



Mom - February 1970 (not an actual photo)









Sitting on the 3rd stair from the bottom she tugged gently at the sleeve of the yellow dress she wore. She glanced for the millionth time at the clock….. 10:13 p.m. Her water had broken just an hour or so before, nothing major, but it was time.





The contractions had started shortly after her water broke. Looking at the clock, and judging from the intensity of the contractions, she knew it was only a few hour until the baby came. The contractions at this point were about 15 minutes apart, but still, this not being her first baby, she knew was a sign the baby was coming fast. She sighed and stood up.





Her little hard backed, plastic pink suitcase sat by the first step, aligned in perpendicular fashion with the step, the small plastic handle resting lazily on the top of case. The silver edging on the seam of the suitcase shone brightly in the dull hallway light, reflecting back to her the stress of being nine month pregnant.





10:30 p.m. - already? She glanced again at the hallway clock, it’s large wooden, radiating arms flaring out from the center of the brass center, numbers dark and black, proclaiming the hour proudly. Minutes were a bit harder to read, and seconds whizzed by, imperceptible really on the brass back ground.





Then suddenly lights flared in the drive way, flashing across the living room, next to the stairs. making the blinds reflect shadows on the wall, for a moment looking like a prison cell. Eagerly, she pulled herself to her feet, flex picking up the suitcase, hanging from her right hand, left hand clutching her right wrist, suitcase hanging before her knees like a plastic shield.





On the other side of the door the rustling of keys jangled like wind chimes in a storm. She thought she heard cursing. Her lips pursed in a tight line she stared at the door in the dark hallway, anxiously waiting.





The door swung open, following its arching shadow was the smell of viceroy cigarettes moved, at least to the nose, as fast as the shadows. Grumbling about keys, his voice echoed across the small entry way. Fumbling his hand hit the light, and for the first time it seemed he saw her, standing in her little avocado dress, red hard back suitcase in hand, he mumbled, “Ellen?”





“Bob,” matter of fact, “I’m in labor, we have to go to the hospital.”





For a moment, one of those rare moments when time seems to stop, the clock’s hand seems to move, backwards: he clutched the keys in his hand. The cigarette in his mouth suddenly was too hot, too smoky, too bitter. He choked back a cough and said, “What?”





Not her first pregnancy, her lips belaying a patience not really present she muttered, “I’m in labor.”





Through this news the gin fog that soaked his frontal cortex faded and the reality of his wife’s condition finally hit. “Ellen!” he exclaimed “We have to go to the hospital.” He looked down at his clothes, a suit he had worn all day, “I have to change.” He shot up the stairs, brushing past his wife in her avocado dress, the stair handrail groaning under his weight leaning against it as he propelled himself up.





She looked at the clock, grimaced as the start of another contraction rose into her body. She sat down on the steps again, knuckles white against the handrail, which groaned again. She closed her eyes, a tear seeping out and resting on her cheek. This pain, rising up from her groin and across her belly wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was felt again like the first time. As the contraction tightened her muscles she remembered to breathe through it, gasping as her belly tightened around the uterus, the as of yet to be born baby slowly, imperceptibly moving into place. In the pain, during the contraction, time seemed to stop, breathing was its own reward The contraction faded and she looked at the clock again, 9 minutes since the last one, and this one lasted nearly 30 seconds. They had some time, but she knew not much. The pain lingered across her belly, she wiped the tear away and glanced up over her shoulder at the top of the stairs where she could her him rushing to get changed. She crinkled her nose at the smell of the cigarette that he burning in his lips, the dull haze of smoke clung to the air like the tension of labor.





He appeared at the top of the stairs, gasping for air, the cigarette still burning on his lips. He looked down at her head, she was still sitting on the stairs her hand clinging to the rail. “Ellen, I’m ready let’s go!” He started down the stairs, his Florsheim shoes bright under the hall lights.





She looked back up at him, pulling herself upright with the hand rail. He paused as she stood. A light smile tugged at her lips. He waited, cocked his head and noticed the smile, “What is it?” he asked.





The tugging became a full smile, “Bob, before we go to the hospital I think you should put on some pants.”





His face flushed and he looked down. “Shit” and ran back into the bedroom. He jerked his slacks up over his shoes, flicked his cigarette with the aim of a marksman into the adjoining bathroom toilet, and fumbled with the belt, hopping into the pants as he headed back to the top of the stairs. She was still standing at the top, the little suitcase in hand, waiting. “Ellen let’s go” he barked as he lumbered down the stairs.





It was cold outside, February in Denver generally was, cold and dry. The air was quiet, only 19 degrees, but the car was still warm from his earlier outing. She climbed into the seat next to him, the suitcase resting at her feet. She knew another contraction was due soon, it had been nearly six minutes from the last one. He pulled a cigarette out from his pack, pushed the car lighter on, turned the key and the car rumbled to life immediately. He looked at her, “ready?” She nodded at him, her hands folded together in her lap, little black gloves protecting her fingers against the winter’s cold.





They backed out on the street and he gunned the engine. The lighter popped out of the dashboard, and without even a thought he lighted his cigarette, the acrid smoke immediately filling the car. She coughed a little and he glanced at her, “sorry” and rolled the drivers window down a crack, the winter’s air a fridge breathe of relief. The streets were quiet, it was a Wednesday night at nearly 11 p.m.



