I’m Not a-Scared Anymore

Though I held down a pretty good job at the local sawmill I had decided many years earlier to start a small side business doing custom tractor work to help us afford the extra necessities any growing family needed. Over the years I had developed quite a loyal clientele of steady customers, partly due to the extra service I provided when roto-tilling their vegetable gardens in the spring. After finishing the paying part of the job, roto-tilling their garden, as a favor; if the family had small children, I would take the time to give the kids a short ride on my tractor with me before I roared out their driveway on my way to my next tractor job.

One sunny Saturday afternoon in the springtime I had arrived back at my house on the tractor and had gone inside to grab a quick snack. I had just kicked off my boots inside the back door when I heard my fire scanner in the other room alerting me that there was a possible drowning with children still in the water. The address for the scene of the accident I heard announced over the air was the same house address I had just left after giving two small children a ride with me on my tractor. They did live right next to the river. My mind raced. Throwing on my tennis shoes, I flew out the front door.

Even though the fire station was just up the street from my house, I drove my personal car madly to the accident scene. Skidding to a stop in the gravel driveway, my eyes searched wildly for the two small children who had been thrilled with the tractor ride moments before. From the driveway I caught some movement down towards the bank of the river so I dashed down the path to see if my kids were OK.

On reaching the steep bank overlooking the river edge my mind struggled to take in everything that was unfolding right in front of me. Over the riverbank 10 or 15 feet to my left was a woman standing in knee-deep water who appeared to be trying to revive an infant. I recognized her because she worked at the local medical clinic. Directly in front of me, a short distance out into the Illinois River was our local newspaper reporter bobbing down the river while being tossed by the swift current. He was gasping for air and spurting water out his mouth while dog paddling like hell to get to the shore just a short distance below where I was standing. I yelled to him, “Bob are you OK?” He nodded yes, but pointed out into the middle of the river.

Once again I am taken back by what I am seeing, trying to make sense out of what I am witnessing. A woman of petite stature, holding dearly onto a small blonde-haired little girl in her lap, was leaning with her back up against the cold, melting snow runoff in the river. Currents in the river are swift during the spring melt from the snowcaps in the Siskiyou Mountains. In the middle of this torrent she had found a rock just beneath the surface of the water that her butt had become lodged against. By leaning with her back against the steady pressure of the swift-moving water she was able to hold her position. She screamed for help, “Save my baby!” I surmised that if she slipped from her pinnacle of rock under the water, the child would surely be lost in the current and she, too, would most likely perish in the brackish water of the river. By this point the nurse had gotten the infant to start crying (better than a limp, quiet baby) and slogged her way out of the water and up the riverbank. The surrounding neighbors were beginning to show up. Someone brought a blanket to the heroic nurse and her now recovering infant.

I skidded down the steep gravel riverbank. The water didn’t look all that deep so I stepped out into it to retrieve the two stranded souls. "Oh my God! That water is cold as my feet went into the water!" When I had waded into the water up to my chest, I too, got swept away by the fast-moving current. Newspaper Bob offered me a helping hand and towed me to shore as I struggled to not float past him. He asked me if I was OK, but I wasn’t paying much attention to him. The river water was moving too fast for me to keep my footing on the river bottom and over the roar of the water, I could hear the woman shriek, “I’m slipping! I’m slipping! Please, save us!” The child in her arms was now crying inconsolably. I looked up on the raised riverbank for anything I might be able to put to use: fire guys, people I knew, a boat, anything! Meanwhile, I was still trying to make sense out of how all this had occurred.

Neighbors informed me that this family of four had been floating in the river a short distant up stream in a small four-man Kmart raft. Quickly counting in my head—one infant, one mom with one wailing child only makes three. Wildly searching across the river, I spotted a younger man running crazily up and down the opposite river bank helpless to reach his family.

A short distance up stream there was a small diversion-dam that collects irrigation water for some of the surrounding ranches. The victims had misjudged the swiftness of the early spring river current and had been swept over this 8 to 10 foot dam plunging this small family into the fast, frigid water. You just can’t believe some of the crazy-ass things people do and then how surprised they act after disaster strikes.

