The Perils of a Cautious Man
by
Lawrence E. Rogers
I am an unusually cautious man as you will agree after you read some of the typical things that I do to avoid illness or injury. However, I foolishly departed from my safe habits on one occasion on a vacation trip to New York City, and this one mistake placed my life in danger.
Consciously, I plan to avoid trouble for myself. My automobile is kept in perfect working order, but I always drive in the lane nearest the side of the highway so that, if my engine fails, I can coast off the roadway. My automobile doors are locked when I am driving so that no intruder can jump into my car when I must stop at traffic signs. I seldom eat away from home because I believe that the food is handled in an unsanitary fashion in many restaurants.
On my day of departure for New York City, I arrived at the airport two hours before the scheduled departure time. I wanted to watch the mechanics getting the plane ready in order to assure myself that they did the work in a serious-minded way. In addition, I wanted to station myself at the point where I could see the pilot and co-pilot board the plane. If they did not appear to be competent persons, I fully intended to cancel my reservations.
I imagine that you are beginning to recognize the correctness of my statement that I am a very cautious person.
After arriving in New York and checking in at my Manhattan hotel, I found that I was assigned to a room on the fourth floor. Acting upon my request, my travel agent had arranged that I would be assigned to a room on one of the lower floors of the hotel.
All my activities in New York were under the guidance of a first-class travel agency which had me travel with a congenial group. In the course of one week on this first visit to New York, I got to see all of the places about which I had heard -- the United Nations headquarters, the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, Chinatown, and scores of other well-known attractions. I resolved to thank my travel agent for the efficient arrangements.The return flight to my hometown was scheduled to leave New York at 11 o'clock that night. When I checked out of my hotel at 8:30 p.m., I found that it was already dark outside. I asked the hotel doorman to get a taxicab, and he signaled the first empty cab.Then I made the terrible mistake of getting into the taxi without looking at the driver. As we moved along, I thought about his appearance and his demeanor and I gave him a failing grade. I also looked at the driver's photograph which is required by law to be displayed in the cab. The man driving the cab was not the man in the photograph: my driver had probably stolen the cab."I'm sorry, but I must make a change of plans," I said. "Will you pull over to the curb? I want to get out here." Although he did not acknowledge my message, he began slowing down. He stopped beside a poorly-dressed man standing at the curb. As I started to get out, the stranger roughly pushed me back into the cab and entered it while pointing a revolver at me. No words were spoken as we traveled into an area filled with warehouses. No other person was in view.The driver stopped the cab, turned, and order me to hand over my wallet. I promptly obeyed.Both men burst into mean laughter when I asked, "Would you give me my airline ticket so I can get home?"The shabby man in the back seat made me take off my suit, shirt, socks, and shoes. He then demanded that I step out onto the sidewalk. He got out of the cab with me. His hand holding the gun moved in a backward and then forward motion as if he were throwing a baseball. The enormous gun struck me in the side of the head with terrific force, and I fell unconscious to the sidewalk.Days later I regained consciousness in a hospital bed in a private room. I was able to think over my situation before I was confronted by anyone. Was I still in any danger? I decided to pretend that I had a complete loss of memory. Actually my memory of events up to the moment that I became unconscious was perfect. I did not know, though, what had happened after I was found lying on the sidewalk.My guess was that I had been taken to a City hospital where I had been listed as "John Doe." There was no wallet, no paper, nothing by which they could identify me as anything except a bum.A large, bull-headed man dressed in the uniform of a hospital orderly came into the room and stood over me. Upon seeing my eyes open, he stared at me, turned, left the room, and returned with a man dressed in a business suit."How are you feeling?" the new arrival asked. "You had an accident, and you are receiving good care here. What is your name? Where are you from?"The questioner was obviously a man accustomed to obedience; he became impatient with my stupid silence."Get him up and get him to walk," he said to the aide. "He probably can go to the bathroom now on his own."With tremendous strength, the aide lifted me from the bed as if I were a rag doll and placed me standing upright on the floor. I was so weak and unsteady on my feet that they both regarded me as a helpless invalid. As soon as I was put back in bed, I closed my eyes feigning sleep."Put him in a wheelchair tomorrow for visitors' day," the man in authority said. "Watch him closely. You'd better give him a couple of your pills tomorrow to make certain that he is not able to speak with anyone."The man's words alarmed me. Both men left my room, and I could hear voices outside my door. I crawled over to the door so that I could listen to the conversation."Number 59 has come out of his coma, but his mind still is not working.""We need two more beds for two new persons," another voice said. "Should we get rid of No. 59 now?""No," the man in authority replied. "I already have two death certificates filled out. We'll wait a few days before doing anything about No. 59."When the men went on their way, I went back to bed trying to understand the meaning of this conversation. "Show time! Show time!" the white-coated