She gasped as the beginnings of the contraction hit her. He looked at her, panic flashing across his face, the cigarette on his lips standing to attention from the pursing of his lips around it. The car began to accelerate, it was a 1964 OldsmobileF-85 DeLuxe, a big car with lots of power, and like new. They were in Littleton, but the doctor they were powering towards was a couple of miles away in Denver. She groaned as the pain tightened, and he pressed harder on the accelerator. A stop sign blew past, unnoticed and forgotten, except that behind them appeared the familiar red flash of a cop car its siren screaming into the winter’s night.





The cop’s siren seemed to make the onset of the contraction worse, and she clinched her teeth as the pain clutched her belly, the shifting muscles pushing the unborn closer to escape. Bob muttered under his breath, “Shit.” He slowed the car, flipping the turn signal on from habit, and the car rolled to a stop, engine still running, cigarette burning, its ember light lost in the flashing lights of the car behind them. His grip tightened on the wheel, the creaking of his tendons audible in the cold night. Even in her contraction she glanced at him and offered a grimacing smile, “It’s okay Bob.”

The cop pulled his car behind the Oldsmobile and looking through his wind shield he noted in his log the license plate number and make of the car. He opened his door, the fridge February air enveloped his skin quickly and he gasped. He could see the heads of the couple in the car before him, not moving really. He noticed the car was still running. He debated using his car loud speakers to tell them to turn it off, then shrugged, probably a couple of kids out drinking. No big deal.





He ambled to the car in front of him and got to the driver’s window, with the butt of his flashlight he tapped the glass, which was already partway down, “Sir, roll down your window and turn off the engine.” He turned the light to shine it into the car for a better view. It was a young couple, a woman in the passenger’s seat and a guy, looking very nervous behind the wheel. He could smell cigarettes from the car and maybe gin.





Bob rolled the window down, his hand shaking, and glancing at his wife who was in a full contraction, he started to stutter at the cop, “This is an, a, uh, well, damn, a, um, this is AN EMERGENCY.” His voice became fever pitched and the emotions of the night carried in his tone.





The cop clicked his tongue, leaned into the now down window, and managed a forced smile, “Sir, what emergency?” He was focused on the driver, who it seemed was either drunk or something else.





Bob stammered, waving his right hand towards Ellen, “My wife, she’s pregnant!!”





The cop looked more closely at the woman in the passenger seat. He noticed she had her head back, her lips were tight, and her hands were clutched her full belly. She was indeed pregnant. He looked back at the driver, “Sir I can appreciate that but…….”





“Damn it man!” Bob yelled, “She’s in labor right now!!!”





The cop looked back at her and noticed she was gasping, in distress. He stepped back and stood upright, looking back at his car. He could call an ambulance and they would take care of this. He looked back at the driver, “Sir, you say she’s in labor?” Bob nodded. “Miss, miss, can you hear me?” The woman nodded, just barely as she breathed through what appeared to be a severe contraction.





Bob had it, he reached through the window and grasped the cop’s arm, “Look bud, we can debate this all night, but I”m not sure we’ll make it in time for you to call an ambulance, we’re going to hospital and you can arrest me there, but we’re going unless you want to deliver a baby!”





The cop sighed, he looked at them both. He had only been on shift an hour or so, so this was already more excitement than he had seen all month. “All right sir, I can’t have you running stop signs and speeding, and no, I don’t want to deliver any babies, so tell you what, you follow my cruiser and I’ll get you to the hospital. Deal?”





Bob nodded, his cigarette’s ash falling on his coat. “yes, let’s go, Porter Memorial”





The cop nodded, pleased at himself and jogged back to his car. He picked up his CB radio, and dialed into dispatch. “Dispatch, this is unit 99, over.”





“Go ahead 99, over.”





“Yeah, um, I’ve got a 10-59, a pregnant couple urgently need escort to hospital, location Porter, Denver County.”





“Roger 99, to confirm you’re 10-59 to hospital, Porter, Denver County. Please be advised 99 it’s out of jurisdiction, over.”





“Roger, I’ll escort and get out of there- over.”





“10-4 99, over.”





The cop smiled, flipped his siren back on, pulled out in front of the couple’s car, waiting for them to assume position behind him, and he floored it, lights and stop signs be damned. He nodded, hell this was kind of fun.





They had been close, and the drama of an escort was minor, but Bob pulled into the hospital’s emergency parking, the cop was on his heels, “Sir, let me help.”





Bob glanced at him nodded, “just grab a wheelchair I think.” The cop nodded and darted into the hospital, emerged moments later pushing a small wheel chair to the car. He noticed the couple were out of the car, and the woman seemed to be okay, she was clutching with on hand a small pink suitcase, and the other holding on the man. He wheeled over to them. “Folks here you go, good luck.”





Bob smiled at the cop and helped his wife sit down. He glanced at the cop, “Thanks for everything, be safe.”





The cop nodded and watched them disappear into the building, their breath seemed to linger behind them in the cold. He slid into his cop car and shook his head. Babies and drunks. What a night. He pulled out and headed back into Littleton.





Later, several hours, they rested in the room, the baby had been delivered. She stroked his little face, dark features, everything was completely normal. He was nestled against her breast, asleep. She sighed when she looked at his little face and nodded with a smile, “Hi Thomas.”



