“I won’t be getting any basketball scholarship now, Dad. The only thing I’ve ever been proud of being is a good basketball player. I’m nothing now.”
“You hold it right there, young man,” his grandpa said as he pulled the pipe from the corner of his mouth. “You’re makin’ too much of this whole affair. Sure, you were embarrassed by shootin’ at the wrong basket, but remember one thing. It was only a basketball game. There’s a lot more to life than basketball.”
“I know, Grandpa. I should be happy to have a roof over my head and food to eat. Lots of kids in the world are starving.”
“Don’t you sass me, young man. I know sarcasm when I hear it. I’m sure it rankles more since you were playin’ Oolitic.”
“Which means I won’t be able to go to the grocery store, gas station or burger joint since the closest ones are in Oolitic.” George paced back and forth across the room. “It might be different if Needmore hadn’t been playing a team five miles away and I didn’t live in-between the two. I’ll see those people all the time. They’ll never let me live it down.” He plopped down on the couch.
“George, you have more courage and determination than most people. Look at the way you’ve practiced every chance you’ve gotten on that old hoop I hung on the garage. No son of mine is a quitter.” Frank jabbed the air, pointing his index finger toward George. “Sectionals are coming up in a couple of weeks and you’ll be out there playing your heart out. Everyone is entitled to a mistake now and then.”
George leaned his head back against the top of the couch. “I know you’re right, but it hurts so much. Think I’ll go fishing tomorrow and try to see some sense in this mess. Okay if I take the car?”
“It’s too cold to fish. Who goes fishin’ in February unless it’s to ice fish, and there ain’t no ice this year,” his grandpa said.
“I’ll dress warm. I need to be by myself.”
“Take the car, George, but please be careful. I’d come with you, but it’s Saturday and the boys will be comin’ to play cards in the afternoon.”
George heated some water and washed up in the sink. Before going to bed, he located his fishing equipment and set it by the back door so he wouldn’t wake his folks the next morning. He tossed and turned most of the night. It was 6:30 a.m. when he snatched up a box of crackers and a hunk of cheese for a snack.
He backed the black, ‘49 Ford coupe out of the ramshackle garage, and sat for a few minutes looking at the structure while the car engine warmed up. It had three walls and a roof that sagged in the middle. That ramshackle garage is like my life—barely able to function, he thought.
He was undecided about where to go. Then he remembered some boys talking about a good fishing hole over on Salt Creek near Peerless. It was one of those small towns outside Bedford with a few houses that you’d miss if you blinked twice while traveling through. The morning was frosty cold, but George figured it would warm up later. As he headed east, the sun rose surrounded by pale colors ranging from yellow and orange to a small sliver of blue and lavender at the top.
The drive toward Peerless was uneventful, but Salt Creek looked like a river compared to Goose Creek where he normally fished. He found the dirt road, turned off the main road and headed toward the creek. George hadn’t eaten anything before he left home and was hungry. He reached over to the passenger’s seat to grab the box of crackers. Instead, he knocked the box of saltines to the floorboard. He tried to retrieve the box, but the car swerved off the road and went into the slick, wet grass and weeds. George hit the brake hard with his right foot, pushed on the clutch with his left foot. The heavy vehicle slid forward toward the creek. It seemed to have a mind of its own as it sped down the steep incline. George could hear scraping sounds on the sides and undercarriage of the car before it suddenly stopped in a copse of trees just above the cliff face that led to the creek. Some bushes were in front of the car keeping it from hurtling off the precipice.
George trembled with terror as he assessed the situation.
What have I done? George thought. This car probably isn’t even paid for and I’ve smashed it all up. Can my life get any worse? I’ve got to get out of here.
George tried to open the door. It wouldn’t budge. Trees blocked both sides of the two-door car. He rolled down the window. He tried to squeeze out the open window. The trees were still in the way and the trunks were too large to bend. George began to shake as panic set in. He tried to think.
