Grandfather keeps grandchildren safe in a bad storm

————

Marge Johnson, Alice Williams, and Shirley Planski sat down to start the planning for the St Michael's Harvest Festival. As usual, a small amount of family chit chat proceeded the actual organizational tasks.

Shirley asked Marge about her two sons, Max and Alex, and their current activities.

"You won't believe it, but my husband insisted they cut school and go fishing because the 1936 walleye run started."

Alice asked, "Stan took a day off from the bank?"

Marge vigorously shook her head. "Oh Lord, I wish it was him but instead his disgusting father, John, took them."

"I don't mean to be rude," said Alice, "But if I remember correctly, he looks like a hobo.

"I would be lucky if only a hobo. Due to the depression's hard times, John decided that a man need only bathe, shave, and put on clean cloths once every two weeks.

Both ladies simultaneously said, "What?"

"I try to keep him away from Max and Alex, so he doesn't somehow infect them. He comes to our house for only Christmas and Easter."

Alice suggested, "Surely more than once every two weeks."

"If you ever look at John's river edge shack you will see underwear always hanging out to dry. He told my husband that a man only needs to change underwear every day, but all other clothes can wait."

Shirley put down her cup. "You are right, disgusting."

"It gets worse than that. After he catches a bunch of fish he jerks them on his back porch. It makes him stink, and I can smell him a block away."

The others laughed.

Alice scratched the side of her head. "If I remember he drives a beat-up old truck painted like a green patch work quilt."

"I tried to get Stan to forbid the parking of that 1927 junk pile in our driveway, but he won't."

"So, Stan gave his smelly father permission to go fishing today?"

With a disapproving tight smile Marge said, "My former river rat husband told me every boy should know how to catch walleyes. John taught him, and the boys need to learn. I'll scrub them head to toe tonight." They all smiled.

"Well ladies we've work to accomplish."

Refreshments included fresh baked cookies and coffee. Alice came back from her kitchen with a refilled pot and said, "My, there seems to be a dark storm coming."

"How close?" queried Shirley.

When Alice answered, "Right over town", Marge quickly stood and walked to the kitchen windows.

"Alice, please turn on the noon Minneapolis agricultural radio report. Weather forecasts are given almost first."

The news announcer described a heavy storm with very strong winds moving at 40 miles an hour to the southeast." Marge's face became quite disturbed.

After surveying the ominously dark clouds, she turned toward the others. "My God, Stan's stupid father is on the river with my sons. Alice, I need your phone."

Stan did not sound pleased when he talked to his agitated wife. "All right Marge, the Mississippi is just two blocks from here. I'll walk down and evaluate what is going on. Please remember my dad has years of river experience, so I'm sure he will take good care of our sons."

---

At 8:00 AM Winona's sky shown blue with a 62-degree temperature. With obvious eagerness, John, Max, and Alex pushed the row boat into the river. John required bringing light coats in case the weather turned bad.

With experience, the best anglers located productive fish producing locations, information on which was only shared with close associates. Most of the "hot" spots were found about a mile across the Mississippi near some long thin tree covered sandbars. The river's commercial barges steered away from these islands, a fact which provided safety for about 25 anchored row boats. John rowed to his favorite spot and told the boys to throw the anchor.

About 11:00AM Alex pointed to the northwest sky and asked, "Grandpa are those storm clouds?"

John took a few moments to gaze at the clouds, sniff the wind, and note the westerly direction. "No, the breeze is still good, and I can't smell any rain. But I'll keep an eye out."

The fishing proved great. By 1:00PM, John caught three "keepers" and the boys two each. The dark clouds advanced almost over Winona, but the wind still blew from the west. John scratched his head. "Guys, to my way of thinking the fish are really biting today; we should catch a bunch. Good fishermen don't mind a little rain, do they?"

Max and Alex both made grunting voices when one said, "Naw gramps, we are tough."

"I'm proud of you two because the other boats are also staying out here."

By 2:00PM they each had caught one more fish. John kept checking the sky. The wind now blew gently from the northwest and the dark clouds almost reached over head.

