My boy's arm was severed and reattached
BUT HE WOULDN'T CRY!
Here is a story of rare courage in a
12-year-old boy, told by the mother
of the spunky redhead whose arm was
sewn back on in a historic operation
By Mrs. EVERETT KNOWLES as (old to Bob Gaines
Everett entered high school this September.
THE TELEPHONE . CALL
came at 4 : 55 that after
noon in the meat-packing
plant where I worked. My
foreman took the call and
then came over and whis
pered that my 12-year-old
son Everett had been in a
bad accident.
Automatically, I looked at my
watch and thought: but Everett
should be safely home from school
now with his father and sisters.
Then my throat clenched with fear.
Oh, God, is he dead?
You probably remember reading
newspaper stories about Everett
KnowleB, the little boy from Som
erville, Mass., who on May 23, 1962,
had his arm torn off in a freight
train accident and then sewn back
on in a historic operation.
The surgeons who performed
this operation accomplished one of
the great firsts in medical history.
But I like to think it is really the
story of a poker-faced little red
headed kid who refused to cry and
of his neighbors on Dell Street in
Somerville who rushed to his aid.
The beginning of the story has
been told so often. That afternoon
after school, Everett went down to
the Boston & Maine tracks to hop
a train home. Many of the younger
boys in the neighborhood did this,
although they knew their parents
would take a stick to them if they
were caught.
What happened after that isn't
clear; Everett's memory has erased
the nightmare. But we think he was
hanging onto the handrail of a
gravel car and was slammed into
an abutment as the train went un
der an overpass. When he arrived
at the hospital, still conscious and
quite calm, the doctors cut off his
blood-stained jacket and discov
ered his right arm had been com
pletely torn from his shoulder.
By 4:55 p.m., when I first heard
of the accident, Everett was already
on the operating table under anes
thesia. My sister, who worked in
the meat-packing plant with me,
drove me home, and I was frantic
by the time we pulled into the
driveway. I ran into the house,
hoping to find either my two daugh
ters or my husband, who works
nights as a meat packer. But the
house was empty.
I guess my next-door neighbor
saw me drive up. She came running
over to tell me the police had come
an hour earlier to take my husband
to the hospital. All she knew was
that Everett somehow had hurt his
hand or arm. I was wild with
worry. Grabbing my coat, I rushed
down the street I'm not sure
quite where I was going just as
my husband, Everett, Sr., came
around the corner in his car.
HE told ME our boy was all right,
but his arm was badly cut He
said Everett was at Massachusetts
General Hospital in Boston, where
the doctors were trying to save his
arm. "His life is in no danger,"
my husband said, "and the best
thing we can do is go home and
wait till the operation is over and
the hospital calls us."
I don't remember how we got
through the evening. I cooked sup
per, but I don't know whether I ate.
Afterwards, I did the dishes and
then waited. The accident had real
ly stunned me. I was frightened
because I couldn't see Everett, and
I kept thinking everybody was
holding something back from me.
But at 1 1 p.m., Dr. Ronald A. Malt,
the young surgeon in charge of the
operation, called, as he had prom
ised. Everett was fine and sleeping;
the operation had been successful.
You'll think it odd, but I never
knew what his word "successful"
meant until days later. I was so
worried about Everett I never read
any of the newspaper stories de
scribing the historic operation. It
was at least a week later before I
realized his arm had actually been
severed from his body and then
reattached !
At the time, I only knew the
operation had been a serious one
it had taken eight hours and I
expected to see him completely
covered with bandages and barely
conscious. But when my husband
and I went to visit him the next
day, he was wide awake, his chest
and arm covered in a huge white
plaster cast He was surrounded by
admiring nurses who kept calling
him "Red" a nickname the news
papers quickly picked up.
He smiled when he saw us and
said, "Hi, Mommie," just as if he
were coming home from school.
During the five minutes we stayed
with him, his only real worry
seemed to be that we would be
angry because he ruined a good
jacket Later the doctors told us
that when he was brought to the
hospital, he kept saying, "Gee, my
parents were going on vacation in
a few days. This will spoil it."
Only once did he let us sense any
of the fears gnawing inside him.
He asked his father: "Daddy, do
you think I'll ever pitch again?"
Up until the accident Everett had
been a good Little League pitcher
and loved the game. My husband
could only nod his head and say,
"Sure, you'll be out on the field
again." But we really didn't know.
Back on Dell Street in Somer
ville, something was happening I
never expected. From all along our
small block, with its 40 or so fami
lies, neighbors came to offer blood
for Everett as well as money,
flowers, and their prayers. At our
local church, there wasn't a candle
left to light.
And suddenly the whole world
knew about Everett. Letters poured
in from Europe, Africa, the Far
East even Iron Curtain countries.
He got notes from such people as
Arthur Godfrey, Pat Boone, Ed
Sullivan, and astronaut Scott Car
penter. Dozens of baseball stars
sent autographed balls and bats.
DURING THIS TIME, Everett
amazed everyone with his
spunky cheerfulness. He never
cried. He had made up his mind
about this, I think. He hadn't cried
when the ambulance attendants
brought him into the emergency
ward on a blood-stained litter, and
he was determined not to cry now
during his recuperation.
We weren't even sure he knew
how serious his accident had been.
When my husband and I mentioned
this to one of his doctors, he told
us: "Everett knows more about
the accident than you might think.
Remember, he never lost conscious
ness until we put him to sleep."
We didn't want to worry him
about discussing the accident and
how it would change his life, but
by the third week I had a feeling
something was troubling him. He
was so quiet and calm. I figured he
might be scared but too proud to
talk about it So I said: "Everett
don't worry about anything. You're
going to be all right and no one
is going to hurt you."
He thought a moment and then
said: "Mommy, I know how bad
the accident was. I know my arm
came off. When I came into the
Family Wttklu. Drceratttrt. IK3