Soundtrack to Saturday night mayhem

It’s nearly midnight, the city is alive, its energy palpable, insidious and real. We leave the station, responding to the west end from the east side, report of shots fired; multiple victims. We’re six minutes out, too early to glove up, too much time to pre-plan my response and appropriate action. I don’t like developing a treatment plan prior to arrival on scene of a shooting, but can’t stop my mind from creating scenarios and how I will react. What I envision and what waits is never the same, seldom even close, so I turn on the truck’s radio and tune in to the classic rock station.

The first notes from The Rolling Stones classic “Gimme Shelter” pour out of the speakers as if the song were waiting for me to let it out of the box. My partner Jared, 20 years my junior, smiles and boosts the volume.

“You like the Stones?” I ask, surprised. I figured all kids his age had lost their soul. Then I remembered that a guy 20 years my junior is actually 30 years old.

“I grew up with this stuff, always loved this one.”

The best way to get from the east side to the west end is directly through downtown Providence. The clubs are gearing up, lines forming outside of some, bored bouncers sitting on stools waiting at others. Which one will win the lottery tonight, I wonder, and get the crowd. Trends change daily in a college town, and the kids from Brown University, RISD, Providence College, Johnson and Wales and RIC always keep things interesting.

I can feel malice in the air, and know that it will be one of those nights, the shootout on Manton just the beginning.

And the Stones play on…

There are multiple gunshot victims near Manton Avenue. We’re going in. The police are still responding, bodies strewn across two streets; yellow tape cordons off some areas, others are left open. There’s another victim under a porch, a fourth lying on some stairs, the fifth propped up against a parked car. I see mayhem through the windshield as we slowly approach, and turn the radio up a little louder.

I scan the horizon, get a bead on the victims and key the mic:

“Rescue 5 to fire alarm, we need four more rescues.”

“Roger Rescue 5.”

I put the mic down, knowing that all of Providence’s six ALS units are busy, and there are no BLS units in a violent city of 200,000. Six gunshot victims, one crew.

Sometimes I think I’m living in a motion picture, acting a part, and none of this is real. I walk through the litter-strewn street, flashing lights and police tape appearing magically as the seconds progress, past a kid with a bullet in his arm, another with a few in his lower legs, a third who might be dead and focus on one who will be, if he doesn’t get help immediately.

I’ve got a bona fide mass casualty here, and I’m on my own. A fire company arrives, and gets to work triaging the victims. The one who needs us the most is bleeding out, vitals crashing; he’s losing consciousness. Ambulances are responding from surrounding towns; the wounded will have to wait, I have enough on my plate. Any idea of being EMS Sector and running the show like a real mass casualty incident, in the way we were trained, flies away.

Then I get the kid in the rescue, count the holes, put the oxygen mask on and get to work.

I tell you love, sister, it’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
It’s just a kiss away
Kiss away, kiss away