Short Story by Pam Eason
This short fiction is based on a true story. You can find the true story in the June 8, 1956 issue of of Collier’s, Vol. 137, No. 12, under the title, “Telephone Man Helps Save Five from Tidal Waters.” You can find the complete lyrics and more information about the old hymn, “Love Lifted Me,” at Hymnary.org. The image is in the Public Domain.
1954
Another gust of the warm, moist, August wind whipped up the twigs and pebbles pinging against the glass wall of the Bell Telephone office on Gourd Island. Virginia flipped the switch and pulled the cord from the jack that had connected her to The Weather Bureau. “Corrine’s just been upgraded to a category 3. She’s 120 miles south moving 40 miles per hour in a northerly direction,” she repeated, in her matter-of-fact way, to Bobby, one of three repairmen installers who’d made it back to the office.
He reached for the yellow notepad that had a little bell stamped in the bottom right corner, took down the information, and did the calculations. Corrine would arrive in approximately three hours. He ran his fingers through his dark, slicked-back hair and looked up at Virginia who was waiting on Bobby to confirm what she already knew. “Right at high tide.” Bobby took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Thank God Jill and the boys had had left on the ferry yesterday to visit Jill’s mother. At least his family would be safe.
Virginia plugged the cord into the slot that connected her to the State Police and flipped the switch to the on position. In less than a minute the message was relayed to Trooper O’Reilly, a local Gourd Island resident. In less than two minutes, he’d turned his siren on and headed down Southerly Road to warn the residents and business owners along the southwestern coast.
Next, Virginia updated the two-man Gourd Island Volunteer Fire Department. It was up to her to warn the businesses mostly concentrated in Old Harbor Town. She’d just pulled the cord and disconnected Ned’s Grocery when the office door blew open.
Leaves, twigs, and dirt flew in with the gust. Then came Rodney, the shorter installer-repairman. His curly, red hair was sticking out in all directions, and his eyes were wide open and wild. He leaned his elbows on the counter, pressing his hair down, while Charlie, the last one hired, pushed the full weight of his lanky body against the door until the bolt clicked in the latch.
“Getting pretty rough out there,” Charlie said. “Trees already coming along Cherry Hill Road, Center Road, and Lakeside Drive. Won’t be long before lines are down.”
“Heard Big Salt Pond is already flooding. Parts of Northwest Road, Old Harbor Road, and Veterans Park are about a foot underwater in places,” Rodney added.
Just got off the phone with Ned,” Virginia said. “Water from Gourd Neck Pond is already seeping into the grocery.”
Bobby looked at the framed map of Gourd Island. The Atlantic was pushing in from the South which meant Rhodes Sound to the East, Big Salt and Gourd Neck Ponds to the north and Gourd Island Sound to the west would all be rising. My God. Corrine … at high tide. If things had already deteriorated this much, what was the storm surge look like?
A light on the switchboard came on. “It’s the O’Donnell’s residence,” Virginia said. She quickly adjusted her headset, flipped the keyboard switch, and plugged the cord in the lighted jack to take the call.
“I’ll get help there as soon as possible.” She disconnected the call. “They’re trapped. Mr. and Mrs. O’Donnell. Their daughter and two grandsons, visiting from the mainland are with them. Water on every side.”
Virginia quickly connected to the State Police. Their dispatcher said she’d lost contact with Trooper O’Reilly. Last report, he was getting out of his car to help a family trapped in a flooded car on South Beach Road. Trooper Mallory never arrived. The ferry shut down before he could get across the sound from the mainland to the Big Salt Pond Landing.
Virginia connected to the Volunteer Fire Department. The dispatcher said they were putting out a fire at Betty Bee’s Restaurant. Betty, who’d couldn’t get to the phone, and who’d tried to put the fire out herself, had run the two blocks to the fire department.
“Bobby picked up his yellow hard hat. The bell logo on the front had almost faded beyond recognition.
What are you doing?” Rodney asked.
“Going to see if I can help the O’Donnell’s,” Bobby said. “Any rope in the truck?”
“Some,” Charlie said. “I’ll go with you, but with Big Salt Pond rising to the north of them and Gourd Island Sound already surging around the cottage, you really think we’ll be able to help?”
“I don’t know if we’ll even be able to get there, but I have to try,” Bobby said and meant it. Dear God, he didn’t know how to save anyone. What was he thinking?
“My hair’s already a mess. Might as well tag along too,” Rodney said, mimicking Virginia who was always readjusting her headset and smoothing her hair with her hand. No one even cracked a smile.
