that would include becoming one of the first anti-crime undercover police officers. He would also be involved in high-profile cases such as the "Son of Sam" serial killings; he booked Sid Vicious -- bassist for the English punk rock group The Sex Pistols -- for killing his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen. He worked grand larcenies. He worked homicides.
But 20 years on the New York City streets couldn't do what two hours in Charlotte Regional Medical Center in Punta Gorda, did as Hurricane Charley wreaked havoc Aug. 13.
"I'm still a whimpering, crying baby with terror in my heart," Condon, 61, said Monday in his Harbor Cove home in North Port, wearing an 'I Survived Hurricane Charley' T-shirt. "I became a whimpering child as this noise, this train, in my hospital room kept getting louder and louder."
Riding the Train
Condon was sick for about a week before he was admitted to Charlotte Regional Hospital in Punta Gorda on Aug. 12. Chilled and feverish by turns, Condon couldn't keep anything in or down. After a CAT scan, it was discovered Condon has a large abscess in his colon. His doctor decided to treat it aggressively with antibiotics and Condon was sent to room 334 on the third floor of Charlotte Regional to recover.
The next morning, Condon was still feverish, sweating and vomiting when he turned on the TV to find a hurricane named Charley was off the Florida Keys and about to come up the coast, predicted to strike the Tampa area. Charley was believed to be a Category 2 hurricane, with sustained wind speeds between 96 and 110 mph.
As time passed, Condon noticed more hospital personnel being brought in.
Condon continued to watch TV, horrified to Charley evolve into a Category 3 -- sustained winds of 111 to 130 mph -- with Sanibel in the cross hairs.
The hospital personnel chatter outside his door became louder, more frantic.
The horror turned to shock as Charley revved up to a Category 4 -- sustained winds of 131 to 155 mph -- and was about to unleash on Charlotte Harbor when it was done with Sanibel.
"I thought, 'My God,'" said Condon, a 17-year area resident. "This thing is going to hit us."
At 2:30 that afternoon, two nurses entered Condon's room and told him he had to be moved away from his window -- they showed him how to disconnect his IV if he had to. About a half hour later, the rains began to come down in sheets and the power went out, sending the hospital into darkness.
"The wind and noise kept increasing, and getting louder, and louder and louder until I realized, there was a train in the room," Condon said, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking. "The toughest person I personally know became a whimpering child as the noise kept getting louder and louder and louder. There was an air vent in the room where the air conditioning air came through and the wind was so loud coming through it, I couldn't hear myself think."
As Condon began to cry, an unexpected noise startled him. It was the telephone in his room.
"I heard the lovely voice of my sister, Clair, calling from New York, and I hear this, 'Billy, it's Clair. How are you?'" Condon holds an imaginary phone in his hand, re-enacting the scenario, his words measured. "I scream into the phone, 'Clair, this is not a good time.' And she says, 'Billy, I can't hear you, there must be something wrong with the connection.'"
Condon put the phone down to the air shaft for a few seconds so his sister could hear the train passing by. He put the receiver back to his mouth.
"Do you hear it now?" he asked.
"There's too much noise," Clair said. "I can't hear you. Here, Mommy wants to say hello."
It was when Condon was reiterating to his 85-year-old mother, Dorothy, that it was not a good time to be on the phone when two panicked nurses ran into his room and unlocked the wheels of his bed, and began to push him out of the room.
A man in a baseball cap and jeans followed, as did a custodian that Condon remembers as being a man about 65 years old, with glasses and gray and black hair. The man in the baseball cap screamed at Condon to get rid of the phone. Condon threw it against the wall in terror.
As Condon was being wheeled out of the room, all parties realized two chairs were partially obstructing the doorway. The custodian sprang into action.
"It was a feat I can't explain," Condon said. "He lifted these two, big, heavy chairs over his head -- one in each hand -- and threw them out of the way."
The nurses, Condon, the custodian and the man in the baseball cap quickly sought shelter in the hall.
"The train came with us," Condon said. "It was a noise I can't explain."