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About Medford mail tribune. (Medford, Or.) 1909-1989 | View Entire Issue (June 23, 1963)
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Buckle np for safety ! Miracle Cushion Holds False Teeth Tight Baals H Snuaj brand Dmi turt CiMhtoiu are a triumph of irliiiusiaiUiM tritco. a awwatkmaJ . M tww twr-aurt Plaa. allT'ftatasj" Ik rilnin thai ( rW of th anno, ant of fcWM, badly Ittttn faaw Itvlh. Snuc wawa aor, Irritatvd funw du to km dwnturta. Hvtpa prvvtrnt fond panit ckra twttln undvr plate. Applied f mtn ulff. imIim wpooH t pUl lay flnnbr In phset-vlvaa parfact comfort. Rat any. thing - talk. aiua - platt "stay phi." Smur ratlin taal for aavan.1 wWfce. Stay hft and pllaaJv-harmtm to ruma or Wnturaa. PJ rich! out wmm raplac mM h atwdvd. No daily bulbar with ad Haatv. Curt SnuR brand Danlur Cuahkma today I t Hnara for upper or lower plate ISO, At aU dnaratata. First he was acclaimed for his bravery at a disastrous fire, then some said he was a bold liarl Here is the story of a "little guy's" search for justice They Called Me a Iots OF people dream of becoming a hero. I J had the dream come true, and it turned out to be a nightmare. I went from being a hero to heel and back to hero again. This is how it happened. My uncle and I spent the evening of Dec. 15, 1962, with friends. It was past midnight when we started home in my ancient car. As we approached an intersection near the California state capitol in Sacramento) a woman driver passed us in a burst of speed. I could see she wasn't going to stop at the intersection ahead, where the light was blinking red. Approaching on the cross street was a huge oil tanker. The two vehicles collided in the center of the street in a crash of grinding steel and splintered glass. By reflex I slammed on my brakes. My uncle and I jumped out Seconds later we heard an explosion. I saw the truck driver frantically struggling to get out of the crumpled cab. From the car came the scream of a woman. Then si lence. It was the last sound she ever made. - The truck driver jumped to the street and started run ning. Flames leaped from his clothes. The more he ran, the more the flames spread. He pawed at them with his hands without doing much good. I ran after him. I overtook the driver and wrestled him to the street Without thinking, I began beating out the fire on his shirt with my bare hands. It didn't hurt at the time. He kept yelling, "Help me, help me!" Meanwhile, the explosion had sent showers of burning gasoline down on two nearby apartments. Later I learned that 8,750 gallons had erupted like a flame thrower. I slapped again at the flames on the driver's clothing as he twisted in agony, but I was afraid to slap too hard. Burned flesh hung from his hands. I got him to roll in the street. I had to roll him away from the truck because the fire kept moving toward us. Somehow I got him across the street, and he lay down in a puddle of water. That put out the rest of the fire. His name is James R. Moore. He lay near death for months in a hospital, but recovered. Next I looked up and saw the burning apartments. There are people sleeping in there! I thought Frankly, I was a little panicky by then, but I kicked in the front door of one apartment There was a Chinese man inside, half asleep. I remember he was wearing funny looking shorts with polka dots. This was to become an im portant detail in my story. "Get out fast!" I yelled. He hurried out the rear door. I ran back down the front steps and raced around the cor ner. As I ran, I knocked on doors hoping to alert the ten ants. There wasn't time to go inside. Some of the doors were already wrapped in oil-dripping flames. Then I fell down in the street I think that was how I got burned, and here is an odd thing: the flames never touched me ! The heat alone was intense enough to burn my skin. I saw Moore still lying in the street. I led him down to y H Family Werkly, Junt IS. iS some railroad tracks, away from spreading flames. By now fire trucks and ambulances were there. Police loaded Moore into one ambulance and me into another. At County Hos pital I was treated for deep burns on my right arm from the wrist nearly to the shoulder. Then I went home. Next day the newspapers headlined: "Heroism of Pass ing Driver Cheats Death"; "Jobless Cannery Worker Hero of Fire"; and "Betti Named as Hero at Fiery Collision." That week the city council voted me $200 and a certifi cate for bravery. The money sure came in handy because I hadn't worked since the canning season, and I have three kids. Then the Safety Council announced it was consider ing me for its Valor Award. There was talk of putting me up for the coveted Carnegie Medal. I was feeling pretty good. I felt even better when an official told me the city would give me a job. But the wheels of good fortune suddenly spun in reverse. I got a telephone call from police headquarters. "We want to talk to you, Mario," said the officer. "Come on down here." I thought he just wanted a report. But at headquarters I was taken into a room and ques tioned for several hours. One of the officers said bluntly: "I've been checking up on that fire, Mario, and your story sounds fishy. We have witnesses who say that they never saw you near the scene." "I don't know what you mean," I said. "Of course I was there. Ask the truck driver. Look at my arm, my burns." Suddenly I was scared, even though I