From the telephone office, the three men headed west on Old Harbor Road. They zigzagged from one lane to the other to avoid fallen limbs and slowed down in lower areas where water rushed over the road. Wind gusts pushed against the truck every few seconds. Bobby’s knuckles turned white as he fought hard to stay on the road. No one said anything. They’d reached the west side of Mermaid Hill when a big red cedar fell across the road right behind them. “Asphalt peeled up with the roots like it was nothing,” Charlie said, craning his neck to see out the rearview window. A road sign, “Elevation 205 Feet. Highest Point on Gourd Island,” whizzed by within inches of the windshield. God help us. What will we find when we get there? If we get there.
They made it to the crossroads and continued west on Lighthouse Road. After what seemed like forever, they turned northwest to an unnamed road that would take them towards the O’Donnell’s cottage. From the bend in the road, they saw angry brown water surrounding the triple-decker cottage. Hard gusts sent white-capped waves splashing to the top of the windows on the lower floor. Three leaning telephone poles made a pathway from the road to the cottage. The phone lines sagged and swayed and occasionally dipped into the rising waves. “If the poles hold, we can use them to get to the cottage,” Bobby said. Dear God, it was a wonder the O’Donnell’s were able to make the connection to the telephone office.
The sun, mostly covered by dark clouds, was already low in the sky, but there was still some daylight left. Bobby drove the truck as close to the cottage as he could. He turned off the ignition, yanked his boots off, jumped out, grabbed the handlines and rope, and headed to the first pole with what felt like supernatural energy surging through his body. Rodney and Charlie followed. A loose shingle whizzed within inches of their faces. “Too close for comfort,” Rodney said.
Working together, they attached a handline to the pole closest to the road, then headed towards the second one. Between the howling gusts, they could hear faint screams for help and an occasional shrill yelp from the O’Donnell cottage. While Charlie and Rodney were securing the rope to the third pole, Bobby started walking towards the cottage, holding the rope’s loose end. My God, the rope wasn’t long enough.
His chest expanded as he sucked in a huge breath and held it. Determination descended on him like a lion on prey, and he let his breath escape. Rodney and Charlie felt the tension leave the rope as Bobby let his end fall into the water. The water was almost up to his hips. It sucked and pulled at Bobby’s legs as he walked toward the cottage. A few more steps. Oh God, what was he doing? Would he make it? And, if he did, how in the world would he get the O’Donnell’s out? The last time he’d seen the old fisherman, he was using a cane.
Bobby reached the handrail of the cottage porch and used it to pull himself up the two steps to the porch. He staggered to the front door. Somehow, he managed to grab onto the doorknob. The force of the ankle-deep water made it impossible to get the door open. He scanned the front window. One was partially open. He grabbed onto the window’s facing and pushed up on the wooden window frame. It was stuck. He jiggled and pushed. It slid open, but not enough to climb through. He jiggled and pushed harder. It slid a little more, this time wide enough. He climbed through. A sheet of water covered the floor. Huddled together on the second-floor landing of the staircase, he saw one old man, two women, and two little boys, ages four and six he guessed. The oldest was holding a small, wiggly, wire-haired dog. Other than the youngest boy, whose face was buried in his mother’s chest, all eyes were riveted on Bobby. “Let’s get you out of here,” he yelled above the rattling windowpanes and whooshes of whirling wind.
Mr. O’Donnell pulled the youngest grandson from his mother’s arms and pushed him forward. Go on George, he said. Go to the telephone man. Bobby held onto the stair rails, grabbed the boy’s arms, and lifted him. “You’re going to be okay George,” he said. Dear God, he hoped he was telling the truth.
Bobby held onto the boy as he climbed through the window. “Keep your arms around my neck,” he said. The current is strong. The water is going to get deeper, and the waves will try to snatch you from my arms, so hold on tight. The boy silently tightened his arms, until Bobby felt a slight choking sensation. Bobby struggled down the porch stairs with the weight of the boy. He leaned his body toward the shore and against the current, holding the boy that way until he reached Charlie, who was holding the end of the rope out for him. He transferred George to Charlie when they reached the closest pole. Charlie pulled at the rope, hand over hand, toward Rodney and the middle pole. Bobby was already halfway back to the cottage before Charlie could hand the boy over to Rodney.
When Bobby reached the landing, the second time, Mr. O’Donnell was already pulling the wriggling dog from the older boy’s arms. “Salty’s gonna be fine now,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “You go on.”
The older boy was a little heavier, but Bobby gave him the same directions he’d given the younger brother. “Three to go,” he said as he loosened the boy’s clutch on his neck and handed him over to Charlie.
