Over the
past two weeks I’ve started on several posts for this blog but didn’t finish
any of them, not quite satisfied with the subject or how the words came out.
Then this afternoon I caught part of a History Channel program about people
associated with Niagara Falls. Among the barrel riders and rescuers, one story
stood out – in 1960 siblings Deanne and Roger Woodward were on an outing for
Deanne’s birthday when their small fishing boat was swamped on the Niagara
River and overturned in the rapids. They were rapidly swept towards the edge;
the man whose boat they were on disappeared and was later found dead.
Seven-year-old
Roger went over the Horseshoe Falls and is the only person known to have survived
that ride without any protection (he had on a swimsuit and a life jacket). He
was pulled out of the water by crew members on the Maid of the Mist. Deanne, 17,
was saved 20 feet from the brink by John R. Hayes, a truck driver and auxiliary
police officer from New Jersey who happened to visit the park that day. Although
many other tourists were watching the drama unfold, only he had the courage to
rush to the water’s edge and urge Deanne to swim to him, and then caught her by
the hand with another man holding his legs to keep him from going in.
The two
siblings were taken to the hospital; both were in amazingly good condition
considering their ordeal (Roger had a minor concussion); both were featured
prominently in the news… but when Deanne asked to see Mr. Hayes to thank him,
she was apparently told that as a black man he was not welcome at the hospital.
The History Channel program showed them meeting for the first time since that
eventful day, where she finally got to thank him in person for saving her life
some fifty years earlier.
Her
gratitude was exceeded only by his dignity.
Frank and I
lived for five years in Buffalo NY, just down the road from Niagara Falls. But
somehow we never went there until the day he was discharged from the hospital
in 2009, a week after the cancer diagnosis. On the way home I didn’t get off at
our exit – instead I drove the 21 miles north to the State Park. Once there, we
had to ask ourselves why we had waited so long to discover for ourselves what a
beautiful place it is – yes, we were busy people, but it shouldn’t take a
personal disaster to make creating happy time together more of a priority.
We went to
the park as often as possible through those next four months. Sometimes Frank
was too sick to walk far so we’d just drive slowly through the park or sit on a
bench. Other days we spent several hours exploring or just standing over the
water, enthralled by its tumult and power. Our favorite spot was Three Sisters
Island, where the picture below was taken on our last trip there.
It was an
immensely restorative place for us and we always left feeling renewed. Even
though the park is for everyone, we felt it was our space.
I still have
conflicted feelings about Buffalo and although I have friends there, it’s taken
me until now to be emotionally ready to go back. My dear friends Serge and
Christine are getting married later this summer and I want to be there to
celebrate their happiness. And perhaps I’ll make a drive up the road to visit those
old familiar places again.
Postscript: Mr.
Hayes still lives in New Jersey and recently celebrated his 100th
birthday. I hope it was immensely happy and filled with blessings – his hometown
of Vauxhall named him their Hero of the Century.