At about this time that MacGyver-syndrome finally kicked in with me. I start barking out orders to the concerned neighbors milling around. “Get me rope and lots of it!” I shouted. “Bring me extension cords if they are strong. I don’t care what it is; bring me anything I can make a rope out of.”

Back in the day, our fire department did not have the fancy rescue equipment that departments have today. We didn’t even own lifejackets for the fire guys to use. We simply didn’t have the money in our budget to buy “frivolous” items like “personal floatation devices”. We did have a few short pieces of utility rope on the rescue unit, but nothing substantial.

I could finally hear the sirens coming down the long driveway as I got my first piece of rope from an out of breath neighbor. I knew this part of the river well because as kids we swam in it every summer. I knew its width narrowed just a short distance up stream. Melting snow had widened the river now to almost flood-stage. I knew I couldn’t throw a rope across the river from where I was. I needed a place where the river was narrower and I would need that perfect sized rock to tie on the end of the rope. The rock had to be light enough so I could throw it the across the river, but heavy enough to carry the weight of the rope with it. Have you ever tried to find a rock just the right size while stumbling up a rocky riverbank, freezing your ass off from your first failed rescue attempt in the water while a mother pleads for her own and her daughter’s life and she is getting noticeably weaker? To say the least, it was a fuddrucker. Searching! Searching! Then, “Ah, that rock there might do!” I signal for the dad on the opposite bank to follow me up stream. I stopped only briefly to tie my patented “Hickerson Knot” used to tie the rock firmly onto one end of the rope. When I was retelling this story several days later some smart-alec asked me why I hadn’t taken off one of my socks, stowed a rock in it and then tied that to the end of the rope…where was he that day?

As I started running upstream I began coiling the rope so that when I threw it, it would play out without any snags in it. When I reached the narrower spot on the river’s edge, where I believed I could reach the other side with a mighty throw, I planted my feet firmly at the edge of the water, twirled a section of rope in the air with the rock tied to it to build up some momentum and then I let the improvised rescue-line fly. The trajectory of the rock looked perfect. The line was playing out just fine when suddenly the rope went taught and the end of the rope with the rock on it fell far short of the distant bank with a big SPLASH. Looking down at my feet I saw I had been standing on a loose loop in the rope and that kept it from playing out properly, “Damn!” I hauled back the sodden rope to my shore very relieved to see that my rock hadn’t fallen off. “Great! Now the rope was wet and heavier.” I re-checked my foot-placement and heaved that line with every ounce of strength I could muster. I put so much on that second toss that I almost threw myself into the river when I let it fly. It flew; it sailed and then it splashed into the water, but it fell just a short distance from the opposite river bank—close enough to the dad that he could fish it out of the water. I signaled to him to work the line back down stream towards his distraught wife and child.

As we were working the line back down stream my fire buddies finally showed up bringing me more rope from the rescue truck. We began adding their rope to my line as the river widened close to where the rescue needed to occur. We surmised that if we could get the rope tied to something substantial on the opposite river bank… which brings up a concern I had floating in the back of my head. I have just thrown one end of my rescue rope—that I am planning on working my way out into a swift moving river to a man who has just plunged his young family over a 10 foot dam in a four man Kmart raft. I am counting on him to tie a good knot to something very strong and my life will depend on it. Firemen put themselves in some crazy-assed places sometimes.

With our rope draped across the river just above our hypothermic mom and screaming child, five strong firemen tug with all their might testing the crazy dad’s knot tying ability across the river, but it holds firm. We do not have those fancy harnesses like they have today so I tied a makeshift harness out of a piece of webbing one of my fire buddies carried to me. He hands me a carabineer and I attach myself to the line.

The on scene fire captain had arrived by now and says to me “Blaze it is too dangerous to send you out into the water without a life jacket.” I say, “We don’t have any of them, Capy”. He says, “I know, the sheriff’s department is driving them code 3 to us right now so you hold your position.” Have you ever stood in knee deep freezing water, watching as a mom begs for you to save her and a frightened child’s life, while waiting for life jackets to be rushed to you from thirty miles away? It really is life-changing.

