Gary guided the truck off of the highway just outside of Hebron and onto a dirt stretch
called Monument Road. Kim, Helen, Dr. Bunting and I were squished
into the king cab of his big pickup. Now
Gary pointed it
toward a nondescript clump of trees in the distance toward a place he had not
been for thirty years. He knew right
where it was, though, and had thought about it a great deal over that
“It’s only a few miles from here,” he said to
Kim and me. I considered the clumps of
trees in the distance toward where we were headed, and considered the last time
I was there. I felt anxiety rise in me.
I had seen it in my
mind so many times, an image created from the one dimensional colors of the handful
of photographs I had perused in the intervening years. I had pictured a scraggly line of trees
flanked by barren fields, and dark and gloomy skies. Something forbidding and not quite part of
the world where decent and caring people live, like a graveyard in a Charles
Gary took a left turn and continued up a dirt
road that paralleled an empty field surrounded by barbed wire fences. That time of the year the corn hadn’t been planted
yet and the brown dirt surrounding us spread out towards the ends of the earth,
as far as we could see. Then he made one
more turn and slowed the vehicle down, stopping beside a small earthen dike
leading toward a small tree-ringed pond.
“This is it,” he said.
We all got out.
Kim and I slowly walked a distance to where the trees
met the field and stood in silence looking over it. It was like walking into some kind of time
transporter, to another place. The empty
field was level plowed dirt as far as we looked. It would have looked like this that day,
roughly, empty and devoid of vegetation.
I tried to grasp what I saw, but this was nothing like I had expected.
I had thirty years worth of dreams about this place, and
the horror it would bring me to behold it.
But now here I was, and I was transfixed. What I found defied my every
What I found was a
lovely pond ringed by a beautiful and healthy strip of forest, mere yards from
a section of the Oregon Trail. Pioneers heading to the California gold
fields may have stopped at this spot at some point to refresh themselves in the
shade of the trees or the clear water of the pond.
As we approached the woods, two large deer suddenly bounded
from the trees on the opposite side of the pond and ran across the gently
rolling ground to the shelter of another thicket nearby. The peace and
tranquility that I felt at that moment so defied the picture of what I had known
to be the truth for so long that it was hard to believe that this was really the
Kim and I walked along a faint cattle track that wound
around the outer perimeter of the pond, just inside the ring of plum thicket
that surrounded the woods. Kim continued
to walk through the trees and I made my way through a gap in the thick plumb
bushes and then out onto the open field, taking it all in. I looked around, trying to identify the crash
site, but from that spot, there was no trace.
I again wondered seriously if this could really be the place. I figured there would be some sign, some
indication of what we went through. Some
monument that for a few dark hours we had laid there and fought for our lives. But it seemed like it was all gone.
I turned and went back into the woods to look for Kim. As I got to a corner of the pond, I suddenly
noticed what appeared to be a gap in the tree line that surrounded it. I walked over to the spot and could see that much
of the growth there appeared to be newer than the rest in the area. I worked into the gap and found myself in a tiny
clearing a just few feet from the pond.
Long dead branches and the remains of a couple of knocked down large
trees lay around the area. I walked over
to one dead and bare stump that was still standing. All that was left of it was a scrubbed clean
trunk about twenty feet high. At the top
of it, the wood was jagged and torn.
Suddenly I knew why.
I realized with a thump in my chest that thirty years
before, it had ripped the wing off our airplane as we sheared through it. The path we had traveled began to resolve
around me as I stood there and soon became clear. I could suddenly make out the entire
thing. It was here, after all! It had happened right here!
My head spun. I
had to find Kim and tell her! I turned
and hurriedly walked back along the cow path through the trees looking for
her. Then saw her. She stood a few meters away from the clearing
I had found, in the shade of a few trees.
She was looking intently at an object that she held in her hand. Dr. Bunting stood a few feet away. They glanced up at me as I approached a
stunned look in her eyes.
“Look at this…” she said and handed me the object. “I found it on the ground right here.”
I took it. It was
a shiny metal chunk. It was obviously
deformed as if it had been smashed by something. It was heavy chrome, so whatever twisted it,
had done so with considerable force. The
realization of it took me and I looked disbelievingly at Kim, and then looked
over at Dr. Bunting.
“It’s called a pitot tube,” he said. “It’s used to measure airspeed.”
