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A year after the storm
By CARRIE JOHNSON
© St. Petersburg Times, CITRUS HILLS -- On a stormy Tuesday afternoon one year ago, they were just four people united by a common desire -- to get out of the rain. But in a blinding flash of electricity, their lives were fused together forever. Millions of volts of energy spat from the dark clouds and slapped 66-year-old pharmacist Don Crist to the ground, scorching his hat and neck. The metal club he clutched in his left hand splintered. The current raced along the ground and found the other three people, standing near Crist under a covered golf bag rack at Citrus Hills Golf and Country Club. Richard Clark, 40, a burly worker at the country club, was tossed into the air and landed so hard he would need 15 staples to repair the crack in his skull. Gwynn Blair, a 49-year-old insurance company manager from Brooksville, was barely conscious and breathing. His golf partner, Jeff Cloud, struggled to drag the 325-pound man off the asphalt, where blue sparks still crackled.
An Inverness doctor, Bradley Ruben, looked out the window of the golf shop and saw a flash, then bodies flying through the air. He rushed outside and struck Clark three times in the sternum to restart his heart. There was a faint pulse. Next, Ruben roused McKenzie, a longtime friend, and told her he needed her help to revive Crist, who was bleeding from the head. Still woozy, she instinctively started performing CPR. Within minutes, the golf club parking lot began to resemble a war zone. Moans from the bleeding victims were drowned out by screaming ambulance sirens and the steady thwump, thwump, thwump of a helicopter ambulance. In a torrential rain, the pilot slipped past power lines near the parking lot and managed to land. Other choppers soon followed, and Crist, Blair and Clark were loaded aboard. Clark was in serious trouble, but Blair was recovering already. Paramedics worked feverishly on Crist. McKenzie was taken to Citrus Memorial Hospital in Inverness, where her husband would soon join her. She had survived the lightning strike. The question now was, would their unborn baby make it? * * * A year has passed since that terrifying day. The four survivors of that lightning bolt have managed to carry on with their lives, but the experience has changed them all. Elsewhere in today's Citrus Times you will find individual stories on each survivor, detailing how each person is recovering from the life-threatening experience. Last Wednesday, the anniversary of the lightning attack, three of the four survivors gathered at Crist's pharmacy in Crystal River. Richard Clark was working that night and was unable to make it. It was the first time they had been together since that day. McKenzie even brought along her baby, Nicholas. None of the survivors knew each other before the strike. Crist and McKenzie were playing golf together as part of a church league threesome, but hadn't exchanged more than a simple hello before the storm hit. "Our only connection was the lightning," said Blair. "That was our destiny, to be hit by the same bolt of lightning." Over beer and barbecue, the four made small talk and introduced one another to their spouses and children, as though they were consciously ignoring the strange event that had brought them together. As the night wore on and the group became more comfortable, there was some discussion of the events of last June. McKenzie talked about the pounding headache she suffered in the days that followed. Blair made jokes about his nervousness around sudden flashes of light. Crist, whose speech was impaired by the strike, watched silently from his chair. None of them had floated above their bodies in a near-death experience. No one saw spiritual visions during their moments of unconsciousness. The bolt changed them in more subtle ways. The months after the strike found Clark sliding into a debilitating depression, while McKenzie waited anxiously to see if the shock would harm her unborn baby. Blair's faith in God was strengthened. And Crist struggled simply to survive. They appreciate time with their children more, or have a greater understanding of life's fragile boundaries. But mostly, they're just glad to be alive. "We know we were given a second chance," said Blair. "Now, we just have to take it." Their reactions are fairly typical of lightning strike victims, experts say. It's not unusual for people hit by such bolts to experience panic attacks, depression and confusion, said Steve Marshburn, a Jacksonville, N.C., resident who in 1989 founded a support group for the survivors of lightning strikes and electrical shocks. Many members of the group, Lightning Strike and Electric Shock Survivors Inc., live in chronic pain, Marshburn said. They suffer from seizures, severe headaches and joint pain. "A lot of people change completely after a strike," he said. "Some people become moody, which they never were before the strike." The members communicate mostly through the organization's Web site. A conference is held once a year. Marshburn was hit by lightning in November, 1969. A banker, he was standing near the bank's drive-through window when a bolt zipped through a microphone and hit him in the spine. Marshburn said he's had 25 surgeries since the strike and still has seizures. He had to quit his job and most of his friends deserted him. "My life is now devoted to helping others," Marshburn said. "If I hadn't been struck by lightning, this organization never would have been formed." People who have been struck by lightning are sometimes treated like freaks, he said. Because survivors are subject to seizures, old friends stop wanting to be seen together in public. Those who don't understand the complexities of lightning-related injuries may accuse the victim of making up ailments, Marshburn said. "People don't understand what's going on with the changes in our lives," he said. "Sometimes it scares them away." * * * From ancient times, lightning has terrified and fascinated people. The early Greeks believed lightning was a weapon of Zeus. Because a thunderbolt was a manifestation of the gods, any spot hit by lightning was believed to be sacred. Lightning is still one of the world's least understood phenomena, said Richard Kithil, founder of the National Lightning Safety Institute, a non-profit organization based in Louisville, Colo. Myths abound. For example, many people still believe a tree will provide adequate protection during a storm. "Lightning wants to follow the path of least resistance. If you're standing next to a tree that gets hit ... tag -- you're going to be it," he said. Also, standing under an unenclosed shelter like the covered golf bag rack at Citrus Hills will not provide protection from lightning, Kithil said. The only way to be safe is to seek shelter in a fully enclosed building or vehicle, Kithil said. "About 90 percent of lightning accidents are preventable if people know what to do and if they have enough time to do it," he said. Lightning kills about 100 people in the United States every year. The number injured is more than five times that many, Kithil said. The chances of being hit increase dramatically if you live in Florida, the lightning strike capital of the United States. There were 1,523 lightning-related injuries and deaths in Florida between 1954 and 1994, according to the National Weather Service office in Melbourne. That's more than twice the number of casualties of any other state. In one week earlier this month, lightning struck eight people in Florida. One of the victims, a Colorado tourist, was killed after he was hit while strolling on a Fort Lauderdale beach. Florida ranks highest in the nation for the number of lightning strikes per year, averaging about 1.3-million annually between 1996 and 2000, according to Global Atmospherics, a Tuscon, Ariz., company that tracks lightning strikes for the National Weather Service. The bolt that flashed above Citrus Hills a year ago was just one of countless others that light up the Florida skies each year. But for four strangers, this one was different. This one changed their lives in a split second.
© 2006 • All Rights Reserved • St. Petersburg Times
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