You’ve probably seen the photo. It’s grainy, black and white, and looks almost like a staged piece of performance art or a strange, mid-air dance. Two men are dangling from a utility pole, high above the ground, locked in what looks like an intimate embrace.
But it wasn't a dance. Honestly, it was a desperate fight against death.
On July 17, 1967, in Jacksonville, Florida, a photographer named Rocco Morabito was driving along West 26th Street. He was actually looking for a different story—a railroad strike—but he looked up and saw a crew of linemen working. He snapped a couple of mundane shots and kept driving. Then, he heard the screaming.
When he looked back, one of the men was hanging upside down, limp as a rag doll. This is the story of the kiss of life lineman, an image that didn't just win a Pulitzer Prize, but changed how the world viewed first aid and blue-collar heroism.
4,000 Volts and a Heart That Stopped
The man hanging there was Randall Champion. He had accidentally brushed against a live wire—a 4,160-volt line. For perspective, your standard wall outlet is 120 volts. Champion didn't just get a shock; the electricity surged through him, stopping his heart instantly and blowing a hole through his foot where the current exited.
He was dead. At least, for those first few seconds.
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His safety harness was the only thing keeping him from plummeting twenty feet to the pavement. While the crowd below watched in total horror, his partner, J.D. Thompson, didn't wait for a ladder or a bucket truck. He scrambled up that pole like a man possessed.
When Thompson reached his friend, Champion’s face was already turning a deathly blue-gray.
Why They Call It the Kiss of Life
In 1967, CPR wasn't exactly common knowledge like it is today. Thompson had only recently learned the technique in a training course. But here’s the problem: you can’t do traditional chest compressions when someone is hanging vertically from a leather strap 20 feet in the air. Gravity is working against you, and there’s no flat surface to push against.
Thompson did the only thing he could. He grabbed Champion’s head, cleared his airway, and began blowing air into his lungs as hard as he could.
He just kept breathing for him. Between breaths, he’d reach around and thump Champion’s chest with his fist, trying to jar the heart back into a rhythm.
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Morabito, the photographer, had run to his car to radio for an ambulance. When he got back, he saw Thompson still up there, silhouetted against the sky, mouth-to-mouth with a dead man. He backed up until he hit a house, framed the shot, and captured the moment Thompson finally heard a gasp.
"He's breathing!" Thompson yelled down.
Beyond the Pulitzer Prize
The photo, titled "The Kiss of Life," went viral before "viral" was even a thing. It won the 1968 Pulitzer Prize for Spot News Photography. But for the men on that pole, the legacy wasn't about a trophy.
Randall Champion didn't just survive; he went back to work a week later. Think about that. Most people would take a year off after being clinically dead, but he was back on the lines. He lived for another 35 years, eventually passing away in 2002 at the age of 64.
J.D. Thompson, the hero of the story, stayed humble about the whole thing for the rest of his life. In interviews, he’d basically say he was just doing what he was trained to do. He lived to see the city of Jacksonville rename a street after him in 2024—J.D. Thompson Street—right at the entrance of the JEA Northside Generating Station.
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What Most People Get Wrong About the Photo
A lot of folks look at this image and think it’s a romanticized version of history. It’s not. It was messy. It was terrifying.
- The "Low Voltage" Myth: Some reports say Champion hit a low-voltage line. In utility terms, 4,000 volts is "low" compared to 100,000-volt transmission lines, but it's more than enough to cook a human being from the inside out.
- The Training: People assume Thompson was some medical expert. He wasn't. He was a guy who paid attention in a safety meeting and didn't panic when his buddy's life was on the line.
- The Photographer's Role: Morabito is often praised for the shot, but he actually called the ambulance before he took the winning photo. He prioritized the life over the lens, which is a nuance often lost in the "paparazzi" era.
Lessons from a 1967 Power Line
What can we actually take away from the kiss of life lineman today?
First, training matters. Thompson didn't have to think; his hands just moved because he’d practiced the "what if" scenarios. If you haven't taken a basic CPR or first aid class in the last three years, you're overdue. Standards change—for instance, we focus way more on chest compressions now than the "kiss" part—but the principle of immediate action is the same.
Second, the "buddy system" isn't just corporate red tape. Champion would be a footnote in a 1967 obituary if Thompson hadn't been 400 feet away and ready to run.
Check your own safety gear and your team’s protocols. Whether you’re on a utility pole or just working a desk, knowing who has your back—and how to save them—is the difference between a tragedy and a Pulitzer.
If you want to dive deeper into the technical side of this, look into the history of the Holger-Nielsen method versus modern mouth-to-mouth. It's wild how much we've learned about the human heart since that July afternoon in Florida.