“From...the plane?” I asked in barely a whisper, still
not quite getting the meaning of the artifact I now held in my very hands. He nodded.
I stared at it for a second, still in shock.
Never in my wildest imagination of this trip did I ever think
I would ever actually hold a piece of our plane. I believed it all had simply vanished like a
cloud into the passage of time and could not have possibly left any trace. I got hold of myself and directed Kim to
follow me back to the tree. As I did I
scoured the ground in case there were more artifacts. I stopped upon coming across a small jagged piece
of clear, curved plastic. I knew
immediately it was from our windshield.
I bent down and picked it up, studying it intensely. My head reeled. I felt like I was going to faint.
I am still trying to formulate the impact that that
moment had on me and it is hard to put into words, but that moment was the
instant that I really knew the truth. It
was the moment I really became part of this whole thing and realized it had
happened to me...all of this really happened to me. Up until that moment, I don’t think I ever
really understood that. To hold those pieces of that plane in my hands changed my
whole perspective forever. They were the
physical link to the puzzle that made it real - truly real - for the first time
in my life.
It was as profound a moment as I have ever experienced. I have no other to compare it with.
I had come here to try and find for myself what it was
my dad had seen when he went into that field - foreboding, black, and thick
with fog, like some horror movie. To try
and relive what he must have felt when he had stumbled across what was left of
his wife. To try and grasp the sensation
he learned as our blood smeared his clothes while he tried to save and protect
us. I had come here to get in touch with
that horror and maybe get a taste of it so that I could know the truth of what
had happened. So I could break through
it and try to make sense of it all.
But what I realized instead was that it simply wasn’t
there. It was just a pond, and a forest,
and a field, and the spring breeze, and the birds. It was just me and Kim walking through the
trees. It was my new friends as they
watched us. The horror was long gone. It had vanished long ago like the fog, maybe
as my dad left with us, maybe by the wash of Larry’s rotors, maybe by the
departure or the CAP team, or the wake of Gary and Dick’s truck, or the wind
from Looking Glass’ engines. Maybe it only existed in the minds of those who
witnessed that night from the same perspectives. At any rate, it was gone by the time I got
I felt as though I was too late when I realized that,
and for a moment I was crushed because I thought that I wouldn’t be able to
tell the story without it. But then, as
I stood in the shade of those trees, listening to the breeze and the birds, I
suddenly realized that I didn’t need it to tell the story. The horror wasn’t the story. The words on this page are. The words from all those people. The impact of what came after. The life of my mom. The healing that Jon spoke of. ATLS. That
was the story. Not the pain. Not the dark.
Not the death.
To my surprise, I was uplifted by the life I now saw all
around me, like I was observing it for the first time. Suffice it to say that my own life took an
entirely different meeting at that moment and it made me understand finally
why I was standing there:
I was just supposed to tell this story - any way I could.
As I stood there, the truth was like being hit by an
unexpected wave. I was stunned and
amazed. Joyful and horrified. I simultaneously wanted to scream and laugh
and dance and spin around and fall to my knees and pound the earth in rage on
the very spot where my mother lay dead and bloody so long ago…but I couldn't
make any decision of which one to do.
So instead I just stood there immobilized by the
enormity of it, holding an old chunk of metal and a broken piece of plastic
that had no meaning to anyone at that moment but me and Kim. All I could do was gaze around at it all and
take it into my frazzled mind where it sloshed around like water in a bucket.
And yet in the midst of it all I was aware of a peace
and calm slowly draping itself over me, the likes of which I had never
Like a gift from my mother.
After awhile I forced myself to breathe, and then I found
that I was able to move again. I looked
over at Kim, then at Helen and Gary and Dr. Bunting with tears in my eyes. And I smiled.
I affirmed for myself in that instant what it was that I had to do.
We all turned out okay in the end, I
guess. “Okay” being a relative word. Life wasn’t always easy, but
is it ever? Through it all, we stayed together, and that is what’s important.
I think mom would be content.
Chris is a successful real estate agent and
businessman, and he and his wife Debbie are happy and have wealth beyond
Rick lost himself in the written word
shortly after the crash and emerged after high school an academic. He
began college at Nebraska Wesleyan University before ending up at Brown
University where he got a Masters degree in Education. He is teacher up
near San Francisco with his wife, Mary.
