The Sweater

It was 7:30 a.m. and I got off my bus at Port Authority into the crisp wet New York morning. I was walking south on 8th Avenue, and while it didn’t have as much foot traffic as it would mid-day, it was still rather busy.

There are always so many people on the streets in New York that it makes you believe in emanating energy forces, which could be seen via infrared light if you wanted to. People moving to, fro … crazy people leaving a wide berth around them – the give and take of sidewalk traffic … angry energy bumping into gentle energy bumping into efficient energy bumping into dead-end energy. As long as everyone keeps moving, keeps on their own path … the system works. And sometimes, smack-dab in the middle of the converging energy forces, something will occur – something big and bright and sharp and unambiguous … that will attract everyone, no matter what kind of aura they are projecting. A car crash will do it. A lost crying child will do it (I’ve seen huge crowds suddenly become one at the sight of a terrified child who lost grip of his mother’s hand … “What’s your mom look like, son?” “Where were they going? It’s okay … we’ll find her … don’t you worry …”).

And that crisp wet morning, a man’s epileptic fit did it.

I approached the corner of 40th and 8th, and my infrared sensors picked up on something ahead. The individualistic energy of the streets had somehow coalesced. I could see sharp movement, people moving with purpose towards a focal point – and then I saw him: a pudgy black man, in a grey suit, lying on the sidewalk, a huge gash on his forehead from the fall … and he was thrashing about in a seizure. Bloody foam was coming out of his mouth. He must have just gone down when I got there, because the convergence of the crowd-energy was in progress – rather than already completed.

Standing over him was a gentleman in a full sheikh’s robe, complete with flowing keffiyeh. He was on his cellphone. The sheikh was obviously in the middle of calling 911. His voice was brisk, businesslike, no-nonsense. “We’re in front of the Payless on 8th Avenue and 40th. I believe the man is epileptic.”

At that moment, a woman ran up – she had been approaching from the south side of the street – and perhaps her energy that morning had been daydreamlike, or agitated, or calm – but at the sight of the crisis, she was all business – she came running over, shouted out to no one in particular, just announcing her arrival and her profession, “I’M A NURSE.” She knelt on the sidewalk, and began ministering to the man. The sheikh informed her, “The ambulance is on the way … ” The nurse put her hand on the prone man’s face, feeling for a pulse – trying to stabilize his movements.

A small crowd had gathered. People were giving advice, murmuring to one another in concern, everyone knows someone who has epilepsy. The sheikh went out into the bus-lane, peering down 8th Avenue for sight of an ambulance. It was obvious he felt responsible. Not for the man having a seizure, but for making sure he would be all right, and on his way to a hospital – since he was obviously the first one who found him.

And at that moment, a young guy walked up to the crowd. He was probably 23, 24 years old. He didn’t stand there and gawk for long – he was on his way by, glanced down – he must have noticed that the nurse was trying to hold the man’s head up – and, without thinking or hesitating, the young guy pulled off his sweater and knelt down, placing it in a rolled-up ball beneath the man’s head … onto the filthy rain-wet sidewalk, stained with the man’s blood from where he fell. The man’s mouth gushed blood and foam out onto the young guy’s sweater – and young guy stood back, to give the nurse room to do what she had to do. His sweater was donated, to provide comfort to a fallen stranger.

I only stopped to watch the scene for about 15 seconds before moving on – there was nothing I could do to help – but in that time, I saw three people – who were on their way to a busy day, different backgrounds, different gifts – converge on one point of emergency, and do what needed to be done to help. As I walked off, I could hear the sirens of the ambulance approaching.

The 911 call and the nurse’s attention were important. You just hope if you go down in the middle of a crowded street that two people like them will be around.

But for me, it was the gift of the sweater that was the true heroism I saw that morning. I’ll never forget that young guy. And how he didn’t hesitate.