Sometimes we hear voices when we least expect them!
Summer, 1954
The sun filtered through the trees along the small dirt drive that wove quietly into the Ashburnham woods. The camp was in a small hamlet near the New Hampshire border. As the old Chevrolet made its way toward the cabin, the smell of pine needles was everywhere. I reached out the window of the car to touch the bushes that brushed alongside as we made our way toward the clearing.
There were four children in our family at that time: my oldest brother, Tommy; my sister, Mary; my younger brother, Bob, who had just turned four; and me. (I was six.) Like so many families in those days, people shared what they had with family and friends. My Aunt Maura and Uncle Johnny were kind enough to offer the camp to our family, and it certainly made our summers something to remember.
Dad was a fireman in Jamaica Plain, a small suburb of Boston. Mom was a teacher in West Roxbury, not too far from where we lived. We were a happy family, and although we always seemed to have what we needed, we didn’t have much more than that. Receiving hand-me-down clothes and passed-along bicycles was a constant ritual among the boys. Mary got many of her clothes from cousins who had outgrown them. Yet we were content. Like most children, we thought we were special, and nothing would ever change that.
We leapt from the car and ran toward the cabin, tripping over one another in an attempt to be the first one through the door. The entrance took us into a small kitchen. On the drain board next to the sink was the old hand pump, where we quickly took turns pumping water from the well into the old copper sink that had been tarnished over the years into a myriad of blues and greens.
From the kitchen we raced into the living room where the great stone fireplace stood. Over the mantel lay Uncle Johnny’s longbow. Our imaginations ran wild with the stories that bow could tell! On the other side of the room was a doorway leading to a screened-in porch with a view of the water. Above the doorway was a stuffed zebra head that was always adorned with a cigarette in its mouth or a humorous hat of some kind perched on its head.
Beyond the doorway we ran to the porch. This is where we would eat most of our meals, except when it rained or was too cold. There was a set of stairs that led off the porch to a path that ran across the yard. At the end of the path was a small channel of water, where an old wooden kayak rested, submerged in the muddy water. It was a dirty red-brown color, and the wood was lifting off in several places. It had become a home to frogs and salamanders, and one could often see the occasional water snake slither through the holes in the sides and back into the water. I was told it was an Eskimo kayak, and from the looks of it, the Eskimo could still be in there.
Next to it was an old wooden rowboat. The oars weighed more than I did and were as battered as one might expect from years of use. It did have oarlocks, so even a little guy like me could maneuver his way out to the main channel without too much difficulty. Getting back, however, was another story. The main channel led to the lake in one direction and to a fishing pool in the other. The pool itself was fed from the creeks and marshes on the other side of the road that led into the camp. There was a small bridge over the road alongside the pool where one could see the water flow into the pool, then out again to the channel and the lake beyond.
We ran back from the porch and made our way to the bedroom, which consisted of two sets of bunk beds meeting in the corner. This arrangement made for some wonderful pranks and lots of opportunities to surprise one another with all the imaginings of children. I immediately claimed the upper bunk, while my brother Bob took the lower one. As soon as I jumped up to my new space, Dad walked in and smiled, then told me it would better if I took the bottom bunk. I knew why. I wet the bed as a child, through no fault of my own. It was just one of those things, I was told. I never felt bad about it, but that would change later on when it prevented me from visiting cousins for an overnight sleepover or from joining Boy Scouts. But for now, it didn’t matter. My sister Mary and my brother Tommy got the upper bunks, and Bob and I were just as happy to be together on the lower ones.
“Okay,” said Dad, “everyone out to help unload the car!”
We raced out the door and into the clearing, where the car stood next to an old wooden swing Uncle Johnny had built many years earlier. It was the highest swing I had ever seen. The ropes were attached to a wooden log he had managed to place in the forks of two trees. The seat hung far below, allowing one to fly high into the air. We moved quickly to take our share of supplies into the cabin, and in no time at all, the car was empty.
The next order of business was for my dad to take anyone down to the lake who wanted to go for a swim, enabling Mom to get beds made and things put away, unencumbered by little ones underfoot. Mary and Tom stayed behind to help, but Bob and I didn’t think twice about the offer. In a flash we had our bathing suits on and were ready to go!
