2, Henryetta Daily Free-Lance, Friday, April 5, 2002 CHRISTINA HUNTER HAYS 1915-2002 Christina Hunter Hays a resident of Henryetta passed away on April 3, 2002 in Midwest City at the age of 86. Born November 6, 1915 in Cambria to Andrew and Allie (Falconer) Patterson, Sr. She married James Hayes on March 7. 1936 in Hartshorne. She attended the First Presbyterian Church and was a homemaker.
Christina is preceded in death by her parents; husband James on December 28, 1969; an infant son; brother, Andrew Patterson, Jr. and a granddaughter, Sheila Dawn Sams in 1964. She is survived by son Jim Hays and wife Bette of Jenks; daughter, Barbara Walker of Midwest City; grandchildren, Donnie Walker of Uril, Alabama; Robert Walker of OKC; Jeremy Hays of Jenks; Jamie and husband Jeff Lazalier of Broken Arrow; six great-grandchildren; brother, Robert E. "Bob" Patterson and wife Linda of Henryetta; sister Vermelle Gilreath of Globe, Arizona; Katherine Newman of Englewook, Colorado; many nieces and nephews. Visitation with family will be Friday evening on April 5th from 6:00 p.m.
till 8:00 p.m. Services are scheduled for 11 a.m. Saturday, April 6, 2002 at the Roger Funeral Home Chapel with the Reverend George Christy officiating. Interment will follow at the Westlawn Cemetery. Pallbearers will be Shane Hott, Buddy Hott, Calvin Earnhart, Jay Beachel, Benny Gooden and Cleo Miller.
TOMMY JOE PHILLIPS 1949-2002 Tommy Joe Phillips was born on September 13, 1949 at Bryant. He died on March 28, 2002 in Tulsa. He was preceded in death by his grandparents, his father, Jimmie Phillips, his stepfather, Woodrow Smithson. He is survived by his devoted wife, Chyrl Phillips of Tulsa; three sons, Chris and wife Angella Phillips of Tulsa; Paul Phillips and Shawn Phillips both of Tulsa; grandson, Tyler Matthew Phillips of Tulsa; brother, Jim Phillips of Grove City, Pennsylvania; mother, Evelyn Smithson of Henryetta; step-sister, Betty Bryant of Okmulgee. Memorial services wee held on Monday, April 1, 2002 at Floral Haven Funeral Home in Broken Arrow with Reverend Jim Lee officiating.
TWO continued from page 1 Bloss and James had transferred to the Logan County Jail from other facilities. James was serving time on multiple felony counts from Garfield County, while Bloss had been jailed on an assault charge. They were all in the same cell at the time of the escape, which was believed to have occurred between 5 a.m. and 5:30 a.m Wednesday. They were missing when inmates were counted at 6 a.m.
Richardson said sanding and repainting work is under way at the jail and this may have covered up some of the noise made in the escape. In their search for the inmates, Garfield County sheriff's deputies found a working methamphetamine lab. Sheriff Bill Winchester said deputies checked a residence where James had sought refuge while running from police last year and found a working meth lab. John and Ladonna Poole were arrested on complaints of manufacturing meth. Motivates Volunteer to Action State of Change by Stephanie Thompson Mary Ann Edwards believed the recurring dream was a vision from God, but it felt more like a nightmare.
The same sequence of events awakened her night after night. In the dream, she had died and was in transit to heaven. Children with wings like angels flew around her. They all whispered the same question, "Why didn't you help us when you knew about us on earth?" The dream and the question unsettled her, to say the least. During that time in 1997, almost every newspaper, television or radio broadcast the Edmond woman encountered reported incidents of child abuse, neglect or abandonment.
It was as though Edwards, now 57, had a heightened sensitivity to these issues of injustice. The frequency of these episodes and her nightly vision made it impossible for her to think about anything other than finding a solution for helping innocent children get the love and care they deserved. "For weeks, the abuse and death of Shane Coffman was the lead story in the news," remembered Edwards. "At some point, I realized i if there had been a good foster family available, the social worker may not have left Shane in his home and he might be alive today." Coffman was an 8-year-old Little Axe, Oklahoma boy who was fatally abused by his mother in 1996. Edwards' search for answers led her to replicate a California organization called Child S.H.A.R.E.
Child S.H.A.R.E. (Shelter Homes A Rescue Effort) is an agency that provides foster parents help with filling out paperwork, emotional support and practical provisions to properly care for children. God began preparing the mother of four when she graduated college. Her first job was as a social worker, but at 22 years old, Edwards did not have the skills to deal with the position and lasted only a year. But God did not give up on molding Edward's heart for foster children.
