Home Alone

"There's someone knocking at my door. He is trying to open it"

"You don't know him?"

"I don't know him at all. I'm home alone"

"Did he try the knob?"

"Yes, he tried the knob."

"He's not there anymore." "He's in his car now."

"Are you home alone."

"Yes. He is in is car now. There is someone with him."

"How old are you."

"I'm twelve."

You are twelve, you are home alone. Someone is trying to break into your house. You call 911. The dispatcher you get is a trainee. Read about this amazing story here:

http://www.oregonlive.com/gresham/index.ssf/2010/05/troutdale_girl_describes_how_s.html

"He's in my room."

"Don't talk while he's in your room.

Make sure you click on the button and listen to the entire 911 call. It's heart-stopping chilling.

Thanks to a quick thinking twelve year-old girl and an amazing 911 operator trainee the girl is safe and three men that should be in jail are in jail. I see at least two heroes here. How many heroes do you see? Could have you had the presence of mind of the twelve year-old or the calm intelligence of the 911 operator? I couldn't

WHO AM I?

Yesterday's answer was Dorothy Fuldheim

I was born in Ohio inn 1832 and died in Pasadena, California in 1918. I was the daughter of a farmer dad and a mother who was a devout member of the Disciples of Christ church. I met my husband at Seminary school and followed him on to college where we began dating. I was somewhat plain in appearance, but my future husband was attracted to my keen intellect and appetite for knowledge. When he went on to a different school I stayed behind to teach school. We originally planned to marry when he graduated from college but delayed the marriage until he earn more bucks. We both twenty-six when we married at my parents' house. Instead of going on a honeymoon we set up housekeeping immediately. We were apart when he served from 1861 to 1863 n the Union Army. We remained together when we went to D.C. While there we shared intellectual interests with congenial friends; I went with him to meetings of a locally celebrated literary society. We read together, made social calls together, dined with each other, and traveled in company until we were as nearly inseparable as his career permitted. We had four sons and a daughter that lived to maturity. Three of the sons were lawyers and one son was an architect. My daughter was educated but served her husband well when he the head honcho of the country's secretary. After public service her husband came an investment banker. My husband ran for the office that Barrack holds now and won going away. A cheerful family we were. I was not particularly interested in a First Lady's social duties, I was deeply conscientious and my genuine hospitality made my dinners and twice-weekly receptions enjoyable. At the age of 49 I was still a slender, graceful little woman with clear dark eyes, brown hair with traces of silver. I researched the history of the the House furnishings with a view to restoring it to its former glory, but I contracted malaria and was unable to pursue the project. I was sa convalescent when my husband was shot. My husband was on his way to meet me. I returned to Washington by special train -- "frail, , fatigued, desperate," reported an eyewitness "but firm and quiet and full of purpose to save." As my train raced south, it was speeding so fast that the engine broke a and nearly derailed. I was thrown from her seat, but not injured. After an anxious delay I reached the House and went to her husband's bedside. For three months my husband fought for his life. While helping him my grief and devotion won the respect and sympathy of the country. After his death and funeral we went home to Ohio. For another 36 years I led a strictly private, but busy and comfortable life, active in preserving the records of my husband's career. I created a wing at oure home that became a presidential library of his papers. When I died my casket was placed above ground beside the coffin of my husband in the lower level crypt of the presidential tomb at Lake View Cemetery. Who Am I?