“C’mon Dad!” I yelled. “We’re ready!”
Dad emerged from his bedroom on the other side of the cabin, dressed in a bathing suit and shoes. He had towels for each of us. He asked, “Who’s going for a swim?”
“We are! We are!” yelled Bob and me in unison, and off we went. Dad stopped and gave Mom a good-bye kiss as we passed.
The journey through the woods on the way to the lake was always exciting since we never knew what we would see along the way. The deer and other wildlife were prolific, and we all kept our eyes peeled for anything that moved. I was as excited as a boy of six could be.
Bob clung to my hand like it was his last link to a world he was still trying to understand, enjoying the wonder of it all while he navigated through it. He was my closest friend—my only real friend. Everything we did, we did together. Good, bad, or indifferent, I could never imagine my life without him, and I loved him as much as a six year old could love his little brother.
As we moved quietly through the forest, our footsteps were softened by pine needles underfoot. We passed the old red outhouse, laughing and holding our noses. I saw my father smile as we continued on our journey. We broke off the path and ventured into a small clearing where the channel of the river became wider as it poured into the lake ahead. We carefully balanced ourselves while passing over river rocks, gravel, fallen logs, and brush.
After moving past the last stretch of woods and rocky shore, we saw our first view of the lake. It was bigger than I remembered. The blue water seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. Trees lined the water’s edge, except on Hood’s Beach. That was the only sandy stretch of shoreline, and it was where everyone went to swim, play, and enjoy the summer days. There was a small store on the beach where one could buy all sorts of treats, including popsicles, fudgesicles, and all sorts of penny-candy.
Bob and I ran toward the water while my father looked on. “Dad!” I yelled. “Can we go in?” I knew from past experience this would lead to more adventurous undertakings.
“Just up to your knees,” he said, “and hold on to your brother’s hand!” He was vigilant, making sure we followed orders.
With Bob in tow, I ran through small waves along the shore, splashing and stopping occasionally to peer into the water to see what strange and unusual creatures we could uncover. As my father looked on, we continued to play. The beach was already crowded, and it was only 10 o’clock in the morning.
I watched Dad as he waved to Mr. Condon, who was a staple at the beach. He owned a business nearby, and his family lived in a house right across from the water. He was a big man with red hair, and he always had a smile for us kids. He made his way toward my dad as Bob and I ran to join them. Mr. Condon said hello to Bob and me, then he and Dad began to talk. Bob and I ran back into the water but didn’t look to see if Dad was watching since we knew that action would only invite more of my father’s concerns.
It was the perfect summer day, warm and beautiful. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky as far as one could see. There were boats on the lake, along with the giant rubber Navy raft that must have been left over from World War II. It floated a couple of hundred feet offshore, bobbing up and down over the waves the power boats left behind in their wakes. In another hour the old raft was so full of people that I thought it would sink under the weight.
This was actually the first time I had been aware of the raft. I remembered being at the beach the year before, but I didn’t pay much attention to it because I was too busy playing with Bob and other friends. I later learned about it from Tom and Mary, who had spent lots of time on it that year. It was by far the biggest thing on the lake, stretching from left to right at least three arm’s lengths and taking up my whole field of vision.
In fact, the raft was about seventy-five feet long and stood five feet out of the water. There was a ladder on the back that made it easy to climb on board. People took turns jumping off the sides, and everywhere we looked there was activity. As Bob and I continued to watch people swim out to the raft to play, we were content to splash in the shallows near the shore.
Occasionally, we found ourselves sitting in the water, staring at the fun the older kids were having as they jumped and bounced off the raft. It became more intriguing by the minute. We watched for what seemed like hours, but it was probably no more than a few minutes. My mind was racing in eager anticipation of an idea making its way to the surface, only to be interrupted by the shouts of my brother.
“Jerry,” said Bob, “why can’t we go out to the raft and play?”
“Because it’s too far and we can’t swim that good,” I told him.
“I can swim good,” he protested. “I know I can, ‘cause I can swim in the tub and hold my breath underwater!”
I smiled at his courage, already knowing where this was going. “Why can’t we go to the raft?” he continued. “Dad knows we can swim. C’mon, why can’t we?”
