Death In The Afternoon
Had kind of an interesting day today. Thus, the mid-day post.
What happened? Well...we had our first shoot day today and I saw a guy get killed.
I was on the 295 on-ramp from Route 6 in Johnston, RI. There's another access road that merges with the on-ramp before it joins the highway, but the traffic was pretty light. We were only moving at 40 mph or so. Anyway, out of the corner of my left eye, about eight cars ahead or so, I saw a semi-truck with one of those open-bin trailers coming down the access road.
The exact thought I had was..."That truck is moving pretty fast." And it was. It took the corner hard--the cab stayed up, but the bin rolled. It hit the ground on its side and slid toward the guard rail separating the on-ramp from 295. A cloud of what turned out to be roof shingles filled the air. That's when someone died.
Another truck, this one a semi towing an empty flatbed, was in my lane right behind the accident. He couldn't stop. He hit the overturned trailer full force.
The eight cars between me and the accident all stopped for a second. Then something weird happened--they slowly drove around the wreckage and moved onto 295. A few cars closer to the actual crash had pulled over up ahead and some people were running toward the crushed cab to see if the driver had survived, but by and large traffic just kept going.
I pulled over directly behind the empty flatbed with the crashed cab attached to it and got out. The air smelled like burning oil. People were climbing up to the driver's door using a pile of roofing tiles that had been wedged between the truck and the guard rail. One guy asked if I had dialed 911 (yes) and then looked into the window.
He came off the pile and held up his hand.
"The guy's gone, man. He's gone."
And he was.
A woman who was at least six months pregnant stood near the bottom of the pile, looking up at all of the people looking in. She's a cop, she said. We should all stay and be ready to give a statement. She let us all know that she wasn't climbing up to take a peek. I didn't blame her. Neither was I.
Fire and rescue crews started making their way to the scene from all directions. It was pretty clear my car was going to be in the way, so I started it and tried to move off to the side. The driver of another car stuck behind the accident saw me driving toward her and screamed so loud, I heard it through both of our windows.
"Motherfucker! What are you trying to do? Motherfucker!"
I yelled that I was only trying to get out of the way. She turned her head and saw the approaching fire trucks, then back at me, before nodding apologetically.
The driver of the other truck wandered around in a bright orange Teamsters T-shirt, looking at people but saying nothing. I didn't even know he was the other driver until I saw him asking Fire Department guys to go back into his cab for some stuff. He didn't look like anything bad had happened to him--or because of him. In fact, he looked like he was just there to watch.
No one could move for about twenty minutes. We all sat in our cars and watched as the fire department cut open the top of the truck, first pulling the fiberglass apart with their hands, then with axes, then saws. Eventually there was enough of an opening for a man to crawl into the cab. One did. They passed up a defibrillator.
A couple of minutes later, they passed it back down again.
We were waved around the fire trucks and drove away. Slowly.
What happened? Well...we had our first shoot day today and I saw a guy get killed.
I was on the 295 on-ramp from Route 6 in Johnston, RI. There's another access road that merges with the on-ramp before it joins the highway, but the traffic was pretty light. We were only moving at 40 mph or so. Anyway, out of the corner of my left eye, about eight cars ahead or so, I saw a semi-truck with one of those open-bin trailers coming down the access road.
The exact thought I had was..."That truck is moving pretty fast." And it was. It took the corner hard--the cab stayed up, but the bin rolled. It hit the ground on its side and slid toward the guard rail separating the on-ramp from 295. A cloud of what turned out to be roof shingles filled the air. That's when someone died.
Another truck, this one a semi towing an empty flatbed, was in my lane right behind the accident. He couldn't stop. He hit the overturned trailer full force.
The eight cars between me and the accident all stopped for a second. Then something weird happened--they slowly drove around the wreckage and moved onto 295. A few cars closer to the actual crash had pulled over up ahead and some people were running toward the crushed cab to see if the driver had survived, but by and large traffic just kept going.
I pulled over directly behind the empty flatbed with the crashed cab attached to it and got out. The air smelled like burning oil. People were climbing up to the driver's door using a pile of roofing tiles that had been wedged between the truck and the guard rail. One guy asked if I had dialed 911 (yes) and then looked into the window.
He came off the pile and held up his hand.
"The guy's gone, man. He's gone."
And he was.
A woman who was at least six months pregnant stood near the bottom of the pile, looking up at all of the people looking in. She's a cop, she said. We should all stay and be ready to give a statement. She let us all know that she wasn't climbing up to take a peek. I didn't blame her. Neither was I.
Fire and rescue crews started making their way to the scene from all directions. It was pretty clear my car was going to be in the way, so I started it and tried to move off to the side. The driver of another car stuck behind the accident saw me driving toward her and screamed so loud, I heard it through both of our windows.
"Motherfucker! What are you trying to do? Motherfucker!"
I yelled that I was only trying to get out of the way. She turned her head and saw the approaching fire trucks, then back at me, before nodding apologetically.
The driver of the other truck wandered around in a bright orange Teamsters T-shirt, looking at people but saying nothing. I didn't even know he was the other driver until I saw him asking Fire Department guys to go back into his cab for some stuff. He didn't look like anything bad had happened to him--or because of him. In fact, he looked like he was just there to watch.
No one could move for about twenty minutes. We all sat in our cars and watched as the fire department cut open the top of the truck, first pulling the fiberglass apart with their hands, then with axes, then saws. Eventually there was enough of an opening for a man to crawl into the cab. One did. They passed up a defibrillator.
A couple of minutes later, they passed it back down again.
We were waved around the fire trucks and drove away. Slowly.
posted by Matthew at 2:26 PM
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