aide said as he awakened me in the morning. He was accompanied by a mature woman who pushed a wheelchair. I maintained absolute silence while the woman washed, shaved, and dressed me in clean clothing. The pair helped me to sit myself in the wheelchair. As they wheeled me out into the corridor, I was able to look at the outside of my door on which was posted the number "59."My wheelchair was placed on a terrace overlooking an expanse of lawn that looked as perfect as a golf course green. The aide reached into his pocket, took out two pills, embedded them in a piece of chocolate, forced open my mouth, and placed the chocolate-coated pills on my tongue."Chew, stupid," he ordered.While chewing, I was able to separate the pills from the chocolate and move the pills to a position between my teeth and my cheek. By swallowing the chocolate, I satisfied the aide that I had swallowed the pills.I watched as he went through the same pill-and-chocolate routine with several other men who were in wheelchairs in the area.My chair faced the beautiful grounds. Behind my chair a long buffet table was loaded with many different types of food. For whom had this elaborate luncheon been prepared? My instincts told me that I was in danger in this institution and that I must begin looking for routes of escape. About a hundred yards from where I was seated, I could see a metal fence that seemed to be about ten-feet high. To my right, I could see the high entrance gate guarded by several armed attendants. It seemed impossible that I would be able to get over that fence or through that guarded gate.Voices behind me were clearly audible, and the number of persons seemed to be steadily increasing. A group obviously had been on a tour of the building and grounds. They were now partaking of their buffet luncheon. I heard many person complimenting a Mr. Hammond, a man whose voice revealed to me that he was the man of authority who had come into my room last night.While the guest conversed, titles mentioned often were Judge, Senator, Commissioner, Doctor; this was a gathering of important persons. Then a short, formal speech was given by a speaker who said that he represented the City hospital system. His speech horrified me."Ladies and gentlemen. I wish to express publicly our thanks to Mr. Hammond for his marvelous civic service. Hopelessly ill and friendless patients are accepted here from our City hospitals. Mr. Hammond relieves the City government of a heavy financial burden and, at the same time, provides wonderful care to these patients who have no relatives to care for them. He is accepting two more of these unfortunate persons tomorrow."Now I realized that I was was one of these hopelessly ill, friendless persons brought here to die. Last night Mr. Hammond mentioned two signed death certificates. Did that mean that he was doing away with two persons in order to have room for two new patients?Mr. Hammond came near my wheelchair while he was speaking with a young lady."How long have you been a reporter, Miss Haynes?""Two years, Mr. Hammond, and I love every minute of it," Miss Haynes replied and then added, "There is a lovely flower garden over there. May I wheel this patient over to pick a flower for him?""Why, yes, of course," Mr. Hammond said hesitantly.Miss Haynes began pushing my chair toward the flowers. When we were out of earshot of Mr. Hammond, I spoke with great urgency."Miss Haynes, please, please, do not give any indication that I am speaking to you! Your life and mine will be in danger if they realize that I am speaking to you."I could feel the shudder in the movement of the wheelchair as she reacted to the shock of hearing a comatose patient speak."I can only say this: look around at the zombie patients. Don't you see that something is wrong here?" We had reached the flower bed. Miss Haynes picked a lovely red rose and placed it in my hand. She then pushed me back to my place on the terrace. I could not say another word on the way back because Mr. Hammond, who was watching closely, would have seen my lips move.That night I again sat just inside the door to my room in order to listen to anything that was said in the corridor. "The accident will take place tomorrow when he is waiting for the subway," someone in the corridor said. "He always takes the same train home, but this time he will be under its wheels."
Additional statements made it clear to me that someone was to be pushed to his death in front of a subway train.
A little while later, I overheard a conversation that left me with the impression that Mr. Hammond was speaking with a person who had just arrived in the United States.
"I think that our operation will please you," Mr. Hammond said. "We are in the good graces of the local officials. All of our targets die in accidents, so no alarms have been sounded."
As I was wheeled from my room the next day, the aide opened a drawer in a cabinet in the corridor. He took some pills out of this drawer.
For the second consecutive day, I was given chocolate with two pills buried inside. Once again, I was able to avoid swallowing the pills. I could see that anyone taking those pills became completely lethargic.
By keeping alert during the day, I was able to pick up bits of conversation that caused me to make a tentative judgment that this institution was a cover for a terrorist group. A new twist was that assassinations were carried out so as to make them appear to be accidents. Enemies of the terrorists were being eliminated without any public outcry. No one would suspect that this health institution was the headquarrters for the operations.
At night I took up my post just inside my door. This time I found that I could look outside through a peephole built into the door. I observed a large coffee urn down the corridor. This urn attracted regular visits from men and women on duty during the night. I also observed a door that apparently went into the kitchen because several guards came out of the room with food in their hands.