Kim also went on to get a Masters degree in
Human Resources. She is married and living happily with her husband Tim
in Reno. She just gave birth to her first son.
We all have people we love and who take care
of us. And we remain close despite of, or maybe because of, the tragedy
we have all experienced.
Larry Russell thought about us a few times
in the intervening years. Not long after he went looking for us, he was
coming in for a landing at Lincoln in his helicopter. The locator beacon
antennae that he had outfitted the helicopter with, the same one that had
detected our signal, snapped off and flew into his tail rotor, shattering it
and spinning the helicopter in what they call an auto-rotation. He
managed to get it down, but it was a harrowing experience. He still has
pieces of the rotor, as a memento of survival. He and the helicopter were
flying together again in a few weeks.
A few years after that, he was flying a
mission for the Lancaster County Sheriff department, and passed over a mountain
ridge in Arizona in a Piper Cherokee when he hit what is known as a mountain
wave. This happens when air cools rapidly as it crosses a ridge, and
cascades down the other side, like a waterfall of air. Aircraft flying
into one are helpless and at their mercy, as was Larry. One moment he was
flying along and the next maps, cups, and McDonalds french frys were levitating
around him as he suddenly plummeted down the face of the mountain. He
kept his wits and put the plane into a circular decent to slow it down, then at
the last possible instant, managed to break free of the mountain wave and keep
flying. It was only luck that the whole thing occurred over a deep
valley; otherwise the results would have been much different.
His passenger, sleeping in the back, never
knew anything had happened.
Jon Morris stayed on with the CAP and
remained a cop with the Lincoln Police. He went on many more missions
with the CAP, but the memory of our crash always stayed with him. Another
mission occurred a few years after our crash when he was on a recovery mission
involving a commercial airline accident. After several hours on the
scene, he was asked to take a look at the body of the copilot, who had just
been recovered from the wreckage. It was only upon seeing him that he realized
he was looking at his brother in law, who flew for the airline. He had to
break the news to his wife. It was all part of the job with the CAP.
Jim Nitz stayed active in the Lincoln CAP,
although he left Lincoln to move to North Platte to become a Disaster Planner
for Lincoln County, Nebraska, where he lives.
Helen Boman, Dr. Bunting, Gary, Dick,
Blanche and Evelyn stayed in Hebron. Helen was still a nurse at the
Thayer County Medical Center when I finally met her. We remain great
Dr. Bunting retired and lives with his wife
in a little nursing home directly across from the hospital.
moved away from Hebron to live in Omaha several years after our crash.
His own son was killed in an airplane two years after mom, and not far
away. He was flying a crop duster near Hebron and had just finished a run
when the wind shifted and blew the pesticide into him. He lost
consciousness and crashed into the field he was spraying.
Gary is still
the postman for Hebron, and he and Dick are still volunteer firefighters for
Thayer County. Blanch and Evelyn are retired from the hospital.
Sharon Mundhenke stayed in Lincoln. Clarke left being a pastor at Trinity
Chapel and turned towards working the local hospitals as a chaplain full
time. He keeps busy.
Bruce Miller stayed in Lincoln and was the
Chief of Staff at Lincoln General for many years. Bruce retired from
medicine, but he continued to be a pilot. He and my father remained great
and lifelong friends, as am I and his son, Greg. Our lives were strangely
parallel. But that’s a different story…
Ron Craig also stayed in Lincoln to practice
medicine. He became part of my family’s club when he was flying his
airplane out of Winslow, Arizona in 2006. The engine died at 300
feet as he was taking off. He managed to point the plane at a road, but
it crashed into the desert just beyond and was destroyed. He and his wife
walked away with only bruises. I would say miraculously, but I know there
were no miracles - just a damn good pilot at work. He was flying again
within a month. My kind of pilot.
Jill died suddenly of an aneurism in
2010. She was young and healthy and no one can understand why she is gone
either. I think of her sons a lot, and am saddened to know the pain they
are now learning. I pray for them. I miss her.
Shelley is still my friend.
I don’t know what became of Ricky Arnold or
David McLaughlin. To me, they are two specters that appeared from nowhere
to save us, then disappeared back into the mist. I have heard that David
lives in some tiny town somewhere in Nebraska but the letters I have sent have
not reached him, I assume. I am still looking for both of them. I
would like to shake their hands.
