4 August 2012
Moonshine whisky can kill if it is made wrong, and delight if it is made right. My introduction to this evil brew came about as a result of some confiscated evidence (probably not the killing kind) that was stored in the Sheriff's evidence closet in my dad's courthouse office. When too young buy brew, you heist it from the evidence closet. Several earlier successes with this method of acquiring encouraged me as the weekend approached. The plan was to get a mason jar full, seal it tightly and share it with the night's running buddy. Getting the stuff in a jar was not hard as we always were looking at guns and other items taken from criminals and stored in the closet.
In the 1960s, a typical weekend night in Hinesville consisted of riding the roads, going to the drive-in, or hanging out at a local eatery. As we broke the seal on the shine, the urge to do something different arose. A new fortune teller had opened in a house out on Hwy 84 (formerly 82), and perhaps a visit to this new business would be the night's entertainment 180 proof style. We decided to sip a bit, chase with Pepsi, get our nerve up to pay this lady a visit. To be perfectly honest, we were more interested in the fortune teller than having our fortune read. The painted picture out front revealed a beautiful princess waiting inside.
Well, the night's first big disappointment came when we entered the house. Our beautiful princess turned into a great grandmother between the sign out front and the house inside. "Perhaps this is the greeter, and the real fortune teller is in the back," we surmised. In short order we realized, as did five or six Tennessee National Guard in town for summer camp, that this was it - Granny was the princess!
The shine was warming our stomachs and offering its first kick, so between its influence and our curiosity we opted to stay. The Guardsman left and we would be next. Her first statement was a real doozy as she examined my palm tracing lines in my hand deducting that I had been drinking and occasionally engaged in rowdy behavior - "Really brilliant," I thought. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that." Then she grabbed my buddy's hand and told him the same thing - we weren't impressed! She finished him, ending in telling him he would divorce his first wife. She then turned all of her powers on me, acting as if she was going into some kind of trance. She made a trembling motion with her head as if to be receiving some supernatural revelation. She told me her powers worked better on me than my friend, and the way she was contorting her face and mumbling I kind of believed her.
She paused for a while before saying that she now had a clear view of my future. She proceeded by stating that the next three Friday's in a row I would flirt with death. She said I would live a charmed life and dodge death many times in later years. "Big deal," I thought as we left the house laughing for wasting five dollars apiece on a painted sign.
I thought no more of this visit than I would any other non-event in life, so when the following Friday rolled around the thought of dying never entered my mind. It was a hot summer day and time for a little skiing in the Half Moon River. Olin Fraser, my life long friend and I took his daddy's newly repaired boat (a small seventeen footer) out into open water. Olin would start out on his slalom, ski until he was tired and then it would be my turn. As was the norm, I sat on the boat's outside edge, feet in the seat while steering so as to keep an eye on the front of the boat, the steering wheel, and Olin at the rear. This visual advantage far exceeded any perceived danger of driving the boat while sitting on its outside edge. We had done it many times with never an issue.
However, for some reason on this day, Olin's sharp cut of the ski turned the boat dramatically and out I flew. I landed so close to the boat that the engine's propellers passed near my side and the outside edge of the boat missed my head by inches.
Olin saw it all from his vantage point on the ski, skiing to me and letting go of the rope. There we were bobbing in the Half Moon River together watching the newly repaired boat go flying down the channel with no driver. The boat began to make a slight arc and instead of continuing straight away from us, it turned and headed back around toward the marina. Something comical happened at this point; one that we witnessed, the other we were told. A visiting family from a nearby farm was fishing on one of several floating docks at the marina. Some were none swimmers. Upon seeing a boat skipping across the river with no driver or passenger, ski rope bouncing wildly behind it, the family panicked all converging on the single lane ramp at once. They were scrambling to get off the dock out of the way of the unattended missile heading their way, and one way out created a scene that landed several in the water. We found humor when there was little to be found!