As I watched people playing in the distance, I turned and looked for my dad. He was still talking with Mr. Condon. I looked back to the raft and then to my brother, and said, “Okay. But we just swim out, jump off a few times, and swim back. Is that a deal?”
“Deal,” said my brother, smiling into my eyes like we were the last two people on the planet. At that moment, we could have been.
I looked back at my father one last time, then grabbed Bob’s hand and began our swim toward deeper water. We didn’t actually swim (it was more like a labored dog-paddle), but it got us going in the right direction. I tried to touch my feet on the bottom of the lake, but it was no longer there. Bob was next to me, and he was already working hard to stay afloat.
Side by side we slowly made our way toward the raft. It took us a whole fifteen minutes to get there. We were tired. I looked at Bob as he clung to the side of the raft, trying to catch his breath. I was concerned about him and hoped I hadn’t made a mistake coming out to the raft, but it was too late to think about that now.
“Okay,” I began, “we jump off two or three times, then we head back before Dad knows we’re gone. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bob replied.
He was shivering, and his lips were turning blue. I knew we would probably have to get back sooner than we planned. I loved Bob too much to risk anything happening to him. We climbed onto the raft and were surprised at how high it stood out of the water. We watched as other kids jumped into the lake, laughing and shouting like it was the most fun in the whole world. I moved toward the edge with Bob and peered into the darkness.
“I can’t see the bottom,” said Bob.
“You haven’t been able to see the bottom since we left shore,” I told him, laughing.
“Yeah,” he replied, “but I wasn’t looking for it then!”
I found myself smiling at his logic; I understood exactly what he meant. I was only six, but I had known for some time that I was different—and not because I wet the bed. I could understand things other kids my age couldn’t. I didn’t talk about it much since there was really no one to talk with about the kind of stuff going around inside my head. So I put it in the back of my mind and turned back to Bob.
“Okay, are you ready to jump?”
“That’s too high for me!” he said. “You jump first, and I’ll jump in after. You can catch me.”
“Okay,” I replied. “But don’t wait too long ’cause I think we’ll only have time for one jump before we need to head back.”
As I turned to jump into the water, I looked at Bob and watched his eyes eager with anticipation of my leaping into the air and plunging into the dark abyss. I looked back toward the lake, held my nose, and jumped as high as I could. I remember hitting the water and immediately opening my eyes. I saw legs and arms of kids splashing as they swam back toward the raft. Suddenly, I found myself on the surface, wiping my eyes and spitting water from my mouth.
“How is it?” yelled Bob, jumping up and down, eagerly waiting for me to give him the go-ahead to join me.
“It’s great!” I yelled, treading water as best I could. “The water’s warm. Hold your nose and jump toward me. I’ll be right here.”
“Don’t move, okay?” he implored.
“I won’t,” I replied. “Now, jump!”
I watched as he held his nose and closed his eyes. He jumped as far as he could. He splashed into the water just a few feet from me, his head quickly bobbing to the surface and his arms moving in a dog-paddle to keep him afloat.
“That was fun,” he said. The water ran from his eyes and mouth. “Let’s do it again!” he said excitedly.
It was more fun than I thought, so I agreed to one more jump. One jump quickly turned to twenty, and before I realized it, we’d been gone for more than half an hour. If we didn’t get back soon, Dad would be very upset.
As Bob started toward the ladder for one last jump, I grabbed his arm. “We need to go back now, or Dad will be mad.”
“Just one more jump,” he pleaded, “just one more?”
“No, Bob. We need to go back now.”
Reluctantly, he agreed, and we began the swim toward shore. I was happy to be going back. I knew if Dad realized we were gone, he would be really mad, and it would be my fault. I began to swim faster, dog-paddling next to Bob. As I swam, I looked in Bob’s direction, but he was no longer next to me. I suddenly heard his voice behind me.
“Jerry, help! I’m too tired. I can’t swim anymore! Help me, Jerry, I can’t make it!”
I watched as Bob slowly drifted beneath the water, his arms moving rapidly as he sank and then disappeared. I froze. A million thoughts went through my head, none of them clear. I panicked. I looked around to see if anyone was nearby, but there was no one. We were halfway between the raft and shore, and the water was still pretty deep. There was no one nearby to help. Suddenly, Bob’s head broke through the surface of the water. He was coughing and choking.
