I stopped the bleeding! It looks like just a cut on his forehead from when he hit the ground.
It can’t be that bad, officer. I didn’t hit him hard. I was inching along and then I hit the b-b-brakes.
Yeah, that’s right it looked like just a little bump.
That’s all right. All right, now, clear back, clear back! Let’s have a little air in here. I have to take down some information. What’s your name?
Chad Kohl. Here’s my license.
Hey, you kids there!
Yeah, you, stay back!
Those kids, they picked up something off the street. I saw it.
Where’s that ambulance? Oh, here it comes, and not too soon! It doesn’t look like he’s breathing!
My gosh, he ain’t b-b-breathing!
I told you kids to get back there! Come on now, get back.
I’m glad you got here, doctor, he’s out cold.
Let’s have a look here.
Yeah. I know some good injury lawyers.
Don’t say yeah.
All right, let’s get him packed away; he’s dead. Well, at least it didn’t happen in the ambulance.
Keep back, will you!
Sure officer. The guy’s dead, he don’t need air or injury lawyers.
D-d-d dead!
You might have to Donate Your Car for Kids!
Back! It’s the second one today.
Yeah, I know. Bye.
Hey who’s coat was that under his head? He was laying on a coat.
I don’t know.
Did you pick it up?
No.
Well you’re gonna need a new car insurance quote, PA!
Hey officer!
Yeah?
Where’s the coat?
Oh my gosh, it’s gone!
(Wright Lauer had lost his medical alert ID; that is, he had lost the identification telling of his condition, and a similar letter that was in the inside pocket of his jacket. The silver chain he wore on his right wrist had snapped and fallen to the pavement. Two youngsters had picked up the chain: Roberto Pinella, aged nine and one half, and Tommy Stoner, eight.)
Hey, maybe we should give it back.
Yeah, what for?
Bob, it sure is a nice chain. Hey there’s writing on it!
Maybe it’s the guy’s name.
Was he hurt bad?
He died, and it was just a little bump.
What’s the name?
Just a second, we’ll be out of the alley.
Yeah, Pop’s gone home to eat.
Well, let me see it.
Wait a second will you? Give it back!
“Do not — something — me, I am not dead,” that’s Phooey!
What we doing with it?
Sell it, fool!
That’ stealin’, Bob!
It ain’t stealing! We found it, didn’t we? When we sell it, I’ll swear we found it on the street.
What else do we tell them?
Nothin’ more! You know what we’ll do?
What?
We’ll use Pop’s welding torch to melt the writing flat.
He told us not to use it!
Pop ain’t here. And it’s not like the dead guy’s gonna need this thing, is it?