Six years after leaving the social work arena, she and her husband accepted a foster child, Chris, now 36. Two years ago, United Methodist Circle of Care began administrating the program and today Child S.H.A.R.E. has assisted nearly 50 families become better equipped at caring for foster kids. "There were times I wanted to quit, but couldn't because I knew children's lives were at stake," said Edwards who believes the visions were God speaking to her conscience and encouraging her not to give up on finding a way to help hurting children. "There shouldn't be one child that has to stay in a situation in which they are not loved and cared for." Mary Ann Edwards believes that every child has a right to be taken care of and as Christians we have a responsibility to do just that.
STAMP continued from page 1 inspired by postcards once used to advertise cities, states or tourist attractions in each state. Each self-adhesive stamp's backing paper lists the state's capital, date of statehood, bird, flower and tree. these colorful, educational stamps, we're recalling the warm and friendly tradition of postcard and letter greetings exchanged through the mail between friends and family across the miles," Oklahoma City Postmaster George Frame said. Dentworks, LIFETIME GUARANTEE HAIL DAMAGE REPAIR 1ST AND GENTRY HENRYETTA (Toll Free) 1-877-513-3365 Oklahoma Owned and Operated Free-Lancing' Around Henryetta BY NANCY MILLER (Author remains anonymous) This is the story of the night my 10-year-old cat, Rudy, got his head stuck in the garbage disposal. I knew at the time that the experience would be funny if the cat survived, so let me tell you right up front that he's fine.
Getting him out wasn't easy, though, and the process included numerous home remedies, a plumber, two cops, an emergency overnight veterinary clinic, a case of mistaken identity, five hours of panic, and 15 minutes of fame. My husband Rich and I had just returned from a 5-day vacation in the Cayman Islands where I had been sick as a dog the whole time. We arrived home at 9 p.m., a day and a half later than we had planned because of airline problems. I still had illness-related vertigo, and because of the flight delays had not been able to prepare for the class I was supposed to teach at 8:40 the next morning. I sat down at my desk to think about William Carlos Williams, and around 10 o'clock I heard Rich hollering from the kitchen.
I raced over to see what was wrong and spied Rich frantically rooting around under the kitchen sink and Rudy or, rather, Rudy's headless body scrambling around in the sink, his claws clicking in panic on the metal and his head stuck in the garbage disposal. Rich had just ground up the skin of some smoked salmon in the disposal, and when he left the room Rudy (who always was a pinhead) had gone in after it. It is very disturbing to see the headless body of your cat in the sink. This is an animal that I have slept with nightly for 10 years, who burrows under the covers and purrs against my side, and who now looked like a fur-covered turkey carcass, defrosting i in the sink while it's still alive and kicking. It was also disturbing to see Rich, Mr.
Calmin-any-Emergency, at his wit's end, trying to simultaneously soothe Rudy and undo the garbage disposal, and failing at both, and basically freaking out. Adding to the chaos was Rudy's twin brother Lowell, also upset, racing around in circles, jumping onto. the kitchen counter and alternately licking Rudy's butt for comfort and biting it out of fear. Clearly, I had to do something. First we tried to ease Rudy out of the disposal by lubricating his head and neck with Johnson's baby shampoo (kept on hand for my nieces' visits) and butter-flavored Crisco.
Both failed, and a now-greasy Rudy kept struggling. Rich then decided to take apart the garbage disposal, which was a good idea, but he couldn't do it. Turns the thing is constructed like a metal onion: you peel off one layer and another one appears, with Rudy's head still buried deep inside, stuck in a hard plastic collar. My job during this process was to sit on the kitchen counter petting Rudy, trying to calm him, with the room spinning (vertigo), Lowell howling (he's part Siamese), and Rich clattering around under the sink with his tools. When all our efforts failed, we sought professional help.
I called our regular plumber, who actually called me back quickly, even at 11 o'clock at night (thanks, Dave). He talked Rich through further layers of disposal dismantling, but still we couldn't reach Rudy. I called the 1-800 number for Insinkerator (no response), a pest removal service that advertises 24-hour service (no response), an all-night emergency veterinary clinic (who had no experience in this matter), and finally, in desperation, 9-1-1. I could see that Rudy's normally pink paw pads were turning blue. The fire department, I figured, gets cats out of trees; maybe they could get one out of a garbage disposal.