I’ll have to break the back window. No trees to block me. What can I use to break it? My tackle box is in the trunk. Maybe I can smash it with my fist. First though, I’ll try to remove the back seat to get to the trunk. Maybe I can open it and get out. Nobody even knows where I am.
He slipped over the front seat into the back. He pulled and pulled, but the seat wouldn’t release. He climbed up on the back seat and pounded the glass with his fists yelling, “Somebody help me! I’ve got to get out of here!” The car began to crawl toward the creek.
I’m going to end up in the creek. The water will be freezing. Maybe I can open a window on my way down and get out. The car’s hung up on that shrub. Thank goodness. He raked his hands across his head in frustration. I’d better be still as can be. Surely someone will find me.
George’s dad, Frank, and grandpa, Charlie, were playing poker with their friends. Every once in a while, one of them would look out the window. 7:00 p.m. came and went. Still no George. Charlie made ham and cheese sandwiches for the players, but he was getting concerned about his grandson. They didn’t even have a car so they could go look for him. He finally called George’s friends after neighbor Minnie Pierce hung up the five-party-line phone. None of the friends had seen George all day. Charlie told them to call if they saw him or heard anything about where he might be. He knew his daughter, Fanny, would lend them her old car if need be.
One of the poker players said, “Charlie, you’re as nervous as a whore in church. What’s the matter with you?”
“Thought George should be home by now.”
“Aw, he probably got a hot date. He’ll show up in a bit.”
Around nine o’clock the poker game ended and the players left for home.
“Do you think we should call the sheriff?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah. I’m goin’ to call. We probably should have done it before dark, but I kept thinkin’ George would be home any minute.”
Frank called the Lawrence County Sheriff’s office and was told there was nothing that could be done until daylight, but they’d start calling volunteers to meet at the Needmore High School parking lot at dawn. The deputy told Frank he should call for volunteers also. “I heard about what happened at the ballgame. George is probably still upset and is hiding out. We’ll find him in the morning. Don’t worry.”
Frank called friends, neighbors and relatives. He went to bed and tried to sleep, but mostly tossed and turned until near dawn. He got Charlie up, poured some coffee in a thermos, and headed to Aunt Fanny’s house to get her car.
When they arrived at Needmore High School, the parking lot was almost full of cars. Frank thought there must be at least 100 volunteers.
“With this many men, we’ll find George straight away.”
“I hope you’re right, Dad. It’s cold as a frog out here.”
The sheriff divided the volunteers into groups and prepared to send them to George’s favorite fishing holes. “If you find George, get to a phone and call my office. The deputy on duty will radio me,” the sheriff said. “If we don’t find him, meet back here at the school at dusk to make plans for tomorrow’s search. Any questions?”
“No? Then let’s roll.”
Close to five o’clock, all the searchers returned to the school. No one had found George.
George wrapped up in the blankets that were kept in the car for the Reds’ baseball games. He had eaten some cheese, but was afraid to eat the salty crackers because he was awfully thirsty.
Wish I could remember that lesson from Health clas
s about how long a person can survive without food or water. Not long without water. Wish I’d brought a Nehi orange cola.
George found he kept fairly warm if he buried his head under the blankets. Exhausted, he slept. When he awakened, the sun had already risen. As he looked down at the floorboard, he saw a lug wrench someone had shoved under the front seat. He started to lunge for the tool, but thought better of it.
If I’m really careful, he thought, I can break the back glass and get out of this car.
He carefully tucked a blanket at the bottom of the glass to catch the broken pieces. Moving slowly, he raised the wrench and hit the glass with all his might. The glass didn’t shatter, but the car began to ease forward again toward the edge of the cliff. For the first time, George began to sob. The car suddenly stopped. When George looked, he saw that another small shrub, suspended over the edge of the overhang, had stopped the car. But it was the last defense from the creek below.
I’m not going down without a fight. I’ll turn on the lights tonight and maybe a passing motorist will see me. I should have done that last night. Wish I had something to drink and maybe a book to read.