was telling the truth. The officer glanced at my bandaged arm indifferently. "The hospital reports say that burn could have been made by a sun lamp," he said. "Come clean, Mario. Why did you accept that money from the city for being a hero?" Over and over, I protested that my story was the truth. I felt I was getting the third degree. Finally, they let me go home "But we'll be seeing you again soon !" one said. Next day the newspapers carried headlines of a differ ent type. I was angry and bewildered when I saw: "New Report Casts Doubt on Betti's Role in Crash-Fire" and "Conflicting Reports Reopen Probe of Fatal Crash." Then one night my wife said : "Mario, the police want to see you again. They came here to the hotustX" Then she burst into tears. Watching her, I finally got mad. Why should I get pushed around? Why should my family take this? What had I done wrong? I had heard of Anthony Scalora, a Sacramento criminal ' lawyer. I couldn't afford Scalora's fee, but I guessed right when I went to him. He has often helped the underdog, and he listened to my story sympathetically, then issued a state ment to the press. "I am serving notice on the police: either charge Betti or leave him alone." After that, the police questioning stopped. Several weeks passed, but the clouds of distrust still hung over my head. "Hey, Mario, are you a hero or a bum?" one guy yelled at me on the street A neighbor asked : "Have they arrested you yet?" Then I went to a city official to ask about the job that I had been promised. A gasoline fire killed one woman, injured a man and led Mario Betti (center in photo below) to the lie detector. George Barman (left) conducted the test. Reporter Dick Pollard (right) helped clear Betti. Hero 3 . bk Then a Heel By MARIO BETTI 88 told tO Dick Pollard 7T r. : J v-j "Oh, you're that guy in the fire," he said. "No, I'm afraid we don't have an opening." ' I feared I would live out my life under suspicion of what? But Scalora never let up in his efforts to clear my name. One day he telephoned me: "I hired a private detective to check your story," he said. "He has found the Chinese man whose door you broke down. And he talked to other witnesses at the scene. Mario, your story checks out in every way 1" But so what? The world still didn't know I was telling the truth. I pleaded with Scalora to arrange a lie-detector test for me. "I want to stand or fall on the results," I said. He agreed. Scalora contacted Dick Pollard, my collaborator on this story and a staff writer for The Sacramento Union. Pol lard and his editor, William R. Conlin, agreed, in their words, "that Betti should have his day in court." Pollard arranged for a polygraph examination by the nationally known experts, Reid & Associates (see family weekly, Dec. 2, 1962). George Harman was to conduct the test in San Francisco. When the day arrived, I was a case of nerves. Sure, I was innocent of any wrongdoing, but would the test show it? Pollard reassured me as we drove to the city. "Just relax, Mario, and tell the truth again when they start the test" he said. "Everything will be all right" Nevertheless, my hands were moist and my mouth dry as Harman connected the wires of the mysterious machine and attached the blood-pressure bands. The questioning be gan. At first, Harman asked a lot of questions that had nothing to do with the fire. Suddenly he shot at me: "Did you help the truck driver at the fire?" "Yes," I said. I tried not to watch the needle which trav els smoothly when a person is telling the truth but wavers at a lie. Did it waver? I couldn't be sure. More questions, about my past life, my family, how long I had lived in Sacramento and questions about the fire. At last the ordeal was over. Pollard and Harman con sulted in another room, leaving me alone with my fears. I was so confused by events I even had doubts about myself! Finally the two walked out and Harmon said : "You were telling the truth about the fire in every detail." All I wanted to do was to get home and tell my family. The Union carried the results of the lie test on the front page. The district attorney's office and police announced the following day their investigations were "closed." I waa given a job by a friendly restaurant manager. Then came the Safety Council's citation : "Man of Valor Award ... to Mario Betti," it read. "For outstanding heroism at the scene of a disastrous fire." Said The Union: "In our land, justice Must prevail for the individual ... he deserves the earnest concern of those who look after the preservation of our liberties." Not that I want to be known as a hero. I just want to be a man who can hold his head up. Thanks to an attorney and a newspaper, I can. I '" fr ""x America's Finest Freezer Food Containers Most dependable containers made (or freezer foods, leftovers. Air tight, unbreakable. Use them again and again. Stack-on covers fit tight, prevent leakage and spoilage. In 6 sizes: 12-ounce, Pint, 1 -Pint, Quart, Ji-Gallon, Gallon. Be sure the containers you buy are REPUBLIC'S FREEZETTES. Not just Food Containers FREEZETTEifl At department, hardware stores. Oitll MsaV ay HHMUC MOUNNO CCMPCWAIIO Okas U tM MAKERS (M POUY-FUX MASTIC HOUSEWARES Writ lor fro Catalog 20S-A family Weekly, tS. IMS II Take Pride in Your Home Realise thai blight breeds on small flaws in one home, and spreads out ward to damage entire neighbor hoods. 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