My father was an early 'developer' in our small town in northern Maine. He had considerable acreage across the street from our home, and had built three houses he rented out. The tenant across from us was Mrs. Hallett, an enormous lady--over 300 lbs--who could not find shoes big enough, and therefore wore bedroom slippers all the time. She found it hard to get around and really struggled to walk far. We children did her errands for pennies.
One particular year, we three children received boots for Christmas and, with the first thaw, a good-sized pond developed in the gravel pit back of Mrs. Hallett's house, then froze to make a decent skating rink. We didn't have any skates, but joined the others who did. As we slid and played on the ice it began to creak and tilt, and the next I knew, Johnny, my younger brother had slid into the center and down through a wide crack. Horrified, I saw Johnny disappear under the water. A moment later, his black boots bobbed up, but no Johnny. The boots were full of air, so they floated. I was frozen for a moment. I knew he would drown that way. I was only 7 years old and couldn't swim.
I didn't have much of a singing voice, but I did have a loud one. In that moment, the only thing I knew to do was holler. My scream, one long piercing note, began. Was anyone home to hear me? It was a working day, and I had no idea. But I screamed loud enough to crack a crystal chandelier. My heart sank. Only Mrs. Hallet seemed to hear me, and she staggered out onto her back porch in her bedroom slippers to see who was making that ungodly noise. What happened next was the miracle of the century. Dear old Mrs. Hallett, all 300+ pounds of her, was running down toward us in her bedroom slippers, through the icy slush, clad only in her cotton housecoat.
I stopped screaming only long enough to point to Johnny's black boots, still visible above the water, and shout, "There, there, he's drowning!"
Wiithout hesitation, Mrs. Hallett plowed into that icy pond, and pulled Johnny's boots, and him with them, choking and sputtering, out of the water. Cradling him in her arms, boots and all, she carried him up to her house for drying off.
Thinking back on that event, Mrs. Hallett was the real hero. But I like to take a little credit for having strong lungs at the right time.
1 comment:
That was a very interesting story. I would like to make a blog sometime. I like to play on the ice too. But I always try to test it first. If that ever happens to me, I hope you're around to holler! Don't try it at your house now, though. It just so happens I don't have any skates, either. But I will still have fun in winter time, because there are many other things to do. Love, the good old boy, Evan
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