[trish66]

I can't remember the year exactly, but it was the late fifties. I was ten or eleven, and a friend and I were waiting on the beach, with our bottoms just in the water at Lane's End, for our mandatory hour after eating to pass. We were both just digging with our hands as we talked. My friend, whose name is a lost precious memory, pulled a wedding ring up from the sand. I knew immediately who it belonged to. One of the campers in the grove with the last name of Lesley had lost it the year before. I think her first name was Barbara. The hug she gave me when I returned it still makes me blush.
The gentleman's story reminded me of this long forgotten memory, but the story he didn't tell, which is even more important to me, is the day he saved my life. The raft in the swimming area had broken away due to heavy wave action. A bunch of us went out to find the chains that had broken away, and we'd attempt to reattach them to the raft. I was a skinny runt, weighing fifty to sixty pounds. The chain was rusty and encrusted with God knows what. I grabbed one of the lower links and attempted to bring it up, but the weight of the chain was more than I could lift. My index finger was lodged in one of the links, and I could not free it. I can remember looking up calmly and seeing a bird fly by. To this day, the serenity I had in facing this dilemma amazes me. All of a sudden, a teenager much stronger than I bought this chain to the surface. His action brought this runt to the surface, also. I was then able to free my index finger from the link that had trapped it.
I was a teacher of fourth and sixth grades for forty-three years, and I often told this story to my students as an example of a heroic action where the hero is unaware of his accomplishment. I look at my three children and wonder what if... Brad Swain hadn't done what he did. Bob Driscoll