The dispatcher had other ideas and offered to send over two policemen. The cops arrived close to midnight and turned out to be quite nice. More importantly, they were also able to think rationally, which we were not. They were, of course, astonished by the situation. "I've never seen anything like this," Officer Mike kept saying.
(The unusual circ*mstances helped us get quickly on a firstname basis with our cops.) Officer Tom, who expressed immediate sympathy for our plight had cats all my life," he said), also had an idea. Evidently we needed a certain tool, a tiny, circular rotating saw, that could cut through the heavy plastic flange encircling Rudy's neck without hurting Rudy. Officer Tom happened to own one. "I live just five minutes from here," he said. "I'll go get it." He soon returned, and the three of them Rich and the two policemen got under the sink together to cut through the garbage disposal.
I sat on the counter, holding Rudy and trying not to succumb to the surreal-ness of the scene, with the weird middle-of-the-night lighting, the room's occasional spinning, Lowell's spooky sound effects, an apparently headless cat in my sink and six disembodied legs poking out from under it. One good thing came of this: the guys did manage to get the bottom off the disposal, so we could now see Rudy's face and knew he could breathe. But they couldn't cut the flange without risking the cat. Stumped. Officer Tom had another idea.
"You know," he said, "I think the reason we can't get him out is the angle of his head and body. (You can see where this is going, can't you?) "If we could just get the sink out," he continued, "and lay it on its side, I'll bet we could slip him out." That sounded like a good idea at this point, ANYTHING would have sounded RUDY AND THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL like a good idea and as it turned out, Officer Mike runs a plumbing business on weekends; he knew how to take out the sink! Again they went to work, the three pairs of legs sticking out from under the sink, surrounded by an ever-increasing pile of tools and sink parts. They cut the electrical supply, capped off the plumbing lines, unfastened the metal clamps, unscrewed all the pipes, and about an hour later, viola! The sink was lifted gently out of the countertop, with one guy holding the garbage disposal which contained Rudy's head) up close to the sink (which contained Rudy's body). We laid the sink on its side, but even at this more favorable angle, Rudy stayed stuck. Officer Tom's radio beeped, calling him away on some kind of real police business.
As he was leaving, though, he had another good idea. "You know," he said, I don't think we can get him out while he's struggling so much. We need to get the cat sedated. If he were limp, we could slide him out." And off he went, regretfully, a cat lover still worried about Rudy. The remaining three of us decided that getting Rudy sedated was a good idea, but Rich and I were new to the area.
We knew that the overnight emergency veterinary clinic was only a few minutes away, but we didn't know exactly how to get there. "I know where it is!" declared Officer Mike. "Follow me!" So Mike got into his patrol car, Rich got into the driver's seat four car, and I got into the back, carrying the kitchen sink, what was left of the garbage disposal, and Rudy. It was now about 2:00 a.m. We followed Officer Mike for a few blocks when I decided to put my hand into the garbage disposal to pet Rudy's face, hoping I could comfort him.
Instead, my sweet, gentle bedfellow chomped down on my finger really hard and wouldn't let go. My scream reflex kicked into gear. Rich slammed on the brakes, hollering "What? What happened? Should I stop?" "No," I managed to get out between screams, "just keep driving. Rudy's biting me, but we've got to get to the vet. Just go!" Rich turned his attention back to the road, where Officer Mike took a turn we hadn't expected, and we followed.
After a few minutes Rudy let go, and as I stopped screaming, I looked up to discover that we were wandering aimlessly through an industrial park, in and out of empty parking lots, past little streets that didn't look at all familiar. "Where's he taking us?" I asked. "We should have been there ten minutes ago!" Rich was as mystified as I was, but all we knew to do was follow the police car until, finally, he pulled into a church parking lot and we pulled up next to him. As Rich rolled down the window to ask Officer Mike, where are were going, the cop, who was not Mike, rolled down his window and asked, "Why are you following me?" Once Rich and I recovered from our shock at having tailed the wrong cop car and the policeman from his pique at being stalked, he led us quickly to the emergency vet, where Mike greeted us by holding open the door, exclaiming "Where were you It was lucky that Mike got to the vet's ahead of us, because we hadn't thought to call and warn them about what was coming. (Clearly, by this time we weren't really thinking at all.) We brought in the kitchen sink containing Rudy, and the garbage disposal containing his head, and the clinic staff was ready.