The sky was overcast when the volunteers gathered at Needmore High School at dawn Monday morning. The sheriff said, “Frank, can you think of anyplace else George might have gone?”
“I don’t have a clue. Only thing I know to do is fan out into the surroundin’areas—Mitchell, Heltonville, Peerless, Springville. You know, he might be down by Shoals at the river, though he never liked to go there alone. He says the river is too big to fish on your own.”
The group was divided so each area could be searched.
The drivers headed out in their appointed directions with the same instructions they were given on Sunday morning. The stone mill supervisors even let their workers off with pay to help search.
It was almost dark when the men returned empty-handed that night.
The sheriff walked up to Frank and Charlie. “I’m awfully sorry, but I think George must have run away. We’ve searched everywhere we know to look. These men need to get back to work. I’m so sorry…” He couldn’t finish the sentence because he choked on the words.
Frank and the sheriff had grown up together. Their children had played together. Frank walked over and patted the sheriff on the back. He thanked him and the entire crowd of volunteers.
“We’re sorry we didn’t find him, Frank. Don’t know where else to look. If you need anything, you call us,” the men said.
Frank shuffled to his borrowed car where he had left his dad. His heart felt like it did when his wife died. It might completely break this time. When they got home, Charlie was weeping. Frank had only seen his dad cry like that once in his life, and that was when Frank’s mother passed away. When inside the house, Charlie went about fixing dinner, but neither man ate but a few bites. They listened to the news on the radio in the event there was any word of George, but most of the news was about the War being fought between North and South Korea.
George left the car lights on Sunday night until the battery ran down, but no one came to investigate. He was so thirsty and cold that he couldn’t think straight anymore. Due to hypothermia and dehydration, George slept more and more. He had been trapped for three days. Sometimes he thought he saw his mother, bathed in a glow of light, beckoning to him. He couldn’t remember his mother, so he couldn’t figure out how he knew it was her, but somehow he did.
No one is going to find me. I’m going to die right here on the bank above Salt Creek. I’m not sure how I got here anymore.
A short time after dawn Tuesday morning, a man on his way to work ran into the sheriff’s office in Bedford shouting, “I found him! I’ve found, George. We’ll need an ambulance, but I don’t know how we’re going to get him out of the car. When I turned the bend coming into Peerless this morning, I thought I saw a flash of shiny metal way down by the creek. I drove down the lane and saw tracks where George’s car veered off the path and lodged in a stand of trees right on the edge of the cliff. Doors can’t be opened and no way could he climb out a window. The trees have him trapped. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive because the windows are frosted up and I couldn’t see inside the car. It’s hanging on the crag by a thread. What will we do?”
“I’ll call the sheriff right away. I’ll call George’s dad, too. Wonder why the search team didn’t find the kid?”
“He’s in an out of the way place. I’m sure they looked down the lane—probably drove down it, but that black car is invisible in those trees. I wouldn’t have found him if the sun hadn’t been shining on that spot of chrome bumper. I’m going to head back out there. Tell the sheriff I’ll leave my car where he can see it.”
The phone barely rang before Frank had it in his hand. He put the receiver down with a thud and ran to wake his dad. “They’ve found, George. Dress warm while I get us some coffee.”
Thermos in hand, the Henderson’s left the house ten minutes later. Frank let the car warm up while he scraped the ice off the rear window. Darn garage needs a door, he thought.
A few cars lined the narrow road above the dirt lane. Frank quickly parked along the road. He and Charlie took off running down the lane. The ambulance driver recognized Frank and Charlie and screeched to a stop to let them get into the back of the ambulance as it careened down the dirt lane. When they were about halfway down, the sheriff appeared and motioned the driver to stop.
“We’ve got to pull the car up the hill. It’s hanging on a shrub above the creek. You’ll be okay here. Frank, you and Charlie follow me. Be careful, this grass is slick from the frost.”