"Well boys, those clouds are getting darker. Lines gotta be pulled pretty soon."

At 2:30 the northwest gusts considerably stiffened. The Mississippi began showing a small chop and the temperature dropped. "Alex and Max, I'll give you ten more minutes then we go in." Both expressed disappointment because the fishing had been fun. John reeled in his line.

A few minutes later a micro burst occurred. The wind speed dramatically increased. The waves on the river showed white foam, the boat began rocking, and a howling sound came from the trees on the island.

John barked, "Pull the lines. Shit, we gotta get to shore!" Alex sat in the bow and Max at the stern. "Alex, pull up the anchor." He took the middle seat and put the oars into their locks. He looked over his shoulder and realized that Alex's boy strength in conjunction with the wind's pressure prevented him from pulling it up. John cut the anchor line with his pocket knife.

Max with unhidden fear shouted, "Grandpa are we going to sink?"

Free of the anchor, the wind immediately pushed the boat sideways and water splashed in. John sat on the middle seat with his back to the bow in order to start rowing. As craft rode up a small wave its lower gunwale dipped, and more water poured in. "Max, don't be scared. Grab the little bucket and throw water over the side."

He put the oars into the water and applied maximum effort on the right one to force the bow into the waves. He strained to make a few more strokes as the cold rain squall started. They did not progress toward Winona. "God damn it. God damn it." He yelled with each stroke. Other nearby boats fared no better. "Max keep bailing and Alex use your drinking cup to throw out water." Pain in his arms made John aware he didn’t have the strength to reach the mile away shore. Max's face continued transmitting terror.

He took a deep breath and roared, "Boys, no way to get to town, so I'm heading to the island." John again put his best effort into turning the boat using the right oar and with two more pulls the stern faced the wind. He kept yelling to keep bailing. With the wind's push, they quickly crossed the quarter mile to an island.

The persistent gusts pushed the boat's side to the sandy shore and almost tipped it over. They struggled to pull the bow up out of the water. The cold wet rain kept pouring down. John directed Max and Alex to run for the trees and stand behind one large enough to protect them from the deluge. The three behind which each crouched were close enough so they could talk. With fear in his voice, Max asked, "Grandpa what are we going to do?"

"I'm cold," said Alex.

After looking at the three blisters on his hands, John said," If this is a small storm we will wait some. If this seems like a long storm, then we stay here for the night.”

Ten minutes later, the rain had not stopped, and John observed the boy's shivering. "OK boys, we'll pull that boat up here and tip it over to make a tent. We can cook some fish and have fun." His smile was not returned by either boy.

---

Stan reached the river's edge just as the cold wind shear occurred and the rain started. Several boats could be seen but they were too far to identify anyone. As he stood under the awning of the shed located on the city's dock, Stan's whole-body language projected concern. A few minutes later, the intensifying downpour shrouded the distant fisherman. He sought out the boat dock's captain and hollered, "How bad?"

The white bearded rusty skin face spent a moment gazing across the water. The dock captain said, "Ah...Stan, this is one of the worst storms I've ever seen; it'll take time to blow over." Seeing the concern on Stan's face he reached over and grabbed his arm, "Your father is a crafty old river rat; don't worry about your sons."

He returned to his office and called Marge at Alice's house. "This storm is bad. Its wind increases the difficulty for fishermen to row back. However, listen, it is not impossible; I saw boats coming in."

"Stan, you better get down there right now. Our two children are in the hands of that stupid old man. Damn it."

"Don't worry Marge, my dad is an experienced river man." He put on a rain coat and ran to the city's dock. Two exhausted fishermen had just landed their boat. When the captain inquired, one answered, "Oh my God, one of us rowed and the other bailed. Then we'd switch. Shit, we almost sunk." Concern shot across the faces of not only Stan but on other fishermen's assembled friends and relatives.

Marge could not wait. She grabbed her raincoat, jumped into the car, and drove to the dock. It was dusk when she arrived, and her husband's worried facial expression set off her tears. By this time three more boats had tied up. Their fishermen told the same story as the first boat's.

