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Summers were long and hot where we grew up in the hills of Central Florida. Clermont was then a small town nestled along with several other small towns in an area known as the Land o' Lakes. My brothers and sister and I, along with hundreds of other kids, spent every possible moment of every possible day in the water somewhere in those lakes.
Now, a lot of people knew their kids were at the lake-side beaches swimming, boating, skiing and fishing; but what only a few knew was that there was a Rite of Passage among the kids growing up there. One step of this was to swim the canals connecting the lakes. This was not the wisest thing to do. We were in Florida after all: alligators, snakes... We did learn first hand what open wounds looked like on the backs of the gentle manatees, and most of us were careful that we were not the ones to cause such wounds.
Another step in this Rite of Passage was to jump from one of the many bridges into the water below. Only three were high enough to be a challenge and yet secluded enough to hide us from adults.
Our authority figures frowned on such activity and anyone over the age of twenty reached for the closest phone if they should happen to spot us. The trick was to have enough friends with you to watch for boats coming under the bridge, watch for adults, and check for logs and manatee in the water before you made your jump. You rated higher if you jumped in immediately after a boat passed under. The goal was to jump as close to the boat as possible without landing in it.
The first time he tried, this one fellow miscalculated and landed on the motor of a fishing boat belonging to a very angry man. I'm sure he wasn't an angry man all the time, but that day he certainly was. I know it doesn't mean anything, but the boy's name was John and he was a friend of my eldest brother. Months later on his second attempt, the same boy landed straddle of a log floating just beneath the surface. To my knowledge he never tried again. I guess the hospital stay put him off such activities. A couple of years later when he asked me out, I declined. It wasn't that he didn't pass the trials. There was just something about him that was... well, unlucky somehow. I sometimes wonder if he made it all the way to adulthood.
Lake Minneola is one of the larger lakes in a chain of eleven canal-connected lakes. To swim Lake Minneola was the final step. You could start from the shore or jump from the dock; whichever made you the most comfortable. The goal was directly across: a set of railroad trestles spanning the connecting canal to Lake Minneola's sister, Lake Minnehaha. Not that you see the trestles as far away as they were. The trial involved more than the long swim. Rocks protected the other shore. Many of them; which had to be negotiated before pulling yourself ashore under the trestles. Luckily, there was usually someone around with a boat, willing to retrieve you and bring you back in your moment of glory.
The summer Larry decided to make this swim he was really too young. This was generally considered to be within the realm of the older teens. Six weeks before his attempt he was severely beaten by one of the older boys for daring to talk to the boy's girlfriend. I remember standing in knee deep water holding my brother's head while blood poured from his nose and telling the winner what a big, brave man he was to have managed to beat up someone four years younger than he was, a head and half shorter and about eighty pounds lighter. Half the kids at the beach that day followed us to the hospital. Most of the same kids were there when Larry and John (a different John than the John on the bridge) decided to make their bid for the other side of the lake.
I was there with my three younger siblings, two small boys and a girl. It was while I was in the shallow area with them that I looked around and couldn't find Larry. Concerned, I began calling for him. The calls quickly became screams until the snack bar attendant realized I was serious. He ran to the end of the pier and searched the water. We were still searching when the police arrived. A boat was put into the water, and it began circling the area in long slow sweeps. A boy said that he'd heard two guys talking about swimming to the other side of the lake, but no one knew for certain if they'd done so.
The boat was waved back in; and, after a short conference, headed for the railroad trestles on the other side of the lake.
I stared at the spot across the lake where the tree line dipped lower and knew real dread for the first time in my life.
When the boat was only a small speck on the water it made a circle and started back slowly. It seemed to take forever to make its way back. Standing there on the end of the pier, watching that speck, I nearly fell in when someone spoke right next to me. "Did they find him?"
I turned to find John beside me. I asked, "What do you mean? What are you doing here?"
He said, "We made it all the way there, and Larry wanted to swim back."
I demanded, "And why aren't you with him?" I didn't mean to sound accusing. I didn't even mean to scream at him, but at that point there wasn't anything I could handle being but angry, and John was the older of the two. He was a preacher's son, for crying out loud. He should have known better. He should have told me what Larry was planning to do.
He said, "I'm sorry. I didn't feel I could make it all the way back, and Larry wouldn't listen to me. I came to get a boat to go back and get him, but it looks like someone's already out there with him."
It took more than an hour for Larry to swim the last half of the distance with that boat and those two police officers watching over him, but he made it. All the way to the shore he made it. He was so tired he crawled out.
That night when asked if he'd learned anything from such a stupid stunt, he said, "Yes. Perseverance. Don't look back. Just focus straight ahead and keep on reaching and pulling, reaching and pulling. You pull until you've pulled all the water behind you."
Dad asked him where he got that bit of wisdom from and Larry said, "That's what that police officer kept saying over and over to me: Let the water carry you home. Just reach and pull, reach and pull."
It was the same officer who had answered the call when the bullyboy beat Larry up six weeks earlier. I believe he understood my brother's need that day, and that's why he didn't just drag him into the boat and haul him to shore.
Larry was never beat up on again. He walked taller. Our parents let him live. He went on to set a new record in track for the two-mile race two years later. Water grows more than plants.
Larry's daughter is sick now. Very sick. I asked him last night how he was handling it. He told me, "I just reach out and pull, and I reach out and pull. I'm going to pull it all behind me until I'm through to the other side."
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