I am specifically addressing large urban cities with that question.  And the question is not whether or not someone could die in this manner, but rather would those around him show such an utter lack of feeling when his body was discovered?

All too many of us would answer yes, and many of those who answer know are probably wrong.  This is the world we live in:

Frozen in indifference: Life goes on around body found in vacant warehouse

This city has not always been a gentle place, but a series of events over the past few, frigid days causes one to wonder how cold the collective heart has grown.

It starts with a phone call made by a man who said his friend found a dead body in the elevator shaft of an abandoned building on the city’s west side.

“He’s encased in ice, except his legs, which are sticking out like Popsicle sticks,” the caller phoned to tell this reporter.

“Why didn’t your friend call the police?”

“He was trespassing and didn’t want to get in trouble,” the caller replied. As it happens, the caller’s friend is an urban explorer who gets thrills rummaging through and photographing the ruins of Detroit. It turns out that this explorer last week was playing hockey with a group of other explorers on the frozen waters that had collected in the basement of the building. None of the men called the police, the explorer said. They, in fact, continued their hockey game.

Before calling the police, this reporter went to check on the tip, skeptical of a hoax. Sure enough, in the well of the cargo elevator, two feet jutted out above the ice. Closer inspection revealed that the rest of the body was encased in 2-3 feet of ice, the body prostrate, suspended into the ice like a porpoising walrus.

…

The warehouse is so easily accessible, a person in a wheelchair could get in with little effort. There are holes in the fence and in the side entrance. The elevator shaft is wide open. It appears no one has ever tried to close the bay doors.

A colony of homeless men live in the warehouse. Wednesday morning a few fires were burning inside oil drums. Scott Ruben, 38, huddled under filthy blankets not 20 paces from the elevator shaft.

“Yeah, I seen him,” Ruben said. The snow outside howled. The heat from the can warped the landscape of rotting buildings and razor wire.

Did he know who the dead person was?

“I don’t recognize him from his shoes.”

Did he call the police?

“No, I figured someone else did,” he said.

“There’s lots of people coming through here with cameras and cell phones. I don’t got no phone. I don’t got no quarter. Things is tight around here.”

His shack mate, Kenneth Williams, 47, returned at that point with an armload of wood.

“Yeah, he’s been down there since last month at least.”

He was asked if he called the police.

“No, I thought it was a dummy myself,” he said unconvincingly. Besides, Williams said, there were more pressing issues like keeping warm and finding something to eat.

“You got a couple bucks?” he asked.

No further comment needed.

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