One Night In July

ONE NIGHT IN JULY

It’s July 2, 1966, a Saturday night, but not a promising one for any kind of fun.  Tonight I’m stuck on a river barge at the entrance to the “canal locks” where the Mississippi River meets the Industrial Canal, just downstream from the French Quarter in New Orleans.  I’m lying on my bunk staring at the ceiling in a metal shed the Coast Guard affectionately calls the “Shack”.  I am assigned here with two other Coast Guardsmen; Sweeney, a 3rd class Boatswain’s Mate in charge of this crew; and Swanda, a 3rd Class Engineman (mechanic) responsible for keeping the engine and mechanical parts of the boat in operating condition.  I am a Seaman and hold the lowest rank.

The Shack sits atop a barge where we tie up our 40’ patrol boat.  This “duty station” is where we eat and sleep in 24 hour shifts.  The meager furnishings total one card table with three chairs, a refrigerator, a file cabinet and four bunks.  There is a countertop attached to one wall which is stocked with a few plates, some silverware, an old can opener, a coffee pot, four cups, a hot plate, one frying pan and a pot.  The file cabinet contains the daily logs and serves also as storage for a few cleaning supplies.  On top of the file cabinet are a two-way radio and a telephone.  There are two windows, one with a window mounted air conditioner, and one door.  The air conditioner is almost as effective as leaving the refrigerator door open.

The fresh water supply comes from a garden hose attached to a spigot on the levee.  The hose is tied to the gangway and connects to another hose coiled up on the barge.  There is no toilet.

This has been my home every third day for about four months.  We call this shift schedule “24 on – 48 off”.  The shift change takes place at 8:00 a.m. (0800 hours) daily.  Our permanent duty station is at the Coast Guard Captain of the Port facility on the lakefront, about 8 miles from here.  Maritime law and security in the Port of New Orleans are part of the Captain of the Port’s primary areas of responsibility.

It’s almost 9:00 pm (2100 hours).  The sun set about a half hour ago, so it’s dark now, except that it’s not.  Looking out the window I see it’s a full moon tonight.  I can plainly see the 40 footer tied up on the side of the barge.  A cloudless sky and a full moon; it’s a beautiful night!

Call me ridiculous, but I believe a full moon brings out the crazies in people.  I hope no one proves it tonight.

My eyes are tired and I’m about to doze off; reveille is at 5:00 am (0500 hours).  Daily orders require an early morning harbor watch before shift change.  It takes 20 minutes to get dressed and check out the boat allowing us to shove off just before official sunrise.  The harbor tour will take over an hour taking us upriver to “9-Mile Point” and back downriver to the ship “anchorage” area which is about 2 miles below the Shack.  We need to be back by 0700 hours in order for the Boatswain’s Mate to complete the patrol log, the Engineman to secure the engine and complete the engine logs, and for me to clean the boat, hose down the barge and the tidy up the Shack.  My eyes close and I drift off almost immediately.

The alarm startles me awake and I jump from my top bunk and begin dressing before I realize the ringing is the telephone.  Sweeney has answered it and most of his responses are “yes, sir.”  Sweeney, hanging up and grabbing his clothes, announces that we have a jumper and have to go.  “Grab your gear and get to the boat, now!” he commands.  Within seconds we are aboard USCG 40506, and Sweeney is starting the engines.  This boat is powered by two, powerful 671 cubic inch Cummins diesel engines, but the propellers are designed for towing disabled boats and not for speed. 

“Where are we headed?” I asked. 

“The Mississippi River Bridge,” Sweeney replies. 

There is a man on the bridge threatening to jump and the police want the Coast Guard in the water below to pull him from the river if he jumps.  The bridge is only about a mile upstream, but with work props and a 7 knot current to fight, it will take us 4 – 5 minutes to get there at full throttle.  The river below the bridge is roughly 150’ deep with a fast current below the surface.  Someone hitting the water from 15 stories high, if not killed on impact, will be breaking bones and possibly be knocked unconscious by debris floating just under the surface.  We will only get one chance tonight to save him, and that means we need to be near where he goes in, otherwise he might not surface until he has traveled several miles downstream.  Most jumpers who survive the fall will drown because they can’t surface fast enough.

Fortunately we make it to the bridge before he has jumped.  Positioning the boat is difficult in a speedy current.  The Boatswain’s Mate has to stay a bit back from where he anticipates the jumper will hit because a miscalculation could have him landing on our deck!  This isn’t Sweeney’s first jumper and he’s good at handling the boat in this situation.

My job at this particular point is to sit on the engine cover and watch the man.  That’s pretty easy to do in this moonlight.  Sweeney is at the wheel and Swanda is helping me as a spotter.  The time is 2350 hours.