As he passed my door, one guard commented that he had just placed new batteries in the fire alarm devices in the library. From this information, I was able to judge that the library was at the end of the corridor.
I formulated a plan of escape that involved the use of the coffee urn, the kitchen, the library, and the pills in the cabinet.
On my third day since awakening from the coma, I again avoided swallowing the two pills. Bits of conversation that I heard confirmed my suspicion that the hospital was a cover operation for persons whose true purpose was to assassinate enemies living in the United States.
I found that I was under close scrutiny; even Mr. Hammond was patiently observing me. When I was returned to my room, I took up my listening post at the door.
"Tomorrow morning eliminate Number 59," Mr. Hammond said in the corridor.
I knew that I must make my escape attempt tonight. What I planned to do would be considered crimes under ordinary circumstances. If I were completely mistaken in believing that I was fighting for my life against a foreign terrorist group, my actions this night would make me a criminal. My cautious way of living was being changed tonight into reckless behavior. I firmly believed that I had to take action, not only to save the lives of others, but also to preserve my own life.
At eight o'clock that evening my actions began. My first step was to slip from my room, take off the top of the coffee urn, go to the cabinet, open the drawer filled with pills, take out two fistfuls of pills, put the pills in the coffee urn, and swiftly return to my room. Through the peephole in my door, I was able to watch night employees get hot coffee for themselves. I decided to wait one hour before going into action.
Promptly at nine o'clock I went into the kitchen and poured water on the pilot lights of the stoves in order to extinguish the flames. After turning on all the gas jets on the two large stoves, I found two candles and a box of matches. I lit the two candles and placed them in different corners of the kitchen, which was rapidly filling up with natural gas.
Next, still carrying the box of matches, I hurried to the library. My luck was with me because I encountered no one. I climbed on chairs in the library and removed batteries from four fire alarm devices. Moving as fast as I could, I made several piles of newspapers and magazines near wooden tables and wooden shelving. Then I used the matches to ignite the papers and magazines.
I picked up a telephone, dialed 911, and spoke rapidly in an excited voice saying, "Help us! Help us! The hospital is on fire!"
"Keep calm," the person on the other end of the line said. "Give us your address."
I did not know the address. "The place is filling up with smoke!" I cried. "Help us! Help us!"
Without hanging up, I placed the telephone receiver on the desk because I knew that the 911 system permitted dispatchers to identify the source of a call.
After leaving the library, I slipped along the corridor to the front door where I found the two guards on duty there dozing in chairs. I went outside and had another piece of luck in finding a bicycle at the bottom of the front steps.
Because I wanted to keep a low profile, I walked while keeping the bicycle rolling along beside me until I paused near a clump of bushes near the front gates.
Sirens of fire engines increased in volume. Soon three engines stopped, one in back of another, outside the closed main gates.
Just at this moment, the accumulated gas in the kitchen ignited in a great explosion. At the same time flames appeared in a window of the library.
Guards opened the main gates. As the fire engines were coming in, I rolled the bike through the gateway with the fire engines between me and the guards' station. I got by without being seen by the guards.
My escape would be discovered soon. If I continued to ride the bicycle along the road that I was on, I would easily be captured. Therefore, when a walkway came in sight on the left side of the road, I turned onto this narrow pathway, not knowing where it would take me.
After riding along this pathway for several minutes, some bright lights appeared ahead. These bright lights turned out to be a shopping center. A city bus was parked in the lot. I rode up to the bus.
"How soon will you be leaving?" I asked the driver.
"In three minutes," he replied.
Lacking any money, I had to find bus fare immediately. Going over to a wishing well, I fished out as many nickels and dimes as I could find while being aware of disapproving looks from bystanders.
My wishing well money was sufficient to pay the bus fare. As the bus pulled away, I felt relief that I had a good chance of being successful in my escape.
When I told the driver that I wanted to get to a building where Federal government offices were located, he informed me that he would tell me where to get off.
A half hour later he called out that I should get off at the next stop. "Walk in that direction for three blocks," he said, pointing to the west.
Getting to the building was easy. Although there was an FBI office in the building, getting someone from the FBI to listen to me was a major problem.
When the guard in the lobby told me to come back in the morning, I told him that I wanted to confess to a crime. This statement got me admitted to the FBI office.
A young agent slouched in a chair with his feet propped up on a desk looked at me with complete disinterest.
"What crime did you commit, Mister?"
My years spent in studying human beings made me certain that this man could not be made to believe that I was telling the truth. He would have me out of his office and out on the street in a matter of minutes.
"I want to speak with any other agent who is on duty tonight," I said.
"You talk to me or you leave this office," he replied.