By the tone in the exhausted mom’s voice we could tell when she blurted out “I can’t hold on any longer” as her voice trailed off under the noise of the rushing water. Capy knew that she was almost finished. The Fire Captain shouted to me “BLAZE” “GO” and pointed his finger to the middle of the river. I was younger and stronger back then. I can clearly remember as I leaped into the freezing water and began handover handing myself along that rope made taut by the five firemen. The current was so strong that my body was skipping across the water surface like I was body surfing at some exotic beach. I pulled myself into the middle of the torrent, pointed my feet down river, while the team of firemen carefully lowered me onto the rock that the lady was glued to. Placing my feet just below her butt on her underwater perch, testing for steadfastness, I signaled for my fire buddies to hold me “right there”.

The women’s voice was weak and she sounded scared, she and the child were both shivering uncontrollably from the coldness of the water. I noticed that I, too, couldn’t feel my own legs. She said to me, “Please save my baby.” I hoped with all my might that I could get the small girl, maybe 5 years old, to come to me. Little kids normally don’t take to strangers very well especially when they are already really scared. I said to the little girl, “Honey, my name is Uncle Bill—will you let me hold you?” Without hesitation this little tyke leaped from her mother’s arms almost dislodging all of us from our perilous perch in the middle of the river, landing on my chest with her arms locked around my neck. I don’t ever remember being held onto so tightly in my whole life even when one of my brothers would be trying to strangle me during one of our brotherly fights. She was holding on so tight I actually could not breathe and I had to plead with her to let go ever so slightly so I could just take in a breath of air. I don’t know if I ever asked what her name was, she was sobbing and shaking violently from being so cold, I finally convinced her to let me give her a piggy back ride on my back. Rotating her from my chest to my back I could almost feel the skin on my neck being scrapped off by her grip. To calm her down and let her know (while hoping to myself) everything was going to be OK, I began singing children’s songs to her. I think at this point the mom was wondering if hypothermia was starting to get to me, and it was. With an extra webbing strap I had brought with me I looped it around mom’s torso, so being tied altogether now, if we were going to drown we were all going down together.

Looking back across the raging river to where my buddies were braced on the bank holding firm to my rope I saw that I had traveled a long way. I signaled to my gang of brothers that I was heading away from them to the relative safety of the opposite riverbank because it was much closer. They signaled back that they understood and would send a rescue team for us. By now the Captain had sent another fireman out on the rope in a life jacket finally provided by the sheriff’s department and carried an extra jacket for me. But I was wearing a little cold girl now and could not possibly get it on. He let it float away down the river as he took control of the mom’s safety. He and I looked wide-eyed at each other— knowing it was time to end this drama, we leapt off the temporary safety of our underwater rock and swam to the closest shore. My little girl was pretty upset about this— getting even wetter rescue plan we had conjured up but it had to be done. All together we inched our way along the rope to the closer shoreline. When I could sort of feel something hit my feet, but not being able to actually feel my lower body anymore, I knew I could begin to stand. Exhausted, I plodded out of the frozen river water. With my newfound friend still on my back I slowly scramble up the riverbank on the far shore. Her little head was lying next to my right ear. I could feel her quivery little mouth trembling against the side of my neck. As I reached the top of the riverbank she whispers in my ear, in a faint little voice, “I’m not a-scared anymore.” I’m not a fireman so I can play pool for free anymore. I asked her if I could hold her in my arms now. She relinquished and slipped around my shoulder and into my arms. The other firefighter had managed to get mom to shore by now.

For as long as I live I will never forget looking back across the river at our team of rescuers. As is common when there are accidents, many people had shown up to watch the afternoon’s drama unfold. Looking across the river it reminded me of those movies where the cowboy looks to the top of the cliff and sees nothing but a row of Indians intently watching him. I said to my little girl, “Honey, how about you waving to all those people over there and letting them know you’re OK?” This little fart popped up in my arms and gave the most precious parade wave I have ever seen before. Over the roar of the wild and scenic Illinois River we could hear the hoots and hollers of congratulations from the enthusiastic crowd that had formed along with the firefighters.

