|
|
|
|
The Entry 1957 At a Quarry 2006
Chapter 7 "An Angel Lost" By the late 1950s, Andrew and Ward had a solid grasp on diving procedures and an extended base of experience. They had completed several demanding auto salvage operations and made a number of thrilling excursions under the ice to recover fishing shanties, snowmobiles, and assorted flotsam and jetsam. They also eagerly volunteered to recover drowning victims for the police department. To date, the department had not set up a formal dive team. Andrew and Ward added fifty to sixty dives per year to their agenda. This helped tone their bodies, gave them stamina, a lifetime of self-confidence and a reputation for competence in the community. It was late 1958, the first week in September, when Andrew got a frantic phone call: “Andrew, is that you? We’ve got a girl who drowned in Michigan off the break wall. Can you scrounge up a few guys to help me do a search?”, pleaded the baritone, gravelly voice. It was Sergeant Bill Delaine, a mountainous, barrel-chested Irishman with fifteen years on the Milwaukee Police Department. His job was to efficiently coordinate the underwater recovery group of volunteers in the metro Milwaukee area. Andrew, recovering from an early Saturday afternoon marathon of card playing and beer guzzling, mumbled into the receiver, ”What the hell time is it?" The voice on the phone bellowed out again, “You in bed already? It’s only 11:00 P.M., for Christ sake. I got a twelve-year-old girl drowned ... my ass is grass if we don’t find her soon. She’s been missing since the report came in at 9:00 P.M.” “Wait up, Bill. I’ve got to get my coordinates. Damn, can’t you find anyone else?” 66 Richard Bennett “Hell no. Everyone’s gone or they aren’t home yet” “How about Ward? Did you try Ward?” “I called his home three times and let the phone ring for far longer than I can hold my breath. No answer.” “He was with me until I stumbled out of Wyler’s about 4:30P.M.. He’s probably shit-faced in some babe’s apartment. Haven’t you got anybody but me? I’m really hurting!” “Hey, dip-shit, you owe me one for bailing your ass out of that Wisconsin Avenue brawl, remember?” “Remember...? Who the hell could forget? You remind me every time you need something.” Andrew gathered his wits and felt pressure to act. “OK, you big, heartless, mean person in a blue, too-tight uniform. Where should I meet you...? At 5th district or at the lake?” “Meet me at the lake. The Red Cross will be there with the coffee and doughnut van set up.” How much time do I have? I haven’t even started my makeup yet.” “Hey jag off, you want to shoot the bull all night or get it done? I want you here an hour ago.” Always in meticulous showroom condition, Andrew’s 1951 Mercury convertible surged to life and zipped the forty city blocks to the lakefront in record time. He jerked to a stop just north of the old government pier and concrete break-wall. There, he surveyed a disturbing scene of several hundred anxious onlookers, milling around in tight knots, their faces cast with anguish and concern. The group appeared tense, but ready to respond to directives. Several were holding flashlights, one had an almost spent, rose-colored flare and one carried an olive-drab military blanket. At the south end of the crowd were two police vans, a squad car, and the Red Cross van, all with lights flashing. People were converging on the scene from every direction. The crowd control for this late in the accident scene was a challenge for the police they had to practice restraint as the crowd grew to several hundred. Everyone pressed forward vying for a better view. Bill was pressing people back behind the makeshift barrier. An Angel Lost 67 The custom-painted, candy-apple red Mercury glistened even in the moonlight, as it came to a stop one hundred yards from the crowd. Andrew left the car and walked up behind Bill. “Hell of a party you’re throwing Bill. Save me a dance.” The officer turned straining his neck to reply. “They better get me some warm bodies from downtown or this crowd will push us right into the water. How am I supposed to run a recovery and handle crowd control, too? Get suited up. I’ll give you the breakdown as soon as I get a handle on things.” Andrew returned to his Mercury and backed down the narrow service road leading to the entrance of the government pier. The two-mile ribbon of faded concrete, ran east-southeast for a half-mile and turned almost straight south for another mile and a half into the darkness of the night. This break wall had a turbulent history with a number of accidents. Fishermen, hikers, and even strollers, many of them preoccupied, had fallen or been washed off its seven-foot wide surface in storms. If a person were to drown anywhere along Bradford Beach, known as the northern swimming area, they would drift into the wall. The almost imperceptible current along Lake Michigan shoreline appeared trivial, but had a relentless pursuit toward Chicago. It carried many objects into the wall first before sending its cargo on a southerly route. Andrew mumbled, “Damn good thing that mob doesn’t know the search will start here, or I’d be up to my can in people.” Sitting on the edge of his open car trunk, Andrew felt the cold wet sand between his toes as he took off his shoes and socks. His car trunk was filled with a complete array of scuba search equipment, including an extra set of dry clothes. He kept the equipment handy, because he never knew when he would get a call for a commercial underwater job or an emergency like this. Treading clumps of sand, Bill quickly wound his way past the crowd past the barriers and climbed on to the pier. The barriers made a huge crescent shape to the path. He walked to the start of the concrete path. Andrew had already donned his wet suit and spread out his equipment. “ You going in alone?” 