< 54 >

When we got to the bush where I had left Joey, he was nowhere to be found. I put my worries out of my mind in favor of what was quickly becoming a desperate situation. John Sr. was fading from shock and loss of blood. The boys were frightened and crying and barely able to hold him up. As we reached the edge of the incline down into the bayou, John stumbled and fell to one knee, then toppled over the edge and tumbled down into the darkness below. Both boys held onto him and were dragged screaming down the muddy slope.


I stood my ground at the top swinging my board like a maniac then threw myself down the slippery embankment. I hit the trail below and heard the boys screaming my name. Several of the pack had followed us down the hill and were snapping at the boys. John was barely conscious. His legs were dangling over the edge of the path into the rushing water below. The boys were frantically trying to keep him from slipping into the surging, black torrent.


Kicking a crazed terrier off my boot, I ran over to the boys and gave my board to John Jr. "Here Johnny, keep those mutts off my butt...Radio, give me a hand." I grabbed the pack on John's back and was pulling him back on the path when something hit me hard in the back. I lost my balance and John, Radio and I all fell into the muddy, swirling waters of Buffalo Bayou.

I held onto John's backpack and struggled in a panic for the surface. I kicked out trying to get my bearings and rammed my face into something hard and rough. Momentarily stunned, I lost the air in my lungs and went limp. That must have saved me, because the next thing I knew my head broke the surface and I choked down soggy gulps of air. I wrestled with John's pack while yelling for Radio and succeeded in righting him in the water with his face up. The big man and his pack were relatively buoyant to my intense relief and after a few seconds I had his head on my shoulder and the two of us traveling downstream feet first.