The jumper is a very selfish person.  He can’t decide whether to jump or not.  The police have stopped traffic on the bridge, and we sit below, waiting.  It is now 0100 hours and I am becoming very impatient with the man.  I suppose someone is up there trying to talk him out of jumping, but I’m tired and this incident is acting like it’s never going to end.  I start yelling up to him, “Jump!  Jump!  It’s your only way out, jump!”

Sweeney laughs, but makes me stop.

Another hour passes as we sit and wait.  Without warning we hear someone hollering from the top of the bridge.  The boat engines are idling but are quiet enough to hear the yelling.  Still, we can’t make out what he is saying.  Straining my eyes, I can’t find the jumper on the bridge.  Suddenly he flashes right past me and hits the water!  He doesn’t miss the boat by more than a few feet.  At first I don’t realize what I saw, but the splash he made going into the water drenches me and I quickly catch on to what just happened.

Swanda takes a spotlight and shines it onto the water near where the man entered.  The Mississippi River is so muddy you can’t see into the water at all, you can only see the surface.  Sweeney kills the engines to prevent the props from tearing the man up if he comes up under the boat.  He grabs a second spotlight and begins scanning the surface along with Swanda.  Sirens are screaming as police cars begin appearing all over along the top of the river levee.  On a nearby dock an ambulance appears with lights flashing.

Sweeney and Swanda shine their lights over the water a few yards downstream from where the jumper hit.  The boat is drifting backward.  Swanda is the first to see him surface about 30 feet behind the boat.  He surfaces face up, but we can’t tell if he is dead or alive.  I call to him several times, but with no response.  Sweeney starts the engines and begins backing in order to get us in closer.  I grab a boat hook with one hand and the transom with the other and stretch over the stern trying to snag him or get him to grab the hook.  Leaning as far over the stern as I possibly can, I hook his shirt.  At that very moment he is hit by a log or something under the surface which jerks him out and away from me.  I keep my grip on the boat hook, but lose my grip on the transom and fall over the stern.  My second mistake is I let go of the boat hook.

I have a flashback of ‘Survival Swimming’ during boot camp.  The company commander (drill instructor) told us then about disorientation in night waters and how easy it is to lose your sense of which way is up when you’re submerged.  First, don’t panic.  Next exhale, if possible, and figure out which way the bubbles are going, because they will rise. My lungs are screaming for oxygen and they hurt, but I manage to let out a little air.  I feel the bubbles going past my chin so I must be facing straight down.  Turning upward, I hope to surface close to the boat. Then, without warning, BAM!  Something slams into my back and knocks me nearly unconscious.  Opening my eyes I see a glimmer of light in the murky water; it must be one of the spotlights.  I swim towards it but I don’t think I can hold my breath another second.  I know I can’t, it’s too late, and I’m not going to make it. 

Everything seems to be okay now, I feel good.  My lungs don’t hurt any longer.  I am drifting into sleep.

I'm suddenly aware my chest hurts again; it feels as if someone is pounding on it.  There is a lot of noise, and lots of people talking.  I try to tell them to stop hitting me, but I can’t speak.  I start choking and coughing.  As my eyes open I see all kinds of people looking down at me and lights flashing everywhere.  I suck in a few deep breaths. Then the one who must have been hitting me asks if I know my name and where I am.  I’m confused.  I’m wondering just what is going on here. 

My memory quickly returns.  The EMS guy sits me up and I see Sweeney and Swanda standing there.  While the EMS techs are checking my vitals, the guys fill me in about the whole rescue thing and how I had nearly died by drowning.  They tell me that after I had gone under Swanda kept scanning the surface with his spotlight while Sweeney had taken another boat hook and was “probing” the water for me. Then amazingly they caught sight of my hand breaking the surface of the water just a few feet away and were able to hook me and pull me into the boat.  They brought me to the dock just a hundred yards away where the ambulance and EMS crew was waiting.  Swanda had tried to give me artificial respiration on the boat, but it was the EMS who brought me around.  The EMS said Swanda had been instrumental in my being alive right now.

The EMS technicians are insistent on taking me to an emergency room to get checked over, but I tell them, “It’s not necessary to take me to the hospital.  I’m feeling just fine, and we have doctors at the Coast Guard station if I need further assistance.”

Only because my vitals seem okay, they agree, and Sweeney and Swanda assist me in getting back aboard #40506.  Sweeney starts the engines as Swanda unties us from the dock, and we head downriver to the Shack.  Unfortunately they were unable to rescue the jumper.  It’s my fault because they had to go after me instead.  How selfish of me.

It’s 0315.  Reveille is in an hour and 45 minutes.  Wrapped in a wool blanket I sit down on the warm engine cover for the ride home.  A cloudless sky and a full moon; it’s a beautiful night!