Dad remarried again to Lilly, and he lives in Los
Angeles near us and his first grandson. He will always be a
doctor. He still wears his white coat, and I hope he always will.
He flew a few times after the crash but will never land again. He says he
made his last landing in that field. It took thirty years for us to go
back in our minds to that night in the field and really work it out. But
I know it has been good for both of us. We got to know each other like we
never had. We are lucky.
As for me, I wrote about that part of my
life. Learning about it gave me the opportunity to meet some amazing
people and reengage the others I did known who were there. It gave me the
opportunity to share with all of them an experience that connected us to one
another one cold February, long ago.
And in doing so I made some additional
discoveries I had not anticipated. Discoveries having nothing to do with
ATLS and that are not taught in any course.
I learned for certain that life isn’t
fair…like fairness has anything to do with anything. We come into this
world as perfect little beings, and then are gradually contaminated and
corrupted and pulled apart by life. If we are lucky we get to grow old,
wear out, and die. We spend the time in between trying to figure it all
out, but we never do. We try to avoid the thief of time and that’s the
best we can hope for.
But, through it all, there is goodness and
I have my family, who teach me about love
every day. I have friends. I have mountains to climb and
rivers and oceans to swim. I have clear blue sky to soar through and a
wonderful world to explore. I have air to breathe and I breathe
it. I have life. It'll never be perfect, but it doesn't have to be.
I took the things I learned and used them to
unlock some old doors; let the bats out, clean the cobwebs. It has indeed
been good for me, this journey to the truth.
Better than I will ever know. Each day
that I find myself above the surface of the earth is indeed a good day, and a new
blessing. I have no illusions about death. I don’t fear it. I
have dodged it once or twice, but I respect it. And I know someday it
will find me, as it did my mother. As it does us all. But when it
does, I intend that it will find me thoroughly used.
And maybe, somehow, its cold touch will
finally bring me back to the arms of my mother.
“Twenty eight years have gone by since that first course
in Auburn and
ATLS keeps on spreading and growing,” dad said to the audience, looking up from
his notes. “Sort of like a real good
The crowd chuckled, and dad felt the mood of the room
lighten. Dad loosened up a little and
“What we thought would be a course for rural Nebraska, became a
course for the world in all types of trauma settings, from the rural hospital
to the level one trauma center to the military.
he said giving acknowledgement to this crowd, “joined the ATLS family in
1991. Paramedics and the nurses all over
the world now also have ATLS based courses tailored to them and their specific
treatment scenarios. Everyone involved with the trauma victim speaks the same
“ATLS” language. This ability to communicate and anticipate at all levels
decreases morbidity and mortality in the ‘golden hour.’”
That was what it
was all about. Dad left Lincoln and surgery and ATLS after over a
decade later in 1987, choosing he needed to slow down and take it easy. He moved to California in obscurity and was content to
work his way into workers comp cases.
But ATLS continued through all of those years, very similar to the first
course that he, Ron, and Jodie wrote.
Several years later dad started to go down to Ayacucho,
Peru in participation of medical missionaries there. The missions gave him a great deal of
satisfaction, as well as a chance to do surgery again. The conditions made the work very
challenging, and often included having restraint or traction devices, or
instruments made by a local blacksmith.
He tried to go down every year or so, and for many of the patients that
he saw, he was their regular doctor. Peru had
adopted ATLS in the years prior to him going there, but the hospital was still
quite primitive by American standards.
During one of his trips, about 100 miles from the
hospital in the mountains near Cusco, a fire
fight occurred between the Peruvian Marines and the local insurgents known as
the Shinning Path. Two of the marines were
wounded during the battle and were subsequently brought to the hospital. One had an AK-47 gunshot wound to the abdomen
and right arm. The other had stepped on
land mine during the melee, partially amputating the left leg, and sustaining a
severe soft tissue injury to his other leg.
In the rather
primitive ER, dad helped stabilize the patients. The benefits of ATLS immediately were obvious
to him. The Marine personnel and native
doctors spoke Spanish, working along with Americans doctors that spoke
English. There was only one doctor who
was bilingual. It was the ‘language’
that was standardized in the ATLS course that became the common thread that was
used by both groups to communicate outside the realms of their native languages,
enabling efficient, effective assessment and stabilization of the Marines. They both lived.
“From the beginning of the course over 500,000 students
have trained in 46 countries within 25,000 ATLS courses.” Dad concluded to the crowd before him.
