Faster than the pull of silk from a pocket, Alec White slipped into the grind of a horror show. Foot snared in the blades of an unforgiving auger, White flailed in the corn and chalky floor of an Indiana grain bin, hands grasping in vain for anything. Everything. Nothing.
Five seconds, boot shredded. Ten seconds, foot mangled. Fifteen seconds, lower leg disappearing. Stuck in a spiral of endless torque, White knew the inescapable truth: What the corkscrew gets, it keeps. Helluva way to go.
However, White possessed remarkable resilience and a phenomenal ability to maintain focus in the most extreme of situations. “I can still see it happening so clearly,” he says. “It’s like a movie that plays in my head. Every instinct to keep calm was racing through my body.”
Mind. Heart. Soul. Survival at all costs.
Touching the Void
On a workaday Thursday, May 30, 2024, surrounded by the plentiful flats of northeast Indiana’s Wells County, White woke at 6:30 a.m., and rigged a slender, 6’3” frame in khaki shorts, leather belt, black t-shirt, and steel-toed, 10.5 Thorogood lace-up 6” boots.
Against a bruised sky threatening rain, White, 23, climbed in the cab of a brown Dodge Ram 1500 and scrambled away from home, bound for his manager’s role at Phenix Farms outside Geneva.
“Because of the rains, it was a good time to sweep out a series of bins, and we started out normal as could be,” White recalls. “There was nothing out of sorts; nothing wrong; nothing unusual. It was just a day that felt ordinary.”
However, at 10:30 a.m., approaching the last bin of the morning as temps climbed toward the mid-70s, White left behind the “ordinary” and stepped through the door of a 48’-diameter structure with an 80,000-bushel capacity. Unbeknownst to the young Indiana farmer, he was perilously close to touching the void.
Repetition Kills
The grain bin was empty. Almost.
Piled to the right of the bin entrance, a stubborn 400-bushel mound of corn partially clumped by moisture, sat the final target of cleanup. Armed with scoop shovels and brooms, White and a single co-worker began moving grain toward the growl of a power sweep—characterized by an auger partially covered by a shield, moving around the bin in clockwork fashion, pulling grain via helicoid flighting to a sump hole. Simplified: a giant, corn-eating screw.
However, despite the sweep’s design, the mechanism repeatedly caught on the bin floor as White worked. At each instance, he responded in the manner of many a farmer comfortable with repetition and pressed for time: He kicked the backplate of the auger, nudging the sweep back on course.
“One too many times,” White says in a seasoned manner vastly exceeding his age. “I knew better.”
On went the cleanup, until, once again, the sweep hitched.
Right leg positioned toward the auger, White kicked out with his left leg. His foot deflected up and over the backplate. In a millisecond, his bootheel was inextricably snagged in the auger’s flighting.
Amid the din and dust, White stumbled over the sweep and tried to yank free. No forgiveness. No tug-of-war. A death dance was on—and it would last at least 20 seconds.
“It started to suck me in,” White describes. “From my heel, it ran over my foot, and then took me down to a carrier bearing where it stopped and wrapped me around it. There was no pain. Only adrenaline.”
“I’ve read or heard about other people having accidents and they describe it all as a blur or a flash in time. Not me. This was the longest 20 to 30 seconds of my life. I remember it all.”
Even Keel
In simplest terms, White, whose only prior injury in life was a broken arm in childhood, was in danger of being torn apart.
Right leg over left, he was knocked to his back on the corn and corrugated steel of the bin floor, his entire torso mere inches from the auger’s whir. The flighting bit into his right arm, causing White to instantly jerk to his left side, surrendering his back to the auger, but momentarily protecting another limb from entrapment.
Once more, the auger took another bite, pulling a small chunk of flesh from White’s right buttock through his shorts. And all the while, the sweep chewed on White’s lower leg, splitting the steel in his boot and ripping the leather down the side, as both footwear and sock disappeared toward the sump.
In the madness of the moment, White’s co-worker, who stood less than 5’ away, rushed in to help, trying to pull White’s body from the entanglement. No dice. Precious seconds drained off the clock, despite a power sweep shutoff switch outside the bin door.
The direct move, from the get-go, was a dash to the switch panel, but amid the gruesome chaos unfolding on the bin floor, instinct drove attention toward the extrication of White’s leg from the auger.
“Hindsight is so easy, but that’s not how it worked out,” White recalls. “I finally told him to turn off the sweep shutoff. Truth is, I’m indebted to him forever and if he hadn’t been there, I’d have died. Him being inside with me was my saving grace. He ran out the door, hit the red switch, and stopped the auger.”
Instantly, the mayhem within the metallic bin went quiet as a teardrop. White’s leg was wrapped around the twists of the auger, shattered and grotesquely stretched into multiple pieces south of the shin. The gore told the story. White was now in a race against blood loss and shock.
Covered in corn and unable to see the extent of his injuries, White kept an even keel. Methodical. Deliberate. He removed his leather belt and cinched it around his left leg, as his co-worker pulled the belt a further 3” and maintained an iron hold. White’s urgency echoed in the bin: Whatever you do, don’t let go.
Bible and Phone
Tourniquet in place, White pulled phone from pocket and dialed 911. He then called his mother, describing the dilemma without heavy detail, and promising her that rescue was en route. However, the surreal call was layered by the unspoken.
“I talked to my mom for about 45 seconds. I tried to reassure her, as best I could, that I’d be fine. It’s a tough, tough thing to call somebody who loves you and basically tell them everything is OK when you don’t know if it is.”