They took his temperature (which was down 10 degrees) and his oxygen level (which was half of normal), and the vet declared, "This cat is in serious shock. We've got to sedate him and get him out of there immediately." When I asked if it was OK to sedate a cat in shock, the vet said grimly, "We don't have a choice." With that, he injected the cat. Rudy went limp and the vet squeezed about half a tube of K- jelly onto tube of K- jelly onto the cat's neck and pulled him free. Then the whole team jumped into "code blue" mode. (I know this from watching a lot of ER.) They laid Rudy on a cart where one person hooked up IV fluids, another put little socks on his paws be amazed how much heat they lose through their footpads," she said), one covered him with hot water bottles and a blanket, and another took a blowdryer to warm up Rudy's now very gunky head.
The fur on his head dried in stiff little spikes, making him look pathetically punk as he lay there, limp and motionless. At this point they sent Rich, Mike, and me to sit in the waiting room while they tried to bring Rudy back to life. I told Mike he didn't have to stay, but he just stood there, shaking his head. "I've never seen anything like this," he said again and again. At about 3 a.m., the vet came in to tell us that the prognosis was good for a full recovery.
They needed to keep Rudy overnight to re-hydrate him and give him something for the brain swelling they assumed he had, but if all went well, we could take him home the following night. Just in time to hear the good news, Officer Tom rushed in, having finished with his real police work and still concerned about Rudy. Rich and I got back home about 3:30. We hadn't unpacked from our trip, I was still intermittently dizzy, and I still hadn't prepared for my 8:40 class. "I need a vacation," I said, and while I called the office to leave a message canceling my class, Rich made us a pitcher of martinis.
I slept late the next day and then badgered the vet about Rudy's condition until he said that Rudy could come home later that day. I was working on the suitcases when the phone rang. "Hi, this is Steve Huskey from the Norristown Times-Herald," a voice said. "Listen, I was just going through the police blotter from last night. Um, do you have a cat?" So I told Steve the whole story, which interested him immensely.
A couple hours later he called back to say that his editor was interested, too; did I have a picture of Rudy? The next day Rudy was front-page news, under the ridiculous headline "Catch of the Day Lands Cat in Hot Water." There were some noteworthy repercussions to the newspaper article. Mr. Huskey had somehow inferred that I called 9-1-1 because I thought Rich, my husband, was going into shock, although how he concluded this from my comment that "his pads were turning blue," I don't quite understand. So the first thing I had to do was call Rich at work Rich, who had worked lessly to free Rudy and swear that I had been misquoted. When I arrived at work myself, I was famous; people had been calling my secretary all morning to inquire about Rudy's health.
When I called our regular vet (whom I had met only once) to make a follow-up appointment for Rudy, the receptionist asked, "Is this the famous Rudy's mother?" When I took my car in for routine maintenance a few days later, Dave, my mechanic, said, "We read about your cat. Is he OK?" When I called a tree surgeon about my dying red oak, he asked if I knew the person oh that street whose cat had been in the garbage disposal. And when Iwent to get my hair cut, the shampoo person told me the funny story her grandma had read in the paper, about a cat that got stuck in the garbage disposal. Even today, over a year later, people ask about Rudy, which a 9-year-old neighbor had always called "the Adventure Cat" because he used to climb on the roof of her house and peer in the second-story window at her. I don't know what the moral of this story is, but I do know that this "adventure" cost me $1,100 in emergency vet bills, follow-up vet care, new sink, new plumbing, new electrical wiring, and new garbage disposal one with a cover.
The vet can no longer say he's seen everything but the kitchen sink. I wanted to thank Officers Tom and Mike by giving them gift certificates to the local hardware store, but was told that they couldn't accept gifts, and that I would put them in a bad position if I tried. So I wrote a letter to the Police Chief praising their good deeds and sent individual thank you notes to Tom and Mike, complete with pictures of Rudy, so they could see what he looks like with his head on. And Rudy, whom we originally got for free (or so we thought), still sleeps with me under the covers on cold nights, and, unaccountably, still sometimes prowls the sink, hoping for fish. Henryetta Daily Free-Lance Nancy Miller, Managing Editor Gregg Henry, Circulation Manager Tracy Nail, News Editor Gregg Henry, Sports Editor Linda Spindle, Composing Summer Thomas, Advertising Director Dale H.
Davenport, Publisher The Henryetta Daily Free-Lance Telephone: 918-652-3311 (USPS 142-920) Member Fax: 918-652-7347 Published weekday evenings and Sunday mornings, 812. W. Main, P.O. Box 848, Henryetta, OK 74437 Periodicals postage paid at Henryetta, Oklahoma, Member of the Associated Press and the Oklahoma Press Association. Subscription rates by city or motor carrier in Henryetta and surrounding area, $6.00 a month, $72 per year, payable in advance.
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