On the Gallia County Farm, I had walked down to the bottom of the hill behind the Farmhouse, in the area where the old gray milk house used to stand. Now several buildings populated the space, buildings which seemed to belong to a small community of people living there. After entering one building, I ascended to the second floor, which contained several rooms, some of which were used for offices. After I had entered one room and begun looking around, my father joined me.

The poky room (perhaps three meters by five meters) was in total disrepair. My father had stored some furniture there, most of which had been torn up, and although my father didn't know it, I had previously carried away some of the furniture for myself. I told him what I had done, expecting him to become upset, but he wasn't. He only seemed preoccupied about a missing clothes dryer.

His concern over the clothes dryer brought to mind something else. I had earlier informed my father that three or four other people and I were planning to walk together across the United States. Since I also intended to convey a baby kangaroo along with me, I had been concerned whether the little kangaroo would be able to hop across the entire country. I had decided if the kangaroo began the journey and was then unable to continue, I would simply have to abandon it along the road somewhere. When I had told my father about the upcoming trek, I had also divulged that one of the fellows who would be walking with me was planning to push a clothes dryer along in front of him. My father had said that it would be inconvenient to push the clothes dryer across the country, but that it would be possible.

Now, however, my father was thinking of something different – since my father's clothes dryer was missing from this room, he was wondering whether his clothes dryer were the same one which my walking companion was planning to push across the country. I knew the two dryers weren't the same, and I explained that to my father. I told him the dryer which had been in this room had been much larger (with a window in the front), whereas the dryer which my companion would be pushing was smaller and didn't have a window. I further explained that I could show him for certain that the two dryers weren't the same, because my father's dryer was still sitting outside our building. I reflected that when I had previously been carrying away some of the furniture, I had made the mistake of shoving my father's dryer out the second story window. When the dryer had hit the ground outside, it had broken and was still lying where it had landed. When I told him I could escort him down below and show him the broken dryer, he expressed no further desire to see the dryer.

Letting the subject drop, my father began working on the room. He planned to make a bachelor pad out of the place so he could bring women there. He quickly stationed a couch, a chest of drawers and several other pieces of furniture where he wanted them. When he had finished, the room evoked a Spanish atmosphere, and it did indeed command admiration. I commented that the room looked better than ever.

He agreed. He also mentioned that my mother would never know about this room. I could understand why he wouldn't want my mother to know, but I thought he might have a problem keeping the room secret from her because my sister already knew about the room, and I thought my sister might inform my mother about the room. As my father and I walked out into the corridor in front of the room, I thought of asking him if he were concerned that my sister might tell my mother.

When I looked around to ask him, however, I suddenly realized my father had disappeared – I couldn't locate him anywhere. I walked down some stairs, but when I couldn't find him below, I retraced my steps back up the stairs. Suddenly a lady ran from one room, screaming that my father was in the room and that he had had a heart attack. Immediately I realized my father must have over-exerted himself while preparing his bachelor pad. I quickly concluded that due to his inability to change his debauched ways, he had been stricken with a heart attack. I thought to myself that if he simply hadn't been trying to make a hide-away for himself, he probably wouldn't have had the heart attack.

When I hurried into the room and found him slumped over on the floor, I asked, "Is it serious?"

He replied, "Yes." Just barely able to talk, he added, "You better get me to the hospital."

I called for someone to summon an ambulance. I realized an ambulance would take too long to arrive, and since the hospital was just across the street, I said, "All right, I'm going to carry you over there."

My father (just like the room he had fixed up) also had a Spanish air about him, and I thought he probably understood the Spanish language. As I picked him up in my arms and I began walking down the stairs with him, I spoke to him in Spanish and began praying to God. Among other things, I prayed, "Dios, ten misericordia sobre nosotros." Since my Spanish wasn't perfect, I wondered whether "sobre" was actually the correct word to use for "over."

While I prayed to God, I also cried, weeping, "Guianos con la luz del entendimiento. Sea con nosotros en la hora de nuestra noche."

My father clearly understood all my words. I said quite a bit more and I had the feeling my talking was calming him, but I was skeptical whether he would survive.

When I reached the outside, I saw the hospital just across the street, and as I crossed over toward it, I decided I wouldn't turn my father over to a nurse, but only to a doctor – I didn't want to see my father placed on a cart and wheeled around; I wanted to deliver him directly to the doctor myself.

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