11,431. RUDIMENTS, pt. 549

RUDIMENTS, pt. 549

('of thee I sing')

I want to backtrack a little

here and remark some more

on my ocean-going vessel father.

Of whom I wrote about: the days

fishing, the fish, and the crabs, 

and the rowboats and the deep

sea and the outboard motors.

In the days around 1960, he 

was maybe 35-38 years old.

Full of energy and ready to

go. We would get to these

small spots of isolated beach

and sand that he knew of,

pitch the boat, and spend some 

time on these little beaches.

Perhaps I'd swim while he

surf-fished. As we did this,

most of the time there would

be five, six, ten other people

doing the same thing, or pretty

much the same. Some kids, lots

of adults. I made do with passing

the time as I would.

-

One day we were there, on one of

these sand outposts, and among

the people fishing was a young

kid, a boy, maybe 12 or 14. I'm

just guessing. I still don't know

how it happened, in one of those

casting motions with the fishpole

and all, he snagged his own foot

as he cast, and the hook went

deep into the base of his foot.

The barbed hook. A barbed hook,

you may or may not know  -  as are

all fishing hooks  -  are made so as

to be difficult in extricating, as

that 'barb' on the hook's end is

made and designed so it will

not easily leave the pulp-body

it enters. The barb, besides 

keeping the hook in place, rips

and tears the offending tissue

on the way out. If you just pull

and tug, lots of damage can ensue.

This all sounds pretty cryptic and

dire, and perhaps it was  -  in any

case, this kid had gotten the hook

somehow set really good into the

flesh mass of the bottom of his foot.

-

A jumble ensued, of people

not sure what to do, gathering

around the kid in some sort of,

if not 'pain' then anxiety for sure,

over what had happened. I'm not

even sure where we were, and

I guess no one else either knew

the precise procedure for getting

help. Coast Guard, rescue, transport,

assistance, etc. In today's world,

I don't think this would ever any

more happen, but in 1960 apparently 

the wide-world of being was quite

different. In any case, no one gave

thought to liability, damages, law,

suing, etc. My father whipped 

out a belt knife, told the kid to

lie down, bite his (own) hand if

he had to, and he took the kid's

foot in his grip. With which

grip he (almost expertly, it 

seemed), began gouging and 

cutting into this kid's foot, and

long and well enough to unmask

and pull out the offending hook.

-

Balance need and process, please,

if you would. This youngster,

though now free of the hook, had

a deeply-carved cut and gouge in 

the base of his foot, along with

blood and the rest. The foot was

salt-water cleansed, and wrapped.

The kid was OK. My father was

thanked. The crisis moved on.

-

Oddly, this moment allowed me

a distance, a place outside of the

'action,' since I wasn't involved,

to watch all this take place. It was

all quite curious : I knew my

father's actions and ways and the

mannerisms by which he operated.

That was all normal. But to see

complete strangers having faith

enough for, or allowing, this 

sort of beachfront mini-surgery

was startling. I can remember

my father saying something like,

'Don't worry, salt water cures

everything. Make sure you keep

it in the surf here for a while.

Let it soak.' Pretty much that

was it. No exchanges of information,

identification, no police, or marine

police anyway, activity on scene.

Just a quick and almost cursory

attack at the problem with,

basically, the same gutting 

knife he used on fish. I don't

think any of this would have

happened today.

-

By the same token  - and from 

the complete other angle  -  I don't

think that anyone BUT my father

would have so heedlessly and in

a headstrong fashion, ventured 

into that situation. Knife-blade,

incision, cutting and gouging

like that. No second-thoughts,

no hesitation. I had to think,

was he foolish, unbound, crazy,

too giving, or just innocent? It's

just like a naive person to dive

into a situation such as this,

have the get get gangrene or an

infection, and be sued and brought

up on charges. Smashing headlong,

as it were, into the other realities

of people's angers and hesitation

and the sorts of stand-offish behavior

that did in, or had done in, for pity's

sake, a scant 5 or 6 years previous,

Kitty Genovese on the streets of

New York City. (If you don't

know the reference there, you can 

look it up. Let's call it 'bystander

indifference?').

-
Nothing more was much ever 
said about this; which was another 
weird thing that baffled me. I'm the 
sort of person who, after something 
like that, would have demanded info,
for follow-up and contact. I guess it's
just the way I go  -  but to my father
it just rolled right away into the
never-never land of never happened.
It's like, to me, seeing an avalanche
and never telling anyone  - all that 
stuff rolling down a mountainside, 
trees, homes and, possibly, people, 
getting rolled over and smashed. 
You sort of have to say something.
-

So, anyway, Life-lesson learned

right then and there. It did stay

with me, and has become one of

those watchword things by which

I run  -  beware naivete. Not quite

the same as the situation itself,

yet the lesson I drew from it has

always been to keep a slight remove

from others, others in bad scenes

or situations. Kitty Genovese

notwithstanding; it's always the

token naif who brings others into

their dangerous webs  -  infractions

and mistakes  -  by which the 'others'

in their zeal to help, or what they

think is help, get likewise implicated

or injured by entering another's scene.

The next thing they know, they're

on the other side of the witness stand,

looking out, being drawn deep into

some web of intrigue woven almost

psychotically by the seducer, the

problem-prone one who has suckered

them in. Learn to keep away, and

it's never worth it if you don't.

-

It sounds, perhaps, coarse and nasty,

but it's what life is made up of. One

simply has to develop discernment.

It's a personal matter. I remember

in elementary schools, #4 and #5,

having that ridiculous 'My Country

'Tis of Thee' song pounded into 

my head; we must have had to 

sing that five thousand times in 

those 6 years. Without thinking.

I look back now and realize it all 

as the web being woven, the

enticement of the psychosis of

others being used to drag us in  -

to what, for most of the boys there,

ended up as being the woven web

of inducement that ended up in

Pleiku or Hue. Sweet land of

Liberty. Of thee I sing.