With my brain now so numb I was somewhat disoriented, I had to force myself to keep thinking straight. I was sure I could hear chain saws, many of them, running just up stream from where we had come ashore. I knew it had to be my guys coming for us. So our freezing-to-death little band stumbled towards the noise, pushing through the dense willows that grow along any river in southern Oregon. We hadn’t trekked far before a fireman, then another and another popped out of the brush and ran to our side. They had blankets and they offered to carry the little girl the rest of the way to safety and an ambulance waiting a quarter of a mile away. I told my buddies “I have gotten her this far and I am going to take her the rest of the way.” One of the fire guys, Moon Ewing, offered to carry the exhausted, soaking wet, heroic mom to safety.

That’s when one of the most unexpected things in my fire department career unfolded. The small lady jumped straight onto Moon’s chest with her arms tightly wrapped around his neck and her legs loosely wrapping around his hips. This was unlike any rescue carry I had been taught or seen before. It was one of the funniest things to watch as Moon waddled bow legged up the riverbank with his new found best friend. With me laughing almost uncontrollably, my little girl and I huddled, shivering together under the wool blanket, as we worked our way up through the swath of willows our rescuers had just hacked through to reach us—it looked like a freeway to me.

Making our way along the now stubbled pathway, I had been informing my little girl that my good friend, Michael, who owned and operated the local ambulance service in town now. He was waiting for us up at the road where he would have the heat turned up for her in the ambulance. Just before the steep bank heading up to the roadway and warmth was a wide irrigation ditch coming from the aforementioned infamous dam upstream. When my little girl saw all that water we would have to forge she started crying again. I held her closer and told her, “Honey, you don’t have to worry. Uncle Bill is the only one getting wet this time.” And he did. Many firemen were stationed along that steep part of trail just below the rural country road. In a line they reached out with their warm hands and helped pull us, hand over hand up that last steep spot to safety. Just as I had predicted Mike and his ambulance were waiting for us. In the last few steps I took before reaching the back doors of the ambulance I told my little girl, “Honey”, motioning towards Mike, “this is my good friend Michael. He has the heater turned up really high in the back of his ambulance just for you.” As soon as Mike stretched his arms out towards her, she leaped into his arms. Mike, absorbing the impact of my dripping wet little girl, wheeled around and rushed her inside to the warmth. Just a few short seconds later mom was reunited with her daughter in the back of the ambulance. As I stood in the middle of that narrow country road with fire guys slapping me on my wet back, congratulating me with high fives all around, I watched the ambulance speed away with my little girl snuggled inside.

I never did see “my little girl” again. My thoughts did flash back and took some comfort in the fact that at least we hadn’t just rescued the little kids I had given the tractor ride to an hour earlier. Of course, this drama was front page news in the local paper, mainly, I suspect, because the newspaper guy was a part of the story. The trouble with my fireman rescue picture being splattered all over the front page was that it is customary for the “famous” fireman to buy ice cream for all the boys at the station. Delivering the goods a few days later I quietly refused a dish of the icy treat because I had actually not yet been able to fully re-warm myself to my normal body temperature since the chilling adventure.

A couple weeks after this harrowing tale, I went to visit my ailing grandma who was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. After I bragged about my heroic deeds, she just quietly smiled at me. Several years after my grandmother had passed away my mom was still going through grandma’s private things. One day my mom came to my house and handed me a small rectangular box with what I thought were tears in her eyes. You’ve got to know my mom, she is tough as nails and she never cries. Not able to speak, she motioned for me to open the small box. Slowly lifting the lid and gently pulling the tissue paper aside, I found a perfect-sized rock, just the right size for throwing, with a natural hole bored through it. A handwritten note read, “For Little Billy and his next river rescue”. Signed, Grandma.