“No, I’ll be fine. Yesterday… it was just such a shock, and then when that reporter wanted to see the body… that was when I lost it. I’ll go over with you. I’ll be fine,” she replied.
We cleaned up and dressed, and then went out to the living room of the suite. I had to give the Secret Service credit. They had arranged for a large continental breakfast, juice and pastries and the like, and that was sufficient. The kids slowly wandered out of their rooms, including Megan, all wearing hotel-supplied bathrobes. We told them that we were going over to the hospital, and that I would be heading back to Washington later in the day. They were welcome to stay as long as they wanted. With any luck their brother would be conscious later. The same applied to Megan. She could stay and come over with the others.
When we got to the hospital, Marilyn and I were brought in through a side door where there didn’t seem to be any reporters, and were ushered down a string of hallways to the conference room we had commandeered on Sunday. By the time we got there, it now being a regular workday, the hierarchy of the hospital was out in force. We met the chief administrator, the head doctor, the various department heads and chiefs of this and that, and were assured Charlie was in the best hands possible. I was willing to take that with a certain degree of surety, since Tubb had told us more than once that the University of Pittsburgh was a top notch teaching hospital.
Charlie was still unconscious, but his vital signs were holding steady and possibly improving. They were doing blood work on an hourly basis, testing for liver and kidney function, and the results were encouraging. There was blood in Charlie’s urine, but that also was diminishing slightly. The head of internal medicine was cautiously optimistic, and if everything continued going well, they would upgrade his condition to serious by Tuesday. At that point the head of orthopedics got into it. He had reviewed Charlie’s X-rays and described the procedures needed. The easiest were the breaks in Charlie’s right arm. He had clean fractures in both the right radius and ulna, and could be cured with a cast. The most involved would be the breaks in Charlie’s right leg. His femur was broken in two places, his fibula in three, and his tibia in one, and the breaks were not clean and neat. Charlie was probably going to end up with some titanium plates and screws holding him together. The most serious injuries were the multitude of broken ribs in his flail chest. Where the average treatment for a broken rib was simply to bind the chest and bring the bones together, to let them heal, this might require surgical reconstruction. We would know better in a few days. At the end of this was going to be some fairly lengthy and intensive rehabilitation. There was an excellent chance that Charlie’s pro motorcycle career was over.
The final doctor to speak was a neurologist, brought in to consult about any possible spinal or head problems. Leaving aside the fact that Charlie had rocks in his head for riding motorcycles, he agreed with the emergency room doctor. Nothing in Charlie’s X-rays or physical condition indicated neurological problems. When Charlie was awake, he would run some tests, but if there wasn’t a problem, he wasn’t going to be involved.
After that, I did Presidential stuff with our impromptu office, and Marilyn fretted. She fretted less at about 10 AM, when the kids all appeared. That gave her somebody to talk to, while I talked to people back in D.C. It seemed as if half the calls were from friends or enemies wishing Charlie back to health. As the saying goes, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Will managed to set up a press conference in another conference room, and then we wrote up another statement. We kept it simple and said that Charlie was still in critical but stable condition, and that his condition was slowly improving. Then we thanked everybody and their brother.
At noon Will brought me out to the press conference and introduced me and then I read the statement. As I finished, I stated that I would take a limited number of questions. There were an awful lot of unfamiliar faces in the audience, since the regular White House press corps was mostly back in Washington. Still, I recognized quite a few people, and I didn’t bother with names, I just pointed and answered.
Q: How long did I intend to stay in Pittsburgh?
A: “I’ll be heading back to Washington by the end of the day. Mrs. Buckman intends to stay as long as necessary.”
Q: What did we plan to do if our son’s condition worsens?
A: “That does not seem to be an issue. Charlie’s condition is improving, slowly perhaps, but it is improving. We are confident that Charlie will survive and get back to normal.”
Q: Can you give us more detail, and if not why not?
A: “We are not giving out more detail than that.”
Q: There have been reports that your son is paralyzed and in a coma.
A: “Those reports are false and I have no idea where you are getting them. Charlie is unconscious, which is not the same thing as a coma, and there is no paralysis.” (I went out on a limb with that one.)
Q: Is it true that you were at the race yesterday and interfered with your son’s medical treatment?
A: “We were at the race. We interfered with nothing. I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Q: Is it true that your son’s girlfriend is a Hollywood stripper? (I had to look at Will for that one. He looked as mystified as me.) A: “I have no idea what you are talking about. Miss Morgan is an actress, and your questions are best directed to her. I’d ask her fast, though, because once Charlie wakes up and is able to move around, I doubt he will be all that polite with rude comments like that one.”
Will stepped in at that point and shut it down. I moved back to the conference room and pulled Megan aside, to tell her what happened. “I’ve heard worse. Omaha can be pretty conservative. There’s a certain part of the population that thinks anybody who lives in Hollywood or is an actor is going straight to hell,” she said with a shrug.
“Okay, but feel free to call your folks and give them a heads up.”
“I did that last night. I’ll call again, now.”
“Say hello for Marilyn and me.”
Megan’s eyes popped open at that idea.
I went back to being President, and we all had a buffet lunch in the conference room with the others. Charlie woke about 2:00 or so, and we were all taken down to his room. We had to wear gowns and masks to see him, but nobody minded. Marilyn and I were the first to be allowed in, but we promised the others they would have a chance. Just as we entered, the neurologist came out and smiled. “I just did some standard tests. Your son’s nervous system and spine are fine. No problems.”
Marilyn and I sagged in relief, and then were shown into his room. He was buried under a forest of tubes, but we found him there, looking towards us. With the ventilator tube in his mouth, he couldn’t speak, but his eyes were open and he was following us around, and he gave us a thumbs-up with his left hand.
I smiled and said, “I always told you that you were an organ donor in training.” I could see the smile in his eyes, and his left middle finger extended. I laughed for both of us. “I’m glad to see you are awake. Everyone’s been worried.”
“Oh, Charlie!” cried out Marilyn. She moved to hug him, but a nurse stopped her. We were directed to his left side, which was the uninjured side. She took his hand and squeezed it, and I could see that he squeezed back.
“I have to tell, you, Charlie, there’s not too many organs anybody would want right now. Did anybody tell you what happened?” I asked. He nodded slightly. “It was pretty scary.” He nodded again, but gave me another thumbs-up. “Don’t worry about it. We talked to the doctors this morning. I won’t sugarcoat it. You were badly hurt, but you are alive and will get better. You’ll need some rehab. We’re not sure how long, but you’ll be walking around soon.”