It’s one of those images that sticks in your brain. You’ve probably seen it on a "most powerful photos" listicle or framed in a museum. Two men. One dangling upside down from a utility pole, seemingly dead. The other, gripping him, mouth pressed against mouth in a desperate, mid-air struggle. Most people call it the Kiss of Life photo, and while it looks like a Renaissance painting captured on a grainy 1960s camera, the story behind it is a lot more gritty—and honestly, more miraculous—than a single frame can convey.
Rocco Morabito was just a photographer for the Jacksonville Journal. He wasn't looking for a Pulitzer that morning in July 1967. He was actually headed to a strike at a local railroad. He passed these linemen working on West 26th Street and snapped a few mundane shots because, well, that's what a news photographer does. He didn't know he was about to witness a man technically die and then get hauled back to the land of the living.
The split second everything went wrong
J.D. Thompson and Randall Champion were just doing routine maintenance. It was hot. Jacksonville in July is basically a swamp with pavement. Champion was the one at the top of the pole. He reached out to grab a line—something he’d done a thousand times—and he brushed against the one thing you never want to touch. A high-voltage wire.
Over 4,000 volts surged through him.
To put that in perspective, a standard wall outlet is 120 volts. Champion took more than thirty times that. His heart stopped instantly. His body went limp, and because of his safety harness, he didn't fall to the ground. He just slumped over the crossbar, dangling over the street like a ragdoll.
Thompson, who was about 400 feet away on another pole, heard the crackle. He saw his partner go dark. He didn't wait for a bucket truck. He didn't call for help first. He just climbed. He got to Champion in seconds, but there was a massive problem: he couldn't perform traditional CPR. You can’t exactly do chest compressions while you’re both hanging 20 feet in the air by leather straps.
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Breath as a last resort
Thompson realized he couldn't restart the heart, but he could maybe, just maybe, get some oxygen into the lungs. He grabbed Champion’s head, cleared his airway, and started blowing.
Morabito, down on the ground, had realized something was wrong when he heard screaming. He’d already called for an ambulance via his two-way radio. He grabbed his camera. He saw Thompson leaning over, locked in that life-saving embrace. He snapped the shot. Then he snapped another. He was shouting, "He’s breathing! He’s breathing!" but he wasn't even sure if it was true.
The Kiss of Life photo captures that exact moment of raw, unshielded human desperation. It wasn't staged. There was no lighting crew. Just a cheap 35mm camera and a guy trying to breathe the soul back into his friend.
Why the Kiss of Life photo still matters in 2026
We live in an era of AI-generated "perfection" and staged viral moments. People fake heroics for TikTok views. That’s why looking back at Morabito’s work feels like a punch to the gut. It’s real. You can see the tension in Thompson’s arms. You can see the terrifying stillness in Champion.
There’s a common misconception that this was a "lucky shot." Sure, Morabito was in the right place, but he had the instinct to stay out of the way of the professionals while documenting the truth. He actually ran to his car to use the radio because he knew his voice wouldn't carry. He acted as a bridge between the accident and the rescue services.
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Surprisingly, Champion didn't just survive that day. He lived for another 35 years.
Think about that. A man hit by 4,160 volts lived to see the turn of the millennium. He died in 2002. Thompson, the man who gave him those breaths, lived until 2021. They remained friends for their entire lives. It wasn't just a photo op; it was the start of a multi-decade bond forged in the most high-stakes environment imaginable.
The technical reality of the rescue
If you talk to modern electrical workers, they’ll tell you that what Thompson did was technically "pole-top resuscitation." It’s actually a specific maneuver taught to linemen, though it’s rarely used now because of modern safety bucket trucks and faster emergency response times.
- The Positioning: Thompson had to brace his feet and use his own belt to support both their weights.
- The Airway: He had to tilt Champion's head back while gravity was pulling the body in the opposite direction.
- The Risk: Thompson himself was in danger. One wrong move, one slip, and he could have touched the same live wire that got Randall.
Morabito won the Pulitzer Prize for Feature Photography in 1968 for this. It was the first time a Jacksonville-based photographer had ever taken home the prize. But if you read his old interviews, he was always pretty humble about it. He just saw a guy helping another guy.
Beyond the frame
When the photo hit the wires, it went global. It became a symbol of the labor movement, the dangers of blue-collar work, and the basic human instinct to save a peer. People often mistake the photo for being from the Great Depression because of the black-and-white grain, but it was actually the era of Vietnam and the Space Race. Amidst all that global chaos, this tiny, localized miracle in Florida gave people something to actually feel good about.
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It’s easy to get cynical about "heroism" these days. We see so much of it curated. But the Kiss of Life photo is messy. It’s sweaty. It’s terrifying. It reminds us that at our core, when the power goes out and the voltage hits, we really only have each other.
Actionable insights from the 1967 incident
Looking at this historic event provides more than just a trip down memory lane. It offers concrete lessons on crisis management and human intervention that remain relevant.
- Training saves lives: Thompson didn't panic because he had a rudimentary understanding of what to do. Whether it's CPR, the Heimlich maneuver, or basic first aid, knowing the "how" before the "when" is the difference between a tragedy and a miracle.
- Decisive action beats perfect planning: If Thompson had waited for the ground crew to bring a ladder or a truck, Champion would have been brain dead. He moved immediately. In a crisis, the first 60 seconds are usually the most critical.
- The power of documentation: Morabito’s photo didn't save Champion’s life, but it saved the story. It forced utility companies to look closer at safety protocols and gave the public a face for the "faceless" workers who keep the lights on.
- Don't ignore the "small" moments: Morabito was on his way to a "bigger" story (the strike). He stopped for a small, routine scene. Never be so focused on your end goal that you miss the reality unfolding right in front of you.
To truly honor the legacy of this moment, consider taking a certified CPR or First Aid course. The techniques have changed since 1967—we focus much more on chest compressions now than just rescue breaths—but the spirit of Thompson’s intervention remains the gold standard for being a decent human being. Keep a basic first aid kit in your vehicle and, more importantly, know how to use everything inside it. Being a bystander is easy; being a participant is what changes history.
Next Steps for History & Safety Enthusiasts:
Search for the "Jacksonville Journal archive" to see the original newspaper layout from July 1967. Additionally, check the latest American Heart Association (AHA) guidelines for "Hands-Only CPR," which is the modern evolution of the lifesaving techniques seen in the photo. Knowing these updates ensures that if you're ever in Thompson's shoes, you're providing the most effective help possible.