In 1937 we moved in with my Grandpa Porter in Stockport, after brother Phil was born. There wasn`t much to do in Stockport, but we pretty much covered the whole area, from the river and railroad track to the "Big Spring Inn," and from Bald Eagle Creek to as far down the tracks as we cared to go. Of course Mom & Dad always told us to "stay away from the river," which we ignored. For some reason I never had any fear of the water even though I couldn`t swim. I guess it was because "the old elk eye" flows so smoothly past the town. Dad always said he was going to throw us in the river to "make us" learn to swim. That was always in the back of my mind, but I never really thought he would do it - he couldn`t swim either.

One fall day in 1940 or 41, Phil and I decided to go over to Bald Eagle Creek to watch the fish ( there were several pools where you could always see them). Of course it was a lot of fun to throw rocks at them and watch them scatter. Phil was only 3 and of course Mom said "now you hold his hand and don`t let him get in the mud, he has his new sandals on." Of course ,I promptly forgot both.

After we got tired of watching the fish I decided to walk across Bald Eagle trestle. Phil`s legs were too short so I made him wait by the tracks. As I came back across, my classmate, Gene Maynard, was walking up the tracks from the other way. He said "I`m just going over to check my dad`s boat,come on." There were a couple of boats chained up there on the river bank and one belonged to them. He started telling me how he helped "run the trot line" with his dad. He said "I know how to row it. Want to go for a ride?" Of course I said sure, but not my little brother. So I told Phil to stay put ,and not move from that spot until I got back.

When we got out from the bank of course we started downstream. I heard Phil crying and when I looked back, to my horror, there he was trying to follow us. He was stuck in the mud right at the waters edge. I told Gene we had to get back to him, but that wasn`t so easy. With one on each oar, we did get back to the bank but I couldn`t get him out of the mud. We finally dragged the boat back to where he was, and I sat in the bow, reached over and pulled him into the boat. Then the trouble really started that launched the boat back into the river.

There was mud all over everything, (so much for the new shoes). Gene started yelling about all the mud and while we were talking about that, the boat got farther and farther out into the current and downstream. We were already passing the warehouses that hang out over the water and getting closer to the bridge all the time. Someone in one of the buildings was yelling about a bunch of kids in a boat. We really worked at it and finally got back to the bank. We left Phil in the boat and both got out and pulled it part way back to where it had been.

Gene was all worried about all the mud in the boat and figured he was going to "catch it." I knew I had to get the mud off Phil. His feet looked like two Tootsy roll pops. I scrubbed him up best I could and we headed for home. I knew there was a yardstick waiting for us at home so I stopped and filled my back pockets with gravel. Mom never did figure out why she broke the yard stick on me and I didn`t even yell. Of course I watched Phil get paddled and sort of gloated I guess. I told Mom he fell in the creek and she said, "at least you didn`t go near the river."

It was many, many years before I ever told her the truth and she nearly had a heart attack then. Over the the years I`ve thought about this many times and wondered how two 8 year old boys ever got that boat back to the bank. The Lord had His hand on us that day for certain. If we would have gotten to the bridge it would have been "all over " for sure. Over the dam that is. I never found out how Gene made out. Brother Phil passed away last year from cancer at age 67 and I don`t think I ever talked to him about how much he remembered about it. One thing for sure as long as my "rememberer " works, I won't forget it .

Bernie Porter