Thrills and occasional chills growing up as a wharf rat

I was drowning, and I didn't know it. I was looking up. I could see the sky and the wharf and my little sisters and brother looking down at me, but I couldn't move a muscle. I was semiconscious. I had a comfortable feeling, sort of like sleeping in a nice bed and had no desire to move. I was lying on my back at the bottom of the Merrimack River. I was drowning, and I didn't know it.

Earlier, we had been playing on the wharves as we usually did. We were not going swimming or fishing. We were roaming as usual. I started pulling ropes attached to a dory ... for no particular reason. A forward rope was wrapped around a post on the wharf, and it was anchored on the rear. It was also secured by an anchor in the mud, which I was unaware of. When I pulled hard on a rope to bring the dory close to me, it would pull against me. It would act like a spring. The harder I pulled, the harder it pulled. The second time I pulled real hard, and not realizing the anchor was entrenched in the muck on the river bottom, it responded like a large spring pulling me forward, right into the water head first. I hit my head on a large boulder under the surface of the water that wasn't visible to us. I lay on my back on the river bed, looking up ... not able to move a muscle.

Suddenly, I saw my brother leap into the water without hesitation, with all his clothes on, and my sisters hanging over the wharf where we always played. My brother lifted me up with one arm and with his other arm, he held onto the same rope and pulled us toward the wharf. Luckily, it was "chuck" high tide. The wharf was a foot higher than the water. The girls helped pull on that rope and managed to get the upper part of my body on the wharf, while my brother held onto the rope with one hand and with his other hand pushed me up out of the water. The three managed to get me onto the wharf.

There I lay, semiconscious. I heard my younger sister shouting, "Put him on a barrel!" "Have him touch a barrel!" People who worked and lived around the river were all familiar with drowning problems and knew, if you placed a man around a barrel and rolled him back and forth, this would remove the water from their lungs. Luckily, that wharf had empty barrels all over the place. Barrels were common along the wharfs. Gratefully, it worked! They rolled me back and forth over the barrel and I coughed up all the water. Until I became conscious, it was like living in a dream.

It was the late 1920s, and I was only 9 years old; my brother was almost 11 and my sisters 7 and 8. All my life I have been proud of my courageous brother and sisters, young wharf rats, who immediately responded and saved my life; my heroes to this day. And, I often wonder if that accident, with the bump on the head, coincidentally contributed to releasing talent stored within me, thus leading to my eventually becoming such a good writer? It's a thought!

A point of interest is that in addition to the boys, many girls living along the waterfront also were wharf rats and they, too, understood the necessary survival skills along the river. The river and wharves were our playground during the 1920s and '30s. For example, we often played and swam in the river from Moseley Woods to Brook's lumber wharf next to the fire station. We, along with other children, also played off the two bridges — the railroad bridge and the first span of the Causeway Bridge (it had three spans), which was much higher than today's bridge. It was very dangerous getting up the span. The only way we could get up it to climb by putting our feet on the protruding bolts and pulling with our arms in a bent-over position until reaching the top of the span. Then, we'd take a deep breath and ... dive off ... into the mighty Merrimack River.

We were intrigued by the railroad bridge. We challenged each other. We'd wait for the train coming from Salisbury and jump off the bridge into the river below just as the train was about to reach us. If we didn't jump off, it was all over. We had to jump! The bravest of us would wait and jump when the train was the closest. Children will be children, but it was a stupid thing to do.

When the Merrimack River was frozen during the winter season, we continued to play along the river. We waited until the ice broke into individual, large pieces called ice cakes. We would rush down to the wharves, jump on the individual ice cakes and ride them. Then, we'd challenge each other to ride them across the river to Ring's Island. My brother was one of the few to take the challenge. They would jump on one of the ice cakes while carrying a stick, which they used in case they had to pull another ice cake closer. Then, when necessary, they would jump from one ice cake to another ice cake, so they wouldn't be pulled out through the mouth of the river and way out into the ocean. Usually, you had to do this when the tide was "chuck" high. My brother did it twice. When they got to Ring's Island, they would walk back across the bridge to Market Square. After that, they made the challenge even harder. They would now have to ride the ice cakes across to Ring's Island ... and back again! I don't recall anyone taking on that challenge. And that seemed to be the end of that winter sport.

The boys played a similar winter sport at Frog Pond at Bartlet Mall. We had two school bells in the morning. The first bell called us to school. The second bell sounded a minute or two later indicating school had begun. The ice at Frog Pond there was not as thick as the ice on the river. The ice would actually bend up and down, thus the name "bendies." It was a thrill to ride the bendies because they'd bend up and down. We would ride bendies across the pond to the school. Some of us would wait until the second bell ... enjoying riding the bendies. But, we didn't stop to think and realize the temperature made a difference; plus, we were getting heavier each year and the bendies could not hold us.

One year, in between the two school bells, I made one last run after my friends had gone into school. It turned out to be the one last run of my life. The ice broke beneath me and I went under. Being a wharf rat, I kept my cool. I was familiar with the water. It did not frighten me. I learned not to panic, but to search for the light of the sky from the broken hole I'd fallen through. I could see the morning light. I swam toward it, grabbed hold of the ice and pulled myself up and rolled out. I knew just what to do and how to do it because I'd heard other stories from those who'd fallen through the ice. I ran to the school's boiler room, took off my cold, wet clothing and dried off. The school's custodian helped me.

As wharf rats, we got our thrills. It was part of life's learning along the Merrimack River. Do you think it was worth it? I don't. Use your common sense because challenges can be dangerous. Wouldn't you agree?

• • •

John Lagoulis is a columnist for The Daily News and writes about Newburyport as he lived it in the 1920's... John is 91 and is completing his first book which will soon be available.

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