He died with his boots on.

Someone died dancing next to me on the dance floor last night.

It was during the line dance Mmm Bop, which we were doing to Cowboy Up.[iTMS]. There's a part of the dance when the moving left, the right crosses over left and you pause for a beat. Some advanced dancers use this bat for a quick squat and touch the floor before quickly popping up and uncrossing and recrossing the feet and continuing. I like to do this but it is hell on the knees and it is really easy to lose your balance. Sometimes people slip and stumble during this bit.

It was on this turn that the guy next to me went down. I just assumed he stumbled during the cross, squat, pop and cross. But he didn't get up immediately. He lay splayed on the floor, and my first thought was that he was just embarrassed about falling over and was lying down in comic self-deprecation. So I smiled and offered my hand to help him up.

He didn't take my hand. I knelt down and he didn't respond to my hand rubbing his chest. We had been dancing at the end of our lines, and someone from the stage rushed out and cradled his head and started checking him out.

The music was still playing and the crowd was still dancing.

I bolted to the bar and told the bartender that we needed an ambulance right away. I was thinking that he might have just fainted, but the call could always be canceled and for these things sooner is better than later if needed at all.

It took a moment or two to convince her that this was serious. There is not a phone behind the bar, and as someone else said "Call 911!" she said "Well, call 911. You all have cell phones." "No we don't." I explained. "We don't dance with stuff in our pockets." Later someone else pointed out that land lines get priority and quicker responses to 911 calls as it hits a different center. Shortly I saw two people on cell phones. Then the music stopped and a crowd had gathered around the fallen dancer.

There were at least four of five people physically tending to him and I held back. I was conflicted on one side by my desire to help, my experience in handling crisis situations, and my lack of confidence in those rushing to be involved (only because I didn't know them), and on the other side by my not wanting to add to the confusion or possibly interfere should those administering aid be competent and more knowledgeable than I. Although I wasn't sure that administering CPR wasn't doing more harm than good--one person said he had a pulse and recent medical reports and revised practices now exclude respirations--I decided to trust those at his side. I will admit that I worried some were at his side less for their experience in medical care and more for their need to be the center of attention, even if unconsciously.

Later Kevin, whom you may recall is an emergency room nurse, told me that when laypeople look for a pulse, false positives are extremely common and compressions are generally better than not when a person looks like they've had a heart attack or such. I also learned later that at least one of the people at Ken's side was a medical professional.

It never registered to me that that it was Ken who went down. He looked so different prone and unconscious when I went to help him up--Ken is notably tall, dark, and handsome, and always animated. He's the kind of guy who smiles with his whole face, and when that animation gone, I didn't recognize him.

I didn't really know Ken. Ken Brandow. I only knew him from the country/western events and to dance every now and again. A ruggedly handsome, silver-bearded, black-hatted, physically fit and often shirtless towering figure of a man, Ken was noticeable. And a lot of fun to be around.

His stillness was disturbing to say the least.

I could hear the sirens after about three-to-four minutes (what I thought was a pretty impressive response time). It was a minute or two more before the fire department EMTs walked though the door. While we were all anxious to save Ken, the firemen approached this rather nonchalantly. For them, this was another day at the office. I was bothered, though, that for one of them it looked like it was his first day. His aid was awkward and required correction from his mates. But every seasoned professional has had to learn somehow.

I've taken several CPR courses, and even practiced on live people before, but not with the sort of pressure to really get the job done. Do be effective, you're going to have to crack a rib or two (which is one of the reasons I was worried that CPR might be doing more harm than good if he had merely passed out). Several images from last night refuse to leave my mind. The most disturbing is the grotesque, unnatural way his belly would extend with every deep chest compression. From the depth they were pressing, I can't imagine his sternum and ribcage weren't broken. But broken ribs hardly matter if you don't have a heartbeat.

I remember looking down at the professionals doing the business of life saving, seeing his almost trademark, and clearly loved, black hat strewn aside--alone and forlorn on the dance floor.

The SFFD who had arrived in a truck were joined by SFFD EMTs in an ambulance and this crew seemed to be more emergency-medicine focused, calling for lines, needles, and additional shocks from the portable defibrillator. (Frankly, I'm surprised the club didn't have one.)

As more and more firemen attended to Ken, all I could see was the soles of his shoes. My thought then: At least he died with his boots on.

It wasn't such bad a way to go-- quickly, doing what he loved, surrounded by friends, and he left the party dancing.

There are worse fates.

After about thirty to forty minutes of CPR, they transferred Ken to a board and began to move him. They were still performing compressions. I knew enough to know that after more than thirty minutes down, they're gone. It was 10:45. Ken had gone down at 10:00. I talked to Kevin in the car, and met some of the other witnesses for a final drink and toast in the Castro.

Sundance Saloon organizers sent out an e-mail this afternoon informing members of Ken's collapse at Sundance Saloon and subsequent death at SFGH. We'll be gathering in the Red Room next Thursday at 7:00 for remembrance and support. Beyond the frightening fragility and uncertainty of life, what I am choosing to take away is this: Ken lived his life to the last. And he danced his way to the end.

Cowboy.

Up.

Indeed.


Update: News on Sundance Saloon's Web site.