Death on the Lake
Life too...
Bluffs above Lake Red Rock, Marion County, Iowa
I’m not going to identify the law enforcement officer in the photo above by name. He’s a dear friend, a great investigator, and one of the gentlest, kindest, and most empathic people I’ve ever met. I’ve been at murder scenes with him, countless wrecks, fires, suicides, and drownings. You name it. Let’s call him Clark. Clark served at least one tour of duty in Iraq or Afghanistan, I forget where. So many people in law enforcement here have served I have trouble keeping track of who, where, and when.
Sometimes on the scene of a tragedy, he shares things with me I don’t report. People share things in the moment because we share that moment, if that makes sense. Often they are things I won’t report on because they might bring pain to a family. People are always in pain at these scenes. And not just pain. Anguish. I try to maintain a discrete distance until the first responders are ready to make an official statement, but by being there, I’m involved in one way or another. Most reporters know what I’m talking about, but in rural areas, we often have closer relations with our first responders than reporters in big cities do. Our kids or grandkids are in school together, we see each other at ball games, and sometimes we’ll tip back a beer or two together and tell stories.
Sometimes I’m more directly involved. After being asked, I’ve helped direct traffic at numerous rural accident scenes when I arrived shortly after the first deputy did.
Sometimes I tell these stories to Annie when I get home. Other times I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever told her how the moans and screams of those dying in vehicle collisions haunt me. And what I’ve seen is nothing compared to what our first responders go through. I watch as they valiantly save lives--or not--while I’m powerless to do anything. I so, so admire them—their diligence, strength, and compassion.
Sometimes after some time has passed, I find myself needing to tell a story, but without names and specific identifying information.
Like the time right after dawn and Clark was first on scene when a health care provider was driving home from a long night shift and hit a bicyclist on the road near the lake.
I was second on scene.
When the ambulance and fire trucks pulled up, and other first responders took over, Clark came back to stand with me. He told me when he arrived; she was lying in the road next to the dying man, holding his hand, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again.
“She didn’t want him to be alone,” he said.
I don’t know how many drownings and suicides at Lake Red Rock I have covered as news stories over the years. A couple of drownings occurred in the spillway below the dam; one was a kayaker who got too close to the churning waters, and the other was a man who tried to rescue a child in trouble in the water.
Clark is often there.
Other drownings resulted from boating accidents, and at least one was likely a medical episode. One guy dove into the water, and it was too shallow and was either stunned and drowned or broke his neck and drifted away. Sometimes it seems like people are magically washed away, claimed by the lake. One before my time was purposeful when a man wrapped a large heavy chain around his neck and body and walked into the lake above the dam in front of his children. A retired conservation officer told me this story, shaking his head.
One person shot and killed themselves at the end of a boat ramp. “What a terrible place to do it,” one friend told me. “No, it’s perfect,” I told her. “No mess at home, the funeral home takes the body, a bucket of lake water or two cleans up the spot, and most people on a boat ramp are used to bloody things.”
I have come to dread holidays, especially three-day ones where people are on the lake in the spring and summer. Once I spent much of Mother’s Day on a hill above where a drowning occurred. The Sheriff asked me to stand next to the roadway to wrangle other media who were coming. If he gave me that task, he didn’t have to use a deputy who would be better used as part of the search and rescue. He asked me to text him when they arrived, and he would come up and speak with them when he could. It worked well.
I’ve never asked to interview a victim's family, but sometimes they have asked me if they can tell their loved one’s story. It’s a hard interview to do, but I always start by saying I’m so sorry about the situation they are in, and then I ask them to tell us about the victim, and it all flows well from there. The most challenging time was when I interviewed the victim’s Mom and Dad and his pregnant fiance.
They wanted to share his story and of their love for him. It was hard not to weep with them.
Often friends and family want to help with the search and rescue, but they almost always get in the way. They always have hope that the person didn’t drown and is injured and lost in the wooded area around the lake. I’ve never known it to happen. One time maybe 50-100 people came to help look for the missing person, but Lake Red Rock is the biggest lake in Iowa, and some of the people wanting to search looked like they would soon need rescuing themselves if they started wandering through the timber. Instead, they ended up taking over the canopies set up to shade the first responders as they rested and eating all of the food and drink our local businesses had provided for free for our rescue teams.
The fact is that much of what first responders do when a person is missing on a large body of water is a ritual performance for their loved ones. Searching the woods. Drones and planes in the air. Boating up and down the lake until the body is found. First responders know the immediate probability of finding the body is extremely low. When a person drowns, their body sinks. Depending on the water temperature, most of the time, it takes five days to a couple of weeks for the body to bloat and float to the surface and then wash ashore, where someone will find it. Days and days of performance.
In the photo above, Clark is standing on the cliffs above where they believed they had found the body in this incident. He tells me a buoy in the water marked its location, and a dive team is on the way. And that the Chief Deputy doesn’t want any media around when the dive team goes in to get the body. It’s a cold day and windy, so I start to hike back to where our vehicles are parked. I have what I need for the story until the press release comes out.
I ask him if he wants to walk out with me. “There’s nothing you can do from up here to help, and the dive team is almost here,” I say.
Clark shakes his head.
“No,” he says.
“I don’t want him to be alone.”
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Okay, I’m crying. Thank you for this extraordinary and moving piece with so much about law enforcement as well as reporting. This needs a way, way wider audience. ❤️
A used to work with a woman who was also a paramedic. She would often say if she showed up it meant you were having one of the worst days of your life.
Writing about the aftermath requires a level of empathy I'm not sure I have. Thanks for pulling back the curtain here and showing us what it takes. Amazing read.