“Help! Jerry, help me! I can’t swim! I can’t swim! Help!”
I swam toward him, more out of instinct than any realistic chance I had of saving him. He disappeared again, and I was going into shock. My brother, my best friend in the whole world, was going to die, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was completely lost. I frantically turned in every direction, desperately looking for help, when it happened.
“Jerry,” came the voice, as clear as if it were Bob talking next to me. I looked in every direction, but there was no one there.
“Jerry,” came the voice again, but I still could see no one. I began to cry and yell for help. I felt completely helpless.
“Jerry,” came the voice a third time. “You must listen to me if you want to save your brother. Don’t think about me right now. I want you to think about Bob and do exactly as I say.”
I was beginning to get cold. The voice had startled me, but somehow I realized that voice was Bob’s only chance to survive. I stopped and listened.
“Okay,” I said, “help me.”
“You can’t swim well enough to save Bob, so take a deep breath right now,” the voice instructed.
I took in as much air as I could hold and listened.
“I want you to dive under the water to where Bob is. When you see him, take his feet and place them on your shoulders. Then, stand up as tall as you can. You must do that right now.”
I quickly ducked under the water. Bob was no more than five feet from me. I swam down toward him and grabbed his feet, then placed them on my shoulders.
“Jerry,” came the voice, “now stand up as tall as you can, and Bob will be able to lift his head out of the water and breathe. Do that now.”
I did exactly as I was told, and soon I heard Bob coughing. He was breathing.
“Jerry, keep your eyes open. Look for where the floor of the lake climbs upward toward the shore. Walk toward the shore now.” I saw where the floor of the lake sloped upward, so I began to walk in that direction.
I was not able to hold my breath another second, when the voice said, “When you have to breathe, let go of Bob’s feet and swim to the surface, and take a deep breath.” I quickly let go of Bob’s feet and headed for the surface. My lungs felt like they would explode if I waited another second. I burst through the surface, gasping for air.
“Tell Bob you will carry him to shore, but you must go back underwater to make sure he’s safe. He trusts you, Jerry. Do this now.”
“Jerry, don’t leave me here! I can’t swim,” said Bob, grabbing my neck and head, panicking while he tried to stay afloat. I took his arms and held them in front of me as I looked into his eyes.
“Bob, I can’t swim good enough to save us, so I am going back underwater to carry you to the shore, like I just did. Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right under you.”
“Don’t go, Jer! I don’t want to drown!” he cried, shaking with fear.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Bob. I promise.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I swam back under the water and placed his feet on my shoulders once again. Then, I continued my walk toward the shore. The voice that had carefully orchestrated the saving of my brother’s life was silent. I was on my tiptoes when I was finally able to stand with my head above the surface, holding Bob in my arms while I carried him to safety. I held him like he was the most precious thing on earth because at that moment, he was!
I struggled to lift him from the water and help him to shore. We walked to the blanket and sat down, shivering.
“Bob,” I said, looking at him with his head hung low, “you can’t say a word to Dad or he’ll kill me! Okay?” I said.
“I won’t, I promise,” he replied. The fright was still visible in his eyes.
Bob grabbed my hand as we stopped and stared deeply into one another’s eyes. “Thanks for saving me,” he said, and then he burst out crying. As he wrapped his arms around my neck, holding on to me for what seemed like an eternity, he told me he loved me. I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him for some time.
“Bob, I’m glad you’re here,” I said, smiling through my tears. “I was just as scared as you,” I said, trying to understand what it might have been like without him but not able to wrap my head around the idea.
We sat there sobbing until the fear had passed—that frightening fear of not being in control, the fear of loss. We somehow knew this moment would be one we would carry with us for the rest of our lives. It marked a point in our lives, a pause in time, when we knew we had averted something bigger than either of us realized. Somewhere deep in our hearts we knew that day would come, but not now—not while we were locked in one another’s arms crying and grateful to be alive.
We sat on the blanket holding on to one another, happy and smiling. We were invincible once again, as all children think they are. I was still in shock, but I would be forever grateful to the voice that saved us both that day. I’ve thought about that voice many times since and how it sounded. Was it a man or a woman? I couldn’t remember, and it didn’t matter. I would never forget it, and I would not hear it again until many years later.