The water was almost waist deep now and inching up in the cottage. “Go! Go!” Mr. O’Donnell urged his wife and daughter whose eyes darted between Mr. O’Donnell and Bobby. “Don’t worry about me and Salty. And Bobby, don’t risk yourself coming back for me and the old dog,” Mr. O’Donnell croaked. “We’ve both lived a long life.”
“I’m not going to leave you here Mr. O’Donnell, Bobby said. I’ll be back as soon as I get these women to safety. Dear God, he hoped he could.
With that promise, Mrs. O’Donnell reluctantly let go of Mr. O’Donnell’s arm and grabbed her grown daughter’s hand. They moved towards Bobby together, each grabbing one of Bobby’s extended hands. He guided them out the window, down the porch steps, and through the thirty feet of angry water, towards Charlie and the rope. A gust of wind forced them all to wrap themselves around the splintery pole. The pole creaked and swayed. Sprays of salt water stung their eyes. When the gust died down, Charlie took over. Thank God, four to safety. One to go. God, help me.
Bobby turned back towards the cottage for the last time. He had to hurry. The water was inching up around his waist. If it got any higher, he wouldn’t be able to keep his balance. He leaned into the wind and fought his way back to the porch. As he climbed the steps for the last time, a calm, rich baritone voice floated through the open window and out into the wind. Bobby recognized the last verse of the old hymn.
Souls in danger, look above,
Jesus completely saves;
He will lift you by His love
Out of the angry waves.
He's the Master of the sea,
Billows His will obey;
He your Savior wants to be–
Be saved today.
“Be saved today,” Bobby repeated as he climbed through the window. Oh God, may it be so. “Come on Mr. O’Donnell. Let’s get you and Salty out of here. I’ll hold onto Salty, and we’ll get through this trouble together.” Bobby slipped his forearm between the wriggling dog’s front legs and pulled the dog tight against his ribs. He gripped Mr. O’Donnell’s elbow, steadying him with his other hand until they reached the porch steps. Put your arm across my shoulder and lean in.
The water was rising, pushing and pulling with more force now. They had to stop every few steps to regain their balance. Bobby had to keep readjusting his hold on the wriggling dog. He kept his eyes on the end of the rope that Charlie was holding out to them. If they could make it. Just a few more steps …
As soon as they were within reach, Charlie grabbed Salty with one hand and extended the rope to Bobby with the other. Bobby wrapped the end of the robe around his hand and pulled it tight. “If I hold the rope tight, can you pull yourself in?” Bobby asked Mr. O’Donnell. The wind ate at Bobby’s words, but Mr. O’Donnell answered by grabbing the rope. His arms were still strong. He pulled himself forward. Charlie followed close behind in case Mr. O’Donnell stumbled.
Rodney and Mr. O’Donnell reached the second pole where Rodney was waiting. Charlie handed the still wriggling Salty over to Rodney and turned back towards Bobby. He was leaning on the pole closest to the cottage. “Bobby,” Charlie yelled over the wind. “I’m coming back to help you.”
Bobby lifted his face, raked his hair back to its normal position, and closed his eyes against the persistent sprays of stinging water. Dear God, he felt cold. His whole body was trembling. Bobby thought of Jill, of his own two boys, and lifted his head. “No. I can make it.” He sucked in another deep salty breath and began pulling himself along the rope towards the disappearing shoreline and the telephone truck, which, thanks to Rodney, was already idling and blowing heated air out for the O’Donnell’s.
Bobby hopped in the truck and slid next to Rodney who was sitting behind the wheel. Charlie squeezed in on the passenger side and pointed to Bobby’s foot, his right hand, and his forehead. They were all bleeding. Dear God, when did he do that? While Charlie retrieved the first-aid kit from the dash, Bobby examined the cut on his forehead in the rearview mirror. Along with his own reflection, he could see the five wet but happy O’Donnell’s huddled in the backseat. “Let’s get you patched up,” Charlie said.
Judging by the condition of the roads on the way here, I don’t think we’re going to get back to Old Harbor Town tonight,” Rodney said. “There’s the lighthouse cottage just about a mile up the hill,” Mr. O’Donnell suggested. With this storm, I don’t imagine anyone in the keeper’s house will be sleeping.” “The lighthouse it is,” said Rodney, and turned the truck north.
As Rodney drove, the chorus of Mr. O’Donnell’s song played out in Bobby’s head. Some of it must have escaped his thoughts though and entered into the realm of shared reality, because soon enough everyone in the telephone truck was singing:
Love lifted me,
Love lifted me,
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