Fortunately, the boat turned again missing the dock entirely exposing the loving family melee taking place on the dock. It was during this aspect of the event, which was by now catching the attention of many on lookers from land, that a classic coastal phrase was born and repeated many times: "Captem Allen, Captem Allen, lill Olin boat goin don de ribber...ain't nobidy in em!"
Allen Branch, the marina owner, told this story many times over the years referencing his helper, William Anderson, a Geechee net maker whose steep brogue and warm charm made him one of the most beloved men of color on the coast. I loved hearing him talk, and years later did a Public Television documentary that featured William and other children and grandchildren of slaves.
The boat made several other turns and ultimately headed for a steep bank and up in the air flying into Tommy Autry's yard. I remember hearing the sickening sound of the props trying to turn in dirt as the motor died a slow agonizing death - but hey, it was Friday number one and I was still alive!
Friday Number Two
Friday number two was approached with a little more caution as the irony of the previous Friday was, in my opinion, purely coincidental, but! A nice day of sailing was planned as Olin’s dad purchased a used but nice sailing vessel from his family on Hilton Head. The boat was equipped with radios, compasses, and other electronics that we saw little of in this part of the country. The big radio was the most impressive with great sound from our favorite AM Station, Big Ape Radio.
On this particular trip, Olin’s sister Claire was onboard along with long time friends, Angie Clark and Ann Yeomans. A little sailing in the river posed no threat, and this calm day would prove that Granny’s fortune telling was a fluke. I thought little of the fact that extra beer was loaded for the cruise, as the day’s heat warranted cold beverages. I loved hanging out with this crowd - laughter seemed to be spontaneous when we got together.
The July heat placed demand on the cool beverages as boredom was setting in with 'river sailing.' Olin’s dad had forbidden us to go seaward, but he wouldn’t be home for a while. The next thing I knew we are headed out the North Newport River toward St. Catherine’s Island – life was great, a gentle breeze turned into ocean wind and boredom gave way to excitement now accentuated by a strong beer buzz. We were seaward.
Adults have reasons for telling teenagers not to do something, but teenagers are the most intelligent people on earth – always have been, always will be! With the wind in our sails, beer in our belly we were indestructible, invincible, and enjoying life - great music, great friends, out on the water, what else could we want? Certainly not one of those fast moving summer storms that can pop up over an island and catch you entirely unprepared. Storms coming in from the east and ocean side of the island often have high wind and lightening that come suddenly and violently. And yes, this good time sailing venture was about to turn nasty.
The first sign of real trouble was the ominous black clouds rolling over St. Catherine's soon followed by wind that caught our outstretched sails yanking the boat sideways. There was a reason we were told to stay safely in the protection of the harbor - we didn't know how to sail! We could hardly maneuver in a gentle breeze, yet now we faced gusting winds, rocky seas, and in short order, lightning and torrential rain. Don't know if you have ever been on the open water in a lightning storm, but if you haven't it is terrifying.
Olin and I tried desperately to turn the boat around as we were at the tip of the North Newport in the open water of the Intracoastal Waterway. The wind snatched the boat violently from side to side as lightning struck nearby, possibly in the marsh. The girls realized we were in trouble, but bravely held on. In an instant a passing fishermen, high tailing it to the hill, saw our plight and pulled along side. There was enough room for the girls to get out. I've always been thankful to Bobby O'Neal, who risk his own safety, to get the girls out of a dangerous situation. Bobby assured us that someone would be back as soon as the storm broke.
Seeing the boat fade in the distance temporarily took my mind off the real issue - survive and save the boat! The wind was getting stronger and lightning strikes more frequent and close. Of the perils at hand, the frequency of lightning and it's proximity scared us the most. We felt hopelessly exposed. Lives are lost to lightning every year, and the Georgia coast has seen its share of these tragedies.
By now, Olin and I are just hanging on with no way to take the sail down or maneuver in the storm. The boat is turning almost sideways with the high winds causing us to realize we could capsize. Strangely, the radio, now protected under the front of the boat, was still playing. With rain pouring, loud thunder and nearby lightning, the noise capturing m
The Fortune Teller • Opuss № I