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I was reminiscing back to
a time in our nation's history known as the "Great Depression",
which ravaged our land, our economy, our customs, and our lives well into
the 1930s. Thousands of businesses shut down. Hundreds of thousands became
jobless and homeless. Many died of starvation, disease, and suicide. They
say it was caused largely by unstable and unscrupulous money investment
practices that culminated in the devastating stock market crash in October
of 1929.
My father's Company laid off thousands of employees and relocated many others. He chose the main office at the huge oil refinery at Port Arthur, Texas, instead of New York ~~ contrary to my mother's fears about clouds of malaria bearing mosquitoes, alligators, and the wide intracoastal canal in which "so many people" reportedly drowned. Wouldn't you believe it? Our home the first three years in Port Arthur was within four city blocks of the canal.
There was a strip of land between the canal and Lake Sabine on the other side. Sometimes the canal was kept navigable by a dredge that pumped its load of dredged up mud all along that strip of land. In spite of all the warnings and forbiddings, we kids in the neighborhood spent a lot of time at the canal; often wondering what we would find if we could ever get to the strip of land on the other side.
My mother's fears about drownings were not unfounded. We hadn't been there two years yet when it happened in our neighborhood. Several of the smaller kids were playing on the steps at the canal when an oceangoing tanker approached. The kids hollered to four-year-old Bobby Stock to get back up off of the steps. But he was slow in responding; and when he did turn to come up he slipped on the slimy algae and fell into the canal as the ship began to pass. First the undertow sucked little Bobby under, and then the huge waves rammed against the seawall as the ship passed. It took quite a while to recover Bobby's body. The incident hung like a dark cloud of grieving sorrow over the neighborhood for a long time. No one purposely got into the canal water. For one thing, large needle nose gars (We called them "alligator gars") up to six or eight feet long were often seen. They were fish with an armor coat of tough scales and long snouts full of sharp teeth. And if that isn't deterrent enough, consider this. Back then, but later corrected, the city sewage was dumped into the canal from outlets all along the seawall. Strangely, The only alligator I ever saw there was a dead one floating down the canal.
The years passed, and my parents had bought a house in another part of town; but still fairly near the canal. During those seven years I had never overcome the desire to get across to the strip on the other side. In the meantine I had learned how to build a canvas covered boat waterproofed with a heavy coat of enamel paint. I got across, pulled the boat up on high ground, and explored the strip. Later, when my younger brother, Bob, and our friend, Jackie Boy, heard about it, they wouldn't let go of it until I promised to take them over to the strip also. So we put the boat upside-down on a bicycle and wheeled it over to the steps. As I sit reminescing about what happened next I, both, shudder and rejoice with mixed feelings. I shudder when I think about how cleverly the devil plays on our gullibilities, enthusiasms, and impatience to lure us into his traps to destroy us. On the other hand, I am comforted and rejoice as I now see in these memories how much greater our God is than the devil. It confirms to me that we can really trust in the promise God gives us in the 1Corinthians 10:13 passage that says, "There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it." I thought we were lucky that the water was glassy smooth that day. Little did I know that this was just the bait in the devil's trap to get us to go ahead with this dangerous venture. So, being careful of the slimy algae, we put the boat on the water and carefully got in one by one. What I hadn't given a thought to was that the boat rested much lower in the water than when I alone went across ~~ only about three inches above the glassy water surface. But we all wanted to go anyhow with my strict order that they sit like statues without even twitching a muscle while I paddled us across. I knew that the canvas boat wouldn't float. Even a little bit of water getting in it could sink us. It would have been bad enough if I had been the only stupid one. But three of us agreeing to it? I am ashamed as I reminisce.
Time had snuck up on us and before we knew it an oceangoing tanker was blasting its horn at us as it passsed us on its way out to sea. Our first impulse was to hurry to our boat, which we had neglected to beach on higher ground. By then everything looked the same, and we couldn't be sure where we had left it. But it was too late anyway. The waves either crushed it or sunk it. We searched in vain. It was nowhere to be found. Our hearts sunk within us. We were stranded. The trap into which Satan had lured us had now snapped shut. Or, had it? Actually this was God's way of keeping us from getting drowned. What the devil must have had in mind was that we would try to go back with the top of that little canvas boat still only two or three inches above what had by then become a "choppy" water surface. Water would surely have gotten into the boat and sunk us. Canvas boats do not float.
A man was standing there looking at us. He was very tall and muscular and was wearing bluish gray denim work clothes. We were excited and began telling him about our plight. He listened without expression until we quit talking. Then, speaking the only word we ever heard him say, he said with a strong deep voice, "Come!". He turned and we followed him to the canal and he motioned to us to get into his large wooden boat. It was wide enough for the three of us to sit side by side on the back seat. He had two long heavy oars in the oarlocks. The boat seemed to leap ahead with each powerful stroke of his oars, and we were quickly back at the steps from which we had left. He held the boat against the steps as we got out. We were so relieved, confused, and dumbfounded that none of us said anything. We Just hurried over to the bicycle. Then it occurred to me that we had not thanked the man or anything. So I went back to the steps. Not one minute had passed, but the man and the boat were nowhere in sight. Bob and Jackie Boy were calling to me to "Come on!", but I kept looking for some place where he could have gone. |
The canal is actually part of the intracoastal canal that runs the full
length of our coastline from Maine to Mexico. As it passed by Port Arthur
it was about two hundred or three hundred yards wide to accomodate the
heavy traffic of oceangoing petroleum tankers that often passed eachother
when going to and from the several giant oil refineries in the Port Arthur
area.
One
reason the neighborhood parents quit worrying about their kids hanging
around by the canal was the huge thick seawall bordering it from one end
of town to the other and beyond. All along the seawall was a concrete
banister that was two feet thick and three feet tall. Also, there were
wide openings a quarter of a mile (440 yards) apart with seven or eight
concrete steps leading down into the water. But the depth of the water on
the steps varied with the tide and with the passing of ships; which would
alternately suck the water away and then splash huge waves against the
seawall and the steps as it passed on by. Beyond these hazards was a
possibly worse one -- the slippery slimy long green algae that grew on the
lower steps.
All three of us were excited as we explored the long sought after strip, but were careful to stay within sight of eachother. On the far side of the strip Lake Sabine stretched out before us. But between the strip and the lake was swampy marshland, and we began to think about the possibility of snakes and alligators.
So then we were faced with a new problem: How to get home again. The down-town draw-bridge was the only way we could think of. It connected the town with a park at Lake Sabine. It opened when ships passed, and remained open from mid-night until dawn. Getting there would be a two mile hike through the tall grasses and wild growth on the strip. With our fear of snakes and alligators still increasing, we stood there dreading to get started. Then a strange thing happened.
