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"At about eight-thirty on Friday Morning, one of Donora's
eight physicians, Dr. Ralph W. Koehler, a tense, stocky man of forty-eight,
stepped to his bathroom window for a look at the weather. It was,
at best, unchanged. As he was turning away, a shimmer of movement
in the distance caught his eye...he had never seen anything quite
like it before.
Then there was an awful yell. I jumped up and dashed out into the
hall. There was a man I'd never seen before sort of draped over
the banister. He was kicking at the wall and pulling at the banister
and moaning and choking and yelling at the top of his voice. 'Help!
Help me! I'm dying!' I just stood there. I was petrified.
When Miss Stack came into the office a few minutes later, the telephone
was still ringing. She had answered it and added the call to her
list before she realized that she was not alone. 'I heard someone
groaning,' she says. 'Dr. Roth's door was open and I looked in...he
was slumped down in his chair...all I could think was, My gosh,
if people are dying--why, this is tragic! Nothing like this has
ever happened before!'"
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