WRESTLING BOOK
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Chapter 8
The first year of coaching was extremely gratifying. The wrestlers came to practice hungry for knowledge about wrestling. They did their best to learn anything we taught them and they were willing to do anything we asked. They would have run fifty miles and swam across the bay and back each practice if we asked them to.
We had three weeks of practice before our first match, and when we worked through that three weeks, I could see the kids were ready. When kids want to learn they learn fast and well. They were eager, they couldn't wait to try their newly learned skills. Coach Poindexter had them in great shape and every practice they reminded me of a string of thoroughbreds being held back at the gate. They just couldn't wait for that first starting whistle.
The first match we met Palmer who had not lost to Homer in seven years. The Homer boys wrestled like they'd been well coached and easily beat Palmer. The J. V.'s also won. Which was great cause of celebration for the entire team. The next day we met our real challenge, "The Wasilla Takedown Tourney"
"How much you over, Mike." I said. That statement contained the four most feared words at a weigh-in.
"Four lbs.," was Mike's reply.
"You have one-half hour to make it, can you do it?" I asked.
"I don't think so, Coach," answered Mike.
Wrestlers lose some tremendous amounts of weight in a short period of time by sweating, etc., but four lbs. in a half hour was a bit much for a 98 lb. high school boy to lose. This had been a rough trip for Mike. This was his 4th year wrestling at 98 lbs. He had weighed 85 lbs as a freshman, but as is natural, gained some weight in those high school years. He was now a solid 110 lbs. in the off season and cut down 12 lbs. to be at a weight that he felt he could wrestle competitively in State competition. He had placed 2nd at the State Tournament the year before and the fact that his best friend Ross wrestled at 105 lbs. the next weight class up, motivated him to wrestle at 98 lbs.
On the trip up to the tournament, Mike was chewing on "Star Burst" candies and spitting in a cup to lose weight for the week end. I had occasionally seen wrestlers chew gum and spit to lose enough water to lose a couple pounds, but Mike had it down to a science. He had learned that "Star Bursts" really made him salivate. He needed to lose four lbs. before the match at Palmer. On the 250 mile rode trip up to Palmer, Mike spit and filled his milkshake cup 4 times with the most awful multicolored mucous ever made. The rest of the kids could hardly stand to be around Mike when he was chewing and spitting Star Bursts. Mike spit off his 4 lbs. and accidentally helped the whole team including coaches lose weight. Of course he had a little help from me.
It was a typical road trip for wrestlers, one like I have taken many times since. All 13 of us were packed into a school van shoulder-to-shoulder much like sardines. You get used to the smell of 12 teenage boys who often don't wash very well, but of course it's not easy at first. Especially if any of them are fond of garlic or beans or some other noxious odoriferous weed. The weather was clear, but there was lots of snow on the ground. In Alaska when the snow comes down so hard that the road crews can't keep up with it, they usually just plow part of the snow off and then as cars drive by enough times the snow becomes hard packed and a fairly smooth surface although a bit slick. If you are lucky they will sand these roads, this road was not sanded at all. After driving in Alaska one gets fairly adept at handling all sorts problems on these slick roads. So when the car in front of me suddenly pulled over to the side and stopped I knew just what to do. I hit the brakes putting me into a mini-slide then as I got down slow enough, I let up on the brakes and quickly steered around the stopped vehicle. However the resultant sideways jerk of the van caused Mike to lose control of his grip on his paper cup. It plopped to the floor of the van. Green, yellow, blue, red and purple mucous mass oozed across the entire floor of the vehicle.
Total chaos resulted in the van, everyone's feet went up in the air to keep away of the multi-colored blob, at the same time every window came open with two or three wrestlers heads out each spilling their cookies. Myself in the same distress pulled over to the side of the road and joined Coach Poindexter and all wrestlers except Mike hurling on the snowbank. None of us would