68 Richard Bennett “No, I’m going in with the memory of you.” “I don’t want you in alone. Shit, I don’t want another stiff on my hands.” “Unless these bloodshot eyes deceive me, you and I are the only one’s here, sweet cakes.” “ Why don’t you hang on for a little bit, see if someone else shows?” “By that time she’ll be half way to Chicago.” “God damn it, I want you to hang loose for a minute.” Bill’s face stiffens and grew more intense. His concern was very noticeable even in the dim light of the Coleman lantern that Andrew had set up. “All I need is a hot-shot hot-dog, like you going out and getting drowned.” “OK, big guy settle down before you dump in your Levi’s. Tell me what you know, and if no one shows by then, I’ll let you tie a rope around my neck, so I won’t get lost.” Delaine began, “The ‘vic’ was swimming with her family, about twenty of them. She and her cousin were going back into the water for the third time, both had been drinking. He wanted one more beer and went back to the group, so she went in without him. Five minutes later, several family members heard someone screaming. The cousin and two brothers ran into the water. The cousin disappeared swimming down along the beach. A few minutes passed and the brothers came out; now the cousin was gone too. The crowd had swelled to a hundred. Twenty or thirty people went in looking for the girl and her cousin. Meanwhile the distraught cousin came out down the beach, and went home to get the father and mother who left earlier. The cousin came back, but half the family thought he was the one that drowned. The whole family is Mexican and can’t speak much English. Squad 45 got the call about 9:30 P.M. and was on site ten minutes later. By the time they found someone to interpret all the stories, it was 10:00 P.M., and they still weren’t sure if the girl was the one that screamed. The night-watch commander said it might be too late to start a search especially for someone who may or may not be drowned. I got here fifteen minutes later. That’s it. You feeling better?” Andrew looked up and shrugged his shoulders. An Angel Lost 69 Lake Michigan off shore is for the most part clean and free of debris. It has a hard packed bottom of clay and sand, with water of an emerald green tint. The thin, half inch of bottom sediment is easily disturbed. Movement must be slow and deliberate without bottom contact. Visibility on that day was less than four feet. The water surged hypnotically into the rocks and then swelled high against the pier. Andrew stood in three feet of water, pulling on his wet suit glove. He looked up at the pier and watched it disappear into the night along its length. Shuffling forward a few feet, he laid horizontally in the water and sank to the bottom. He expertly adjusted his weight belt and snuggled it up tight against his stomach. He thought, “The water is cold but not uncomfortable yet. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.” Moving slowly forward and surging gently from side to side as each wave rolled over him, he pulls himself along the rocks. His dive plan was to swim parallel to the pier on the bottom and close against the rocks on the way out. Coming back, he would ascend a few feet higher on the rocks, which would put him closer to the pier and in the stronger surge of shallower water. Andrew thought to himself, “If she drowned two and a half hours ago, she will probably be dancing off the bottom where the sand meets the rocks.” He swam nearly a half-mile, starting at a depth of three feet and followed the bottom out and down to a depth of fifteen feet. He saw loads of fishing gear and trash dropped or thrown by the people on the pier. Disappointed in the way people held the lake with so little regard he thought, “Out of sight out of mind. Don’t those dumb bastards know what impact they’re having down here? They should have to come down here and look at this junkyard” Andrew’s train of thought was broken, when he strained to see what looked like long black hair sticking out of the rocks. The surging water made the image ebb and flow. Within arms reach, he realized his mask was a little too fogged up to see clearly. Before making contact, he flooded his mask and cleared it by holding the high point and exhaling out of his nose, forcing the water out the bottom of the mask. As the water exited the mask, his view became focused. He blinked water from his eyelashes and recoiled, grunting and biting hard on his regulator mouthpiece.
The
above excerpt is part of chapter 7 of Deep Quest - The Entry. A
novel steeped in underwater adventures based
on the true life experiences of Richard Bennett, a commercial diver for 48
years.
Now on Sale at Barnes and Noble:
on-line,
|
|
Send mail to
rbennett@bennettvideo.com with
questions or comments about this web site.
|
