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Donald Ashman, seen at his Thousand Oaks home, is an Anglican priest who was a passenger on the Metrolink train that crashed Friday in Chatsworth. Though still in a daze from the collision, he administered last rites to people who died at the scene. (Al Seib / Los Angeles Times / September 17, 2008) |
Still in a daze from the crash, Donald Ashman walked over to the first body.
Ashman knelt down and lifted a corner of a white blanket covering the body, placed his hand on the man's forehead and said the words he had said so many times before, almost always at a hospital:
"May God Almighty have mercy upon thee, forgive thee thy sins and bring thee to everlasting life."
The prayer took just a few seconds. Ashman returned the blanket and turned to the next victim, not far from the mangled Metrolink train.
He didn't know their names, their ages, their stories. He knew only that they had died and that they had probably been heading home to their families, as he was, after the workday.
Reflecting on that day now, Ashman also knows, as surely as he has known anything in his 62 years, why he was on that train and why he survived.
He was there to administer their last rites.
"I was where God intended me to be," Ashman said in an interview Wednesday from his home in Thousand Oaks.
A priest, Ashman leads a small congregation at the Anglican Church of Our Saviour on the Westside of Los Angeles, where he has been for a quarter of a century. He also teaches Latin and world history at Hoover High School in Glendale.
At the time of the Chatsworth crash Friday, he was sitting facing backward in the last train car and talking on his cellphone to his wife of 37 years. The jolt pushed Ashman against his seat, and he immediately felt pain and pressure on his back. He heard moans and screams and saw bodies fly down the stairs. One injured man landed at his feet. He looked out the window and could see that there had been a collision with a freight train.
Ashman climbed out of the car and asked a firefighter if there were fatalities. Yes, the fireman answered.
Then Ashman said he was a priest and asked permission to pray for the deceased.
At first, he said, he didn't think the firefighters believed him -- he was wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans. But as soon as he began to pray, he could see their faces change. A few even joined him in prayer.
"It was spiritually moving, amid all that sadness and tragedy," he said.
As firefighters pulled out survivors and paramedics treated the injured, Ashman stayed with the dead. He continued to pray, asking God to welcome them. The firefighters brought him more victims. Ashman said he felt an odd sense of calm.
The helicopters flew overhead and news cameramen filmed nearby. Ashman said he was careful not to lift the blankets too far, lest relatives recognize loved ones, bloodied and bruised, on television.
At one point, a firefighter asked him to come with him to pray for the engineer, whose body was still trapped in the wreckage. That blanket wasn't white. It was blood red. Ashman touched his arm, made the sign of the cross and said a quick prayer.
"I don't remember the words I said, but I became acutely aware that prayer doesn't always consist of words," he said.
Authorities have not determined the cause of the crash. But whatever the involvement, if any, of engineer Robert Sanchez, it doesn't matter, Ashman said.
Ashman knelt down and lifted a corner of a white blanket covering the body, placed his hand on the man's forehead and said the words he had said so many times before, almost always at a hospital:
"May God Almighty have mercy upon thee, forgive thee thy sins and bring thee to everlasting life."
The prayer took just a few seconds. Ashman returned the blanket and turned to the next victim, not far from the mangled Metrolink train.
He didn't know their names, their ages, their stories. He knew only that they had died and that they had probably been heading home to their families, as he was, after the workday.
Reflecting on that day now, Ashman also knows, as surely as he has known anything in his 62 years, why he was on that train and why he survived.
He was there to administer their last rites.
"I was where God intended me to be," Ashman said in an interview Wednesday from his home in Thousand Oaks.
A priest, Ashman leads a small congregation at the Anglican Church of Our Saviour on the Westside of Los Angeles, where he has been for a quarter of a century. He also teaches Latin and world history at Hoover High School in Glendale.
At the time of the Chatsworth crash Friday, he was sitting facing backward in the last train car and talking on his cellphone to his wife of 37 years. The jolt pushed Ashman against his seat, and he immediately felt pain and pressure on his back. He heard moans and screams and saw bodies fly down the stairs. One injured man landed at his feet. He looked out the window and could see that there had been a collision with a freight train.
Ashman climbed out of the car and asked a firefighter if there were fatalities. Yes, the fireman answered.
Then Ashman said he was a priest and asked permission to pray for the deceased.
At first, he said, he didn't think the firefighters believed him -- he was wearing a blue polo shirt and jeans. But as soon as he began to pray, he could see their faces change. A few even joined him in prayer.
"It was spiritually moving, amid all that sadness and tragedy," he said.
As firefighters pulled out survivors and paramedics treated the injured, Ashman stayed with the dead. He continued to pray, asking God to welcome them. The firefighters brought him more victims. Ashman said he felt an odd sense of calm.
The helicopters flew overhead and news cameramen filmed nearby. Ashman said he was careful not to lift the blankets too far, lest relatives recognize loved ones, bloodied and bruised, on television.
At one point, a firefighter asked him to come with him to pray for the engineer, whose body was still trapped in the wreckage. That blanket wasn't white. It was blood red. Ashman touched his arm, made the sign of the cross and said a quick prayer.
"I don't remember the words I said, but I became acutely aware that prayer doesn't always consist of words," he said.
Authorities have not determined the cause of the crash. But whatever the involvement, if any, of engineer Robert Sanchez, it doesn't matter, Ashman said.
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