Waves of adrenaline continued to flood White, holding back a flood of pain on the periphery.
Phone calls completed, he began a 30-minute, ultra-stakes waiting game: Maintain composure and fend off panic.
“At that point, I didn’t want to know about the extent of my injuries. I just wanted to keep focus on rescue and push away thoughts of dying. Those thoughts were trying to come in, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on my condition. I forced myself to calmly wait for help.”
Inside 15 minutes, volunteer rescuers and White’s boss arrived on-site. The questions over extraction from a 350-lb. auger began immediately. Reverse the auger? Cut the auger? All action was paused until the arrival of paramedics and painkillers.
“I remember four or five volunteer firemen and a policeman in the bin. Then, after about another 15 minutes, an EMT team arrived and gave me several drugs, including ketamine—a dose of horse tranquilizer. Everything started blurring and I went into a stupor, but I wasn’t totally knocked out.”
There was no consideration of amputation on-site. Rather, halving the auger was discussed, but the associated vibration generated by an estimated 10-minute cutting process was deemed detrimental. Instead, rescuers chose to spin White free.
“They decided to turn the clutch off and turn the auger backwards. They then backed me out of it. They said I was screaming, but I don’t remember that part. The drugs had me too foggy.”
Out of the auger, beyond the bin, and into the air via helicopter. “The drugs finally wore off, and my adrenaline was all used up, so the pain was burning. Kinda like fire. I was asking the obvious question: ‘Am I gonna lose my leg?’”
The experienced medical team deflected, but they knew. They knew.
Landing at Lutheran Hospital in Fort Wayne, White quickly was surrounded by trauma doctors. Miraculously, he suffered no clipped arteries. However, his left lower limb was mangled and crushed—irretrievable.
“I remember the surgeons telling me they’d save my leg if they could. I asked for a Bible and my phone, and then a clergyman walked in and prayed with me. And then it was time.”
As nurses cut away his clothing, White stared in surreal silence before drifting to unconsciousness. Fade to black.
On With the Farm
Two days later, White awoke, intubated and unable to speak.
By pen and pad, questioning his family, he learned his lower leg was gone 8” below the knee.
“I still have the writing pad and it contains some very colorful words,” he chuckles. “Right away, my attitude was to get going. I couldn’t allow pity or blame in the door. I was blessed with some wonderful people around to help me.”
Three weeks later, on crutches, White was back in a sprayer, rolling across a cornfield.
Yet, White doesn’t sugarcoat the road home. Recovery, he emphasizes, was the most difficult chapter of his life. “It was the hardest thing imaginable, at least for me. My nerve endings got inflamed and it was the most painful thing I’ve ever felt. Painkillers only work so well.”
“Worse than the pain in the long-term, I had a private mental battle. I don’t want to pretend that I didn’t have some really bad days. I asked the Lord a lot of questions while I tried to wrap my head around what happened, but it brought me closer to God and more grateful for everything I have in life. The easiest thing to is blame or lash out, but that’s a storm everyone has to weather.”
On August 22, 2024, roughly three months after his accident, White received a prosthetic and began learning to walk. “Yeah, I looked a little goofy at first. But who cares?”
White tossed the crutches. On with farming. On with life.
Buck Stops Here
Farming is perennially ranked among the most dangerous occupations. In 2025, according to a report steered by Bill Field, professor of Agricultural and Biological Engineering at Purdue University, 48 cases involving agricultural confined spaces were documented (22 fatal and 26 non-fatal).
Grain entrapment was the No. 1 threat, featuring in 21 cases. However, Field’s report also noted 10 asphyxiations, 7 falls from grain structures, 4 livestock waste accidents—and 8 entanglements by in-floor or sweep augers.
Testament to the grim statistics, perched on a pedestal inside his office at Phenix Farms, White passes by a daily safety reminder: a mangled Thorogood left boot, size 10.5.
The boot holds multiple lessons for farmers, he explains.
“First off, always keep a charged phone on you. Second, there’s no better safety tool than your brain, and that means thinking ahead. As farmers, we’re all going to be close to dangerous situations, and just because you’ve gotten away with something 100 times doesn’t mean the next one won’t get you. And your leg or your life are terrible, terrible prices to pay for getting in a hurry.”
For those injured or already dealing with adversity, what is White’s advice?
“Tough, tough days are going to come at first, but if you keep battling, the good days are coming back. Get off every pill as fast as you can. The painkillers or antidepressants numb issues that’ll surface later anyway. Stay off them because they’ll do more harm than good.”
“Last, I’d tell anyone to swallow their pride and rely on others for help. As farmers, we’re self-reliant to a fault, and that results in punishing the people around you, the same people that love you. It’s easy to push others away, and that was almost my biggest downfall. Instead, be sincerely grateful, always stay busy, put your energy into a goal—and get there.”
No one can wash away the past, least of all White. Each morning, he straps on the prosthetic before hitting farmland. Unquestionably, it is now part and parcel of his being, and a permanent reminder of May 30, 2023.
Yet, his attitude is a thousand miles from self-pity, with the distance growing further by the day. No blame. No excuses. The buck stops here.
“Almost every farmer has kicked a sweep, even though we know better,” he concludes. “I kicked it and I paid. It wasn’t the bin’s fault or the machinery’s fault or someone else’s fault. I’m never going to be afraid to tell this story, because I hope it helps someone avoid what I did, or I hope it helps someone dealing with a tough situation. We all have choices to make.”
For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:
Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told
How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer
Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust
Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing
When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case