“24,000 trained Physicians graduate each year from these
courses,” Dad said, wrapping up his speech with a smile. “It looks like we’re on a roll. I think we might want to introduce it to the
moon and Mars next.
“Compared to what happened in the recent tsunami in
Asia,” he concluded with seriousness, “The terrorist attacks of 9-11
in the US, the disaster on the Gulf of Mexico coast from hurricane Katrina, and
the other natural and man made disasters that have occurred in the past thirty years, my family’s experience out in that field was just child’s play. Hopefully what we have done, all of us who
have become a part of the ATLS family, has played a part in saving some of
The hall erupted in applause, echoing like thunder
across the room. Everyone was on their
feet, and beaming at him. He felt a
little overwhelmed by it. But he was
certainly grateful for the acknowledgement after all these years, even though he
never did any of it for fame or money.
He just threw it out and watched to see if it would stick. He was glad it did, but always knew it was way
bigger then just him. None of it could
have happened without the help and interest he got from Ron and Jodie and all
of the others.
The President of the college came up on stage and shook
his hand vigorously. Dad smiled, and
looked out at the crowd, still applauding.
For a moment, he thought of mom, and was both sad and grateful for her.
Another doctor who came quickly came on board early on was
a noted peripheral vascular surgeon in Lincoln named Paul “Skip” Collicott, who
also happened to be a member of the distinguished American College of
Surgeons.Dad and Ron both knew him personally
and as a colleague, and also knew that he had the political connections and
know how to get things going in moving the ATLS concept to a higher level.They all knew that the College’s endorsement
was critical to get ATLS accepted in any kind of broad way.Fortunately, Skip quickly became a true
disciple of ATLS and gladly took the lead in presenting the course to the
College in short order.
By then, word of the innovation of ATLS had gotten
around the Lincoln
medical community and people liked what they heard.More and more doctors approached dad, Jodie,
and Ron about the course, joined in, and began to write chapters about their
various specialties and the application of those specialties to the ATLS
concept for the syllabus.
Also among those that joined in the fray early was a Lincoln
Mobil Heart Team nurse named Irvene Hughes.She was so taken by the story of what had happened to dad and what was
transpiring before her with ATLS that they asked her if she would write the introduction
to the course, where she told dad’s story and how it had led them all to that
point.She became the Manager of the
ATLS program for The American College of Surgeons Committee on Trauma and
remained in that post for the rest of her professional career, spanning from 1982
The concept of the ABC’s of trauma was further refined
through the contributions of everyone and became the definitive way to
prioritize the order of assessment and treatment.Nothing new was added, and there were no
research related discoveries or scientific revelations associated with ATLS.They all just took what was known and
organized it in a different, more efficient way for treating the trauma
patient.Simplicity was the key, and as
they worked, that key was being turned and would soon open a door bigger than
any of them could have imagined.
Then it was done.The prototype course for ATLS was field tested in Auburn, Nebraska
in 1978 with the help of several groups and individuals who had by then become
convinced of ATLS’ relevance and importance to trauma medicine.It seemed to work.Armed with the early successes, Skip took the
course and presented it to the University
of Nebraska, who was also
duly impressed and supportive. The University faculty threw their support
behind ATLS by providing surgical training facilities to truly field test the
concept.Next, Skip got The American
College of Surgeons Committee on Trauma involved, and they too were impressed
by what they saw.
Dad and his friends took the finished course to the
thirteen regions of the College and presented their work.All of the doctors there were intrigued and
inspired at what they were presented.Could it really be that easy?Could there really be a simple way to standardize trauma care and make
it quickly available to all rural doctors?
It appeared so.
And, while they were at it, if it was good for them, why
not the rest of the world?The College
quickly arborized the course within each region, and ATLS was officially born.The United States military was one of
the first major organizations to adopt it, and they still use it as the basis
of combat care for their wounded troops.
From its inception, the basic concepts have never
changed for ATLS and it turned out to be more successful in its application
than dad, Ron and Jodie ever hoped for.Other
states in the nation and Canada
began to adopt the course through the American College
of Surgeons and began to teach the concepts of ATLS to their respective trauma
physicians.ATLS continued to prove
incredibly effective and from the US
it moved to other countries all over the world.
Just like me, my dad had been paralyzed.With Ron’s words, he got up and began to walk
again.He began to really talk.His mind began to engage and soon the ideas
were flowing from the two of them.
They had determined early in the conversation that what
was really needed was fairly simple: There
was a basic lack of consistency in trauma care and they needed a system to
address this inconsistency.In other
words, they needed a method to educate rural physicians in a systematic way to
treat trauma that was applicable to all facilities all over the state.All of the doctors at these facilities were
perfectly competent to treat their patients, but many were using out of date or
obsolete methods because there was no consistent system, and if there was,
there was no way to deliver it.
The two of them soon managed to get together with a
nurse who worked with the Lincoln Mobile Heart Team named Jodie Upright very early
in the discussion.The Mobile Heart Team
itself was a recent innovation that dealt with, as the name implied, cardiac
trauma and the standardization of cardiac care.
The three of them hashed the issue out, comparing their
own experiences, and quickly decided there was indeed a need for this new
system.They were all aware that if this
was possible, it would call for the creation of a training course for the small
hospitals – ones like the hospital in Hebron.These kinds of facilities were literally all
over the state, and dad, Ron and Jodie all had the same conclusion through
their individual dealings that very little consistency in trauma care existed
among any of them.
And that’s what had caused the problems dad had
encountered in Hebron,
that lack of consistency.It wasn’t the
standard of care.Most of these
facilities, including Hebron,
could handle the emergencies, and most patients didn’t suffer inadequate
care.They probably could have handled
us just fine if dad hadn’t lost it.But
in trauma, there could be, and should be, a standard.A system to deal with all kinds of cases in a
similar and by-the-numbers fashion.
They were all aware of and familiar with the work of
another Lincoln physician named Steve Carvith, who had created a course with a
similar objective called Advanced Cardiac Life Support, which addressed similar
issues in cardiac care.Jodie had worked
with Doctor Carvith on that project, so she was a good source of knowledge for
how it came about and the format used.ACLS
was a great idea and provided the level of consistency in cardiac care that dad,
Jodie, and Ron were looking for in trauma care.
Influenced by the concepts, and realizing that if
something works, you should go with it, they decided to use a similar format,
and call the new course Advanced Trauma Life Support (ATLS).Not too original, they knew, but it seemed to
catch on with them, and had a solid sounding ring to it.
The first thing they knew they had to do was to become
experts on the conceptual framework that Steve had developed, so over the next
several months they all took courses, and became certified ACLS instructors so
that they could learn intimately how the course was organized.It was hard work and a huge commitment to
their professional and personal lives, but they had all become entranced by the
project, and to them it was well worth it.
As they went along, they began to see the enormity of
what they had started.They could see
that a lot of help would be needed, if this was going to work.Intensive training was the key to it, and to
do that a syllabus had to be created and arranged into a framework that
presented a logical and consistent approach to all manner of trauma.
Somewhere along the way they had realized that the
problem in many trauma cases was the wrong order of treatment.If a patient was bleeding profusely, sure
that looks horrible and could certainly kill them, but the crushed chest you
are ignoring while you treat the ghastly looking gusher of blood will kill them
quicker than the bleeding itself.Simply
put, a doctor had to understand the necessary order of treatment and treat
They got the idea that it would be more effective if a
doctor could quickly evaluate a patient as soon as they came into the ER, know
the severity of the various injuries based on known facts, and fix the worst
ones first, and before attacking the next problem.This, rather than look at every system
involved and every problem, figure out which one to treat, and then began
treatment - which was pretty much the way it had been done, and was based on
the individual doctor, who was, after all, human and limited by his or her
level of training, knowledge, and experience.This created inconsistency.
They began to call their new concept of the correct
order of treatment the ABC’s of trauma.
As they expected, this idea created a bit of controversy
and rumbling from the establishment as word of the ABC concept spread.As it is with many things, it is very
difficult to get people, even highly educated and progressive people, to step
out of their comfort zone, get away from what they knew, and try something
new.It is no different with doctors; at
least it wasn’t at the time.Doctors see
themselves, and rightly so, as the captain of their respective ships.The call may be right or wrong, but it was
still their call.Some complained that
the standardization of the process took the ability away from them to make good
Some just had big egos.But even the staunchest of critics couldn’t argue away the simple logic
of the concept, and it began to catch on. Soon that simplicity was implemented
into the creation of the ATLS course as its central dogma.Everything else would be based on the ABC’s.