There were about ten people standing at the rear of the car when Frank and Charlie got to the scene. The sheriff pointed out the danger to the car and George.
“Harley Fish is bringing his Ford tractor. If we can attach a chain to the frame of the car, we can pull it to a safer location. We can’t figure out any other way to extract it and we need to get to George as quickly as possible.”
Frank nodded his head in agreement.
The tractor came down the county road at full speed, engine whining. Harley Fish bounced on the seat as he drove the tractor down the hill. The sheriff stepped out and motioned for him to slow down.
“The car is barely hanging onto the cliff, Harley. Drive slow the rest of the way. The slightest jolt could send it over the edge.”
Harley inched the tractor to within a hundred yards of the car. He turned it around so it was facing up the hill and backed down the hill to the car. One of the bystanders grabbed the end of the chain. Lying on his back, he slid underneath the car. The hook on the end of the chain wouldn’t hold at first. It slipped off time after time. Harley grabbed the other end, pulling the chain almost taut. “Give it another whirl. Needs to be fastened to the car before I attach it to the tractor.”
After a few tense moments, the man called out that the hook was in place. Another bystander held the chain taut while Harley attached it to the drawbar and eased the tractor up the incline until the chain was tight without being held. He switched to first gear and began to pull. The car seemed stuck at first, and Frank was afraid the tractor couldn’t pull the car out.
The trees scraped down the sides of the car as it finally broke free with a loud crack and inched up the incline behind the tractor to level ground.
The frost on the windows had partially thawed and Frank could see George wrapped in his Cincinnati Reds’ blankets in the back seat. He immediately yanked open the passenger side door, leaned in and pulled the blankets from George’s face. George didn’t move. Not even a sigh came from his body when his dad called his name. Frank jumped back with tears in his eyes. “I think he’s dead, Dad,” he said to Charlie. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”
Charlie put his hands over his eyes and began to sob. “No, no, no. He can’t be dead.”
Frank had to be pulled away from the car.
George’s doctor reached in and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,
” he yelled, “but unconscious. Get him in the ambulance and I’ll start an IV. He has to be severely dehydrated. Get him to the hospital. I’ll be right behind you.”
Frank and Charlie started to run up the hill. Charlie slumped over and put his hand on his chest. “Are you alright, Dad?”
“I’ll be as soon as I catch my breath.”
Harley, the tractor driver, asked what he wanted to do with the car. Frank said he’d call a wrecker and have it pulled to a garage, but he had to take care of his son first. Harley asked who to call and what garage, and said he would take care of the car. “Get up here on the tractor and I’ll take you up the hill.”
“I sure hope that boy will be alright. I thought he was dead,” Frank said as he turned to Charlie. “I don’t know what I’d do if somethin’ happened to him. He was so pale.”
“I know. Ain’t never seen someone alive the color he was.”
George was in bad shape when he got to the hospital. The doctor told Frank and Charlie he would survive, but recovery would be slow. George surprised everyone with his will to heal quickly. The doctor gave orders for the patient to be on bed rest for the rest of the week, but George had other plans.
The basketball sectionals were less than two weeks away and George was determined to redeem himself. He began to work out slowly with the help of the head nurse on his floor, a Needmore graduate. To everyone’s surprise, George was ready to go home by the end of the week. The coach was shocked when he showed up for practice the next week, but George demonstrated that he could play. No one mentioned his last game.
Needmore’s team drove through their tourney opponents like Grant plowed through Richmond. The final game was between the Needmore Hilltoppers and the Oolitic Bearcats whose fans had been among the search party trying to find George. During the game, however, the old rivalry persisted as the fans taunted George, calling out wrong-way, George. To his credit, he seemed oblivious to the cheers and jeers and played harder than he had ever played in his life. The final score was Needmore, 58, Oolitic, 54. However, the Hilltoppers lost the first game of the regional the next weekend. George had played his last game of basketball.
Hoosier Hoops and Hijinks Page 29