Helpless as an overturned turtle, the man writhed on his back. We watched in bovine fascination as he frantically tried to breathe. Saliva trailed down the side of his face. He tried to speak, but could not. He waved his arms intermittently, but we did not understand his semaphore.

I discovered the scene as I walked back to my office after lunch. I was enjoying one of those nearly perfect fall days in Minnesota, when the oppressive heat and humidity of summer have relented, but the chill of winter has not yet forced us back into jackets. As I rounded the corner to my building, I found twenty or so people all standing around some attraction. I joined the crowd.

I still remember the man's eyes, piercing pale blue, wide and terrified. Wordlessly pleading for help, his eyes jerkily searched our faces in turn. He fastened those eyes on me. I shrank back, guilty and frightened. What did he want from me? I was just a bystander.

He wasn't dressed for the occasion. His dark blue business suit was not designed for rolling around on concrete sidewalks. His still snugly fitted tie would not make breathing any easier for him. He didn't look the part of the helpless victim, either. Trim, fortyish, he didn't look inherently unhealthy. Why was he in such a state that he couldn't even stand, let alone tell us what to do for him?

He didn't appear to have been knocked down forcibly. He was not bleeding, and his color didn't look all that bad. He wasn't clutching his throat or left arm. I kept my thoughts to myself. I wasn't in charge. Someone else should be in charge.

We continued to watch and wait. We were fascinated. We were useless.

While continuing to watch the drama, I noticed that someone had placed a bagel, still in its paper bag, under his head. I remember how sad and sweet that seemed. Here was this man, downed by who knew what ailment, his head carefully protected from the cruel concrete by a simple bagel.

No one spoke individually; we murmured vaguely as a single organism. We all stood rooted to our chosen spots on the sidewalk.

The realization struck me. Somehow, we were all waiting for the same person to arrive. We were waiting for Someone. Of course!

Someone would know what to do, and would do it.

But would Someone show up in time?

I watched the man continue his panicked dance for air and wondered who he was. Perhaps he had spent the morning leading some huge merger deal, perhaps making split-second decisions while trading fancy derivatives. Whatever he had been doing, he certainly hadn't counted on this turn of events. Now his entire focus had mortally shifted. Whatever power he wielded in the business world could not help him now. He remained unable to evoke the simplest assistance from any of us. We all certainly wore the most sympathetic and concerned faces of which we were capable. But concerned faces could not ease his breathing.

We remained in a nightmare of suspense. The man could only continue to flail helplessly, and we could only stare vacuously while we shared a fear for the man's welfare. At this point, I began to feel it would be a form of rudeness to walk away. While I was doing nothing more than watching, I felt that I should stay until something was done. Perhaps I could eventually assist in some manner. I think we all felt that way subconsciously. Someone would eventually do something, right?

Just as I was wondering how long this whole scene could continue, a small woman strode to the front of the crowd. She spoke up loudly, confidently, "Turn him on his side — now! He's going to choke!"

Suddenly galvanized, several of us began to assist the man as instructed. Once he was moved onto his side, the man's breathing visibly eased. Clearly, Someone had arrived at last. What took her so long?

Shortly thereafter, the professionals arrived with an ambulance. The spell broken, we dispersed, each of us relieved to return to post-lunch duties at our jobs.

Later that day, I wondered how long would we have waited for Someone if she hadn't shown up when she had? How long could the man have waited? Did the man have a family who loved him? How would they have felt to know that we all stood by and watched him slowly suffocate? That we didn't have the sense or the initiative to simply clear his airway while we waited for paramedics? Why didn't we do something? Why didn't I do something? The woman's instructions were so obvious and simple. Why couldn't one of us have simply shouted them out precious minutes before she did?

I decided the only form of atonement possible was to register for a first aid class.

The instructor showed us a film. I recognized myself and the rest of the crowd in it. In this film, a little girl and her father blissfully rode their bicycles through their quiet neighborhood. A woman more concerned with her cell phone than her driving navigated through the same neighborhood. When she hit the little girl, all the neighbors came out of their houses. They stood around with looks of utmost concern on their faces. But each had a reason for not doing anything. Afraid to do the wrong thing. Afraid to get involved. And on it went. But they all had something in common: they were waiting for Someone to show up and handle the situation. They believed that Someone is separate from the crowd, not subject to its limitations.

Trouble is, Someone is not reliable. Someone may not be available when you or a loved one needs him or her the most.

I will never know the man's name, or what happened to him. I do know he was very fortunate that Someone showed up in time that day.