Mr. Conwell's henchmen would have no difficulty in following my trail: the stolen bicycle would be found at the shopping center; witnesses saw me pay bus fare with stolen coins; the bus driver and others in the bus knew that I was going to the FBI offices. In addition, I had been moving around in stocking-covered feet; I had no shoes. This, too, made me a conspicuous fugitive. I firmly believed that killers would be waiting for me outside this building.
"You are a disgrace to the FBI," I said recklessly. "You show skepticism before I have revealed anything to you. Furthermore, if you refuse to let me speak with another agent, I will fight you in order to be arrested for striking a federal agent. I demand the right to speak to any other agent who is on duty here tonight."
My firmness unnerved him, especially because he was in the dark about what I wanted to disclose.
"Okay. You can talk with Miss Nelson."
He left the room and, in a few minutes, returned with a tall, stern-looking woman about thirty years old.
While I had been in the room by myself, I picked up a piece of typing paper and wrote down my full name, home address, social security number, place of work, name of my supervisor, and the name of my bank.
In order to be believed, I knew that I must offer my story in a calm and rational way.
"May I help you?" the lady said while the man sat nearby to listen to my every word.
"I need the help of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Please listen to my entire account before making any judgments. Here is a listing of a few facts about me that can be checked." I gave her my handwritten information, then proceeded to tell her what had happened to me since I checked out of the hotel.
The one time she interrupted me was to ask the name of the newspaper for which Miss Haynes worked. I replied that I had no idea, but I wished that she would check at once because I was afraid that I had placed Miss Haynes in danger by speaking to her.
The male agent immediately picked up a telephone and called a friend who was a night editor. "Do you know of a reporter named Miss Haynes?" he asked.
His face reddened as he listened. After he hung up, he said, "Miss Haynes is in the hospital. She was struck in a hit-and-run accident two hours ago."
My account of the overheard conversation about a staged accident in a subway caused my two listeners to look at each other. This indicated to me that someone had been killed today in the type of accident that I mentioned.
They gave their full attention to my account of the explosion and fire. I regretted that I did not know the name or address of the institution, but I told them that, by checking with emergency services, the explosion and fire could be verified.
The two agents spoke quietly together before taking me into a room with a sofa bed. They said that other agents would want to talk with me but, for the present, I should rest in this private room.
Eavesdropping was becoming a habit with me. I put my ear to the door to listen to their conversation in the next room. They were making telephone calls summoning agents to the office. I went to the bed and fell asleep.
An hour later Miss Nelson awakened me and requested that I come with her. I followed her to a conference room where over fifty men and women were standing.
"Will you please tell this group what happened to you after you checked out of your hotel?" she said.
I related in detail all of my experiences.
One elderly gentleman seated near me turned to a man beside him and said, "I will authorize a search warrant at once."
Miss Nelson escorted me back to the private room with instructions to rest. My mind was in turmoil; I found it impossible to sleep. Early the next morning Miss Nelson returned.
"I can tell you two things," she said. "One. You were in mortal danger at that hospital. Two. The hospital was the headquarters for criminal activity."
"I'm relieved to know this, but my main concern now is Miss Haynes. I feel responsible for putting her life in danger."
"We have checked on Miss Haynes," she replied. "She came close to being killed. Although she will be in the hospital several days, she will recover." Miss Nelson moved toward the doorway. "Come with me now. The head of our office wishes to speak with you."
She escorted me to another room where a man behind a large desk stood and shook hands with me. He did not smile, and he spoke with great seriousness.
"You stumbled into something that is of international significance. No news of this affair will be published. Both local government and federal government officials will deny that this conspiracy took place. Please be assured that you should have no fear of any future problems for you from this affair. We will check regularly with you in coming weeks to be certain that you are not bothered in any way. And, by the way, we will purchase new clothing and an airline ticket for you. We will take you to the airport this afternoon so that you will be home later today."
Miss Nelson was the agent who drove me to the airport. She said that she admired me as a person who had the courage to take drastic actions. I did not want to tell her the truth: I am an unusually cautious man.
About the Author
Lawrence E. Rogers was born in St. Louis, Missouri on May 2, 1920. He had two brothers and three sisters. His parents owned a small grocery store near Sportsman’s Park (the baseball stadium). The family lived above the store.
Larry attended CBC High School and then went to St. Louis University where he earned Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts degrees in History and Government.For most of his career, he worked as a training coordinator for the St. Louis City Personnel Department. Larry taught supervision and management classes to city department officials and to fire department captains.In 1958, Larry married Ann Catherine Kearns, a grade school teacher. Larry and Ann had one child, Joseph.After his retirement, Larry established a small bookstore that specialized in children’s books. He wrote a workbook called Clarity in Handwriting that has been used by students in many schools.In addition to The Perils of a Cautious Man, this website also includes Larry's short story entitled The Stalker. His non-fiction works After Death, A New Life (a discussion for persons of all religious denominations) and Fifty Geniuses are also posted on this website. .