Stan hugged Marge but as her anxiety increased so did her belligerency. "Your stupid father might have killed our two kids. I will hate him forever. And," she poked her finger on Stan's chest, "If we get our boys back he will never again play with them." He opened his mouth to respond, then didn't.

The dock captain dispatched the City's tow boat to hunt for survivors. Its equipment included a search light capable of cutting through the heavy rain and darkness. The ship's size and the continuing strong west wind required staying in the middle of the river and avoiding shallow areas near the islands.

The captain ordered sandwiches and coffee for the twenty some waiting people. At 10:00PM the search craft returned having found one overturned boat with two men hanging on, three boats with no survivors, and no swimmers.

Marge went hysterical. "My boys. My boys!"

Stan, with some firm hugging, pushed her into the car and took her home. She said many more insulting things about his father, some of which he silently agreed with. Three stiff drinks made Marge fall asleep. He went back to the dock and started a vigil with five other concerned people.

---

After resting, they pulled the boat up to the tree line and tipped it over to lean against two trunks at a 45-degree angle. For the first time in hours they sat out of the downpour. John said, "We will need a small fire."

Max said, "Grandpa, how are we going to do that?"

John explained how most fishermen carry a mallet or hammer to knock out flopping fish. His father thought a hatchet was useful for many things besides knocking out fish, so he always carried one. After telling the boys to gather armfuls of small and medium sized sticks, he used the tool to cut leafy branches off surrounding trees then stacked them against the open side of the boat to provide some rain repellent. He left an opening in the leaves for a small fire.

The sticks were wet, but John's pocket knife scraped off the bark. After shaving dry stick wood to produce kindling, he lit it with matches carried in a vest pocket. 20 minutes of effort produced a smart little fire. "We must make sure it stays low, so we don't burn the boat." The little fire seemed to cut the damp air’s impact and it did produce some warmth.

John cut up one of their catch and placed chunks of meat on sticks. Each one cooked their own dinner. Some of the fire's heat stayed under the leaning boat and inside John's leaf wall. He also used some small leafy branches to form makeshift blankets, an illusion that somehow helped the boys to ignore the cold and go right to sleep.

John decided to keep producing some heat by staying awake and placing small sticks on the fire. Only once did he say out loud, "Jesus, just a half pint of river edge whisky is all I ask." He fell asleep about 3:00AM.

---

The morning's sunlight woke all three up at about 6:00AM. The wind and rain had departed, and the temperature risen to 50 degrees. The boys said they felt cold, so John directed them to step outside and get their muscles moving by collecting more wood. After another fire cooked a fish meal, they righted and launched the boat, and began rowing back to Winona.

---

After snoozing on a bench for three hours. Stan stood on the dock edge peering through the captain's binoculars. He saw a boat begin to row across the much calmer Mississippi. He walked to the shed, told the others, and they all hurried to the vantage point. When the first craft crossed the middle of the river, someone spotted another one. The anticipation could be sliced with a knife.

At first light, after a sleepless night and without an appetite, Marge asked a neighbor to drive her to the dock. She ran up to her husband and the small cluster of other worried people. With a faint smile he said, "A boat is coming across the river, but we can't tell whose."

With teary eyes Marge grabbed Stan's arm with both hands, "I prayed very, very hard."

The dock captain had reclaimed his binoculars, so no one could monopolize them. With a grin he pointed and said, "A third boat."

Someone shouted, "Who is in the first one?"

The captain studied it, then over his shoulder said, "That old river rat John Johnson."

Marge screamed and began hoping up and down. She suddenly stopped and hollered, "Captain, any little boys with him?"

After a short gaze, he smiled. "Two small heads."

She screamed again and hugged Stan.

---

Two days after their return Marge invited John for dinner. She cooked steak and blueberry pie, his favorites. Stan produced a bottle of fine scotch. Max and Alex, with excited voices, could not stop talking about their adventure.

After eating Marge stood. "Father John you brought my sons home to me. Therefore, from this day forth your truck shall be called the Ark and you will be Noah. But you must promise, in the future, one cloud and the boys are placed on the shore." Everyone clapped, and Stan poured another round of scotch.

By Robert Nelis

From: United States