Sunday, April 18, 1999

911 call provided human touch

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BY JANE PRENDERGAST
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Joy Johnson stands behind her damaged apartment building. Her frightful 911 call was repeatedly played on radio and TV. (Michael Snyder photo) | ZOOM |

        SYMMES TOWNSHIP — She shoved her toddler and baby into the bathroom, jumped in herself and sat hard on the toilet. She heard the sliding glass door blow in. She hugged her girls. She started to hyperventilate.

        She had to talk to somebody.

        Dispatcher: 911 emergency.

        Joy Johnson, on a cell phone: I heard it come through my house. I'm in the bathroom. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should go out.

        Dispatcher: OK, ma'am, I need you to get yourself together. I know you are terrified, but I am here with you, OK?

        Hundreds of calls like Ms. Johnson's rang in to the Hamilton County Communications Center during and after the April 9 tornado. Call takers took 4,096 — almost three times the usual 1,800 for a day. A dozen communications officers, winding down at the end of an eight-hour shift, hit at 5 a.m. with calls coming at a faster pace than one veteran could remember.

        Juggling the calls between 73 police and fire departments, they remember few clearly. A missing baby. A dead man on the highway.

Kathyrn Giblin, a Hamilton County 911 operator, took Johnson's call. (Michael Snyder photo) | ZOOM |

        But so many were from folks like Ms. Johnson — safe or relatively so, but sobbing, afraid and needing to hear a voice. She got six-year veteran Kathleen Giblin's.

        Ms. Johnson: Do you think it will come back?

        Dispatcher Giblin: I can't predict a storm, ma'am. OK, you said it came through. Have you looked outside the bathroom?

        Ms. Johnson: No, I'm so afraid, ma'am. I can't.

        Dispatcher Giblin: Is there anybody else in the house with you?

        Ms. Johnson: No, just me and my two kids.

        The 22-year-old bill collector has heard her 911 conversation on news reports. She barely recognizes her own voice. She remembers feeling so helpless yet so responsible for her daughters, India, 20 months, and Ariel, 9 months. She thought she was going to pass out.

        “I probably wouldn't have gotten through it without her,” Ms. Johnson said. “I don't know what I would've done if I'd have gotten somebody who was rude or treated me like I was stupid.”

        Dispatcher Giblin was struggling with the situation too. She hated having to tell her most frantic caller that if she wasn't hurt, there wasn't anything anybody could do for her.

        “We're inside a building, safe, and they're asking us for help,” Ms. Giblin said. “The whole situation is just kind of haunting. It was just unbelievable. We were just trying to weed out the injured.”

        Dispatcher Giblin: Well ma'am, listen, right now everybody is going crazy with this storm.

        Ms. Johnson: I don't have any shoes on or...

        Dispatcher Giblin: Ma'am, if you are not hurt, right, the police can't do anything about the storm.

        Ms. Johnson: I know. Should I leave? What should I do?

       

        Hours of training and years of experience still don't leave the call takers and dispatchers always confident that they'll be able to muster the calmness the job requires. Bev Knox, on the job almost a quarter century, thought a lot a day after the storm about the emotions the 12-hour shift dealt her. Robert Mahaffey, a 20-year veteran, did too. He finally had to get up from his computer after putting in overtime. When you're a dispatcher, he said, you have to know when your decisions might not be quick enough anymore.

        “We couldn't even talk to each other about what was going on,” Ms. Giblin said. “We would just look at each other in utter disbelief that this was happening.”

        At times, she wanted to burst into tears. The lack of ability to do more for callers was overwhelming. She was glad to learnthat Ms. Johnson and her daughters fared OK. Their Village Brooke apartment was damaged, but not severely. They are staying with Ms. Johnson's mother in Loveland until repairs are finished. But Ms. Giblin thought about Ms. Johnson and other callers all weekend. She dreamt about damaged houses.

        “I worried that these people felt abandoned,” she said. “You feel so badly saying, "We can't help you right now.' You try to be professional, respectful and courteous. We can at least be that.”

        Ms. Johnson: OK, should I go out of the bathroom now and try and go somewhere else?

        Dispatcher Giblin: No, just stay tight and you might want to call any family members you know just for comfort. All right?

        Ms. Johnson: OK, thank you.

        Dispatcher Giblin: Bye-bye.

       

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