The subject of this story is not what you may think from the title. Catchy titles draw the reader in. So, I hope you are suitably drawn.

 I sometimes source my collection of hats, helmets, coats and jackets of different time periods of the twentieth century to affect a certain “look from history” when venturing forth to Church, Food Lion, Walmart, ALDI, etc. (possibly a harmless form of multiple personality)

The following occurred on the Sunday of Veteran’s Day weekend last year, during which I had decided to affect a World War I look, dressed in trench coat, repro Army cap, and wearing a poppy

I’d like to make it clear that the wearing of my Veteran’s Day “get-up” was meant to inspire people to “remember,” not some affectation of stolen valor, especially since the last American WWI veteran passed away in 2011, and I’m 74.

So, I parked on Main Street, exited my car, and walked up the sidewalk towards Danville’s First Presbyterian Church’s Sutherlin Street entrance, and “Boom!”(or “Bam,” “Splatt,” or whichever Batman 1960s TV series onomatopoeia best fits).

The next thing I saw was a very close-up “view” of the sidewalk, its actual structure, in fact, each little grain making up the structure of the concrete in “front” of me. I had fallen on my nose!

Even though I was dressed like a World War I soldier, it wasn’t a “Bertha gun”(Johnny Cash, “That ragged Old Flag”) which led to my “down-fall.” The culprit was a section of sidewalk which protruded over an inch higher than the section just before it (“plate tectonics” comes to mind). Even though the “escarpment” produced by that unevenness was nothing compared to “The Escarpment” referred to by writer, Edgar Rice Burroughs, it was big enough!

(An aside: I now believe the nose does more than breathe. Sometimes, it serves as a buffer for the rest of the face).

My nose struck the pavement; but I was still conscious. I stared at the drops of blood repeatedly splashing on the sidewalk, then it hit me (figuratively, this time): “That’s coming from me!” I thought about Jackson Pollock’s “splatter art,” except he used more colors than just red.

My palms and fingers were bloody, resembling “wounds of resistance,” which occur when someone is resisting the attack from a would-be murderer. I guess you could say I was “resisting the ground!”

I slowly raised myself up by grasping the bumper of Jean Nostrand’s adjacently parked car. I later wondered if Jean would see the blood on the bumper and wonder whom or what she had hit.

When I entered church, several fellow parishioners, including Jackie Rochford, seated me in one of the comfy chairs in which a deacon sits and watches the side entrance during church service.

Bernadine “Bunny” Hayes continually brought tissues to soak up the blood from my nose; and Sally Clark brought ice and continued to refreshen the ice pack on my nose. Sally is an OR RN at Danville’s SOVAH.

A number of concerned parishioners, including retired Averett History Professor Dr. Jack Irby “Jay” Hayes, Jr. (husband of “Bunny”) stood by, giving moral support. When another fellow parishioner, Dr. Sam Meadema entered the Sutherlin Ave. entrance, he examined me (it was as if he had come on duty, and I was his only patient). Dr. Meadema determined nothing had been broken and warned me that there would be bruising where my glasses’ frames had been jammed against my cheeks.

A while after my bleeding stopped, the time came for me to be released from “Sutherlin Street Entrance Triage,”(as I like to call it,). After Dr. Meadema advised me on the use of cold and hot compresses and nasal saline solution for the next several days, Sally walked me to my car. I thought later about the time Dr. Meadema and Nurse Clark had looked in on me before I went into surgery under Dr. John Mahoney to have my hips replaced. Thinking of them, I can repeat Hebrews13:2, part of which says: “Some of us have entertained angels unawares.” And I can go on to paraphrase it by saying that I am aware that “earthly angels” have attended to me more than once.

Back outside, I saw our Church Custodian, Ron Tanner, cleaning up my blood from the sidewalk. Strangely, the thought occurred to me that if I got some luminol from the Danville Police Department, bought a black light from Walmart and went out to that same spot on some dark night a month hence, a few micro-sized specs of blood might glow!

A couple of thoughts occurred after I drove away: (1). Since I’m only 5 feet 6, I didn’t fall as far as someone who was 6 feet 3. (2). I’m glad no one had given me “The Irish Blessing:” “May the road rise up to meet you…” (as far as I was concerned, it already had).

I later saw Dr. Meadema in his office; and he declared nothing fractured, and my nose properly aligned. Beforehand, while waiting in his lobby, I took note of a multitude of objects mounted in a large picture frame (a Riker Mount minus cotton) and displayed on the wall. A sign with it stated these objects had been removed from people’s ears, noses, and throats, hence “ENT.” Among them were small pebbles, whole insects, chicken bones, fish bones, etc.

Sitting there, I imagined an addendum to this sign: “Now, if you are wondering what kinds of strange objects may have been extracted from any other bodily orifices; well, we don’t concern ourselves with that sort of thing, we’re strictly ENT.”

The other day, I heard someone stressing the importance of having a “Church family.” Looking back on how my fellow parishioners came to my aid on the day of my accident, I know that I have one.

Being “In the bosom of Danville’s First Presbyterian Church” ranks a very close 2nd to being “In the bosom of Abraham!”