When the term “Ambulance Chaser” is used, it is normally in reference to injury lawyers who make their living off of filing lawsuits on behalf of those who have suffered loss– usually damage at the hands of well-insured businesses and corporations.  They often show up at disaster sites or after tragic events, hoping to get new clients to file lawsuits.  Most people don’t like the smell of lawsuits that look like personal revenge– until THEY become injured or wronged.  Then the tables are turned.  It’s a tough call, for sure.

But growing up in the small Alabama town of Ashland, the idea of  “ambulance chasing” had nothing to do with the legal profession, or with “revenge.”  It was exactly what it sounds like– chasing ambulances.  

In my small town, hearing a siren (or as we pronounced it: “sy-REEN”), indicated that something rare and big had just happened.  And even more importantly, it had just happened to someone we probably know well!  The best thing to do was to jump in a vehicle and go toward the sound of the siren. It might lead to a wrecked car, or tractor accident, or maybe to a drunk driver that had been chased down and arrested.  Either way, we probably knew them.  If they didn’t need our help, at least we were in the know about what had happened in case someone asked about it the following day.

If it was a fire engine, it was a super big deal.  The town volunteer fire department depended on ambulance chasers to help put out the fire.  I remember vividly being in Sunday School at the Baptist Church on a beautiful Sunday morning when we heard the fire truck siren.  Men and teenaged boys (including my big brother, Mike) dutifully headed to their cars and trucks and took off.  We could see a tower of dark smoke to the southwest, which was also in the direction of my house– a frightening thought.  We also noticed the Methodists who worshipped just across the street were streaming from their church, pointing and driving in the same direction.

“I think it’s the school!” some random person shouted.  That REALLY shook everyone up.  My friend Walt let me ride with his dad to the site of the fire.  His dad was an insurance man, and necessarily an ambulance chaser.  It turned out not to be the school, but was the beautiful old Victorian house on the corner next to the school.  The Avery Phillips house was fully involved by the time we got there.  It had been one of the showcase homes in Ashland, full of antiques and treasures from the past.  Thankfully, Avery and Madge were unharmed.

Some of the most beautiful antique pieces had been saved by our hometown ambulance chasers before the fire got out of control.  They risked their lives to save as much as they could.  Walt and I stayed there all afternoon and watched until all that was left were two giant brick chimneys, and a smoldering pile of ashes.  The visuals and smells are seared permanently into my brain.

“Ambulance chasing” and a “sense of loss” are always joined together.  That Sunday, our beautiful town lost one of it’s most endearing landmarks, and a mile-long list of treasures that only Madge Phillips could enumerate.  But thanks to Ashland’s hometown ambulance chasers, at least some priceless things were saved.  Madge Phillips had reason to be thankful as well as sad.

Postscript:

Recently my sister and I visited the UAB Hospital where a first cousin, Robert, was being treated after a terrible accident that had occurred a few days before.  After visiting him. Donna and I chatted with several of our other cousins in the ICU waiting room.  Gary and Steve told us about some amazing ambulance chasing of their own that had happened the night before.

After leaving the hospital parking deck, they got behind an ambulance that was obviously transporting a patient out of Birmingham.  The back door of the ambulance was not closed securely, and they saw something like a box fall out of the door and bounce to the side of the road.  It was obvious to Steve and Gary that the people in the ambulance had not seen what had happened since they continued moving down the highway.

Gary pulled off the road, knowing that what was in the box might be important.  He and Steve ran back to the site of the box and saw that it was some kind of a cooler.  Gary opened it  and saw that it contained a TOE packed in ice.  Obviously the medics were trying to save someone’s toe!  Could they “chase down the ambulance” and return the precious cargo?

I was astounded at their story, and I could tell by looking at Donna’s expression that the she was equally as shocked.

“What did y’all do?” I asked Gary.

“Well, It was too late to chase them down,” he explained.  “So we just called a TOW truck.”

Yes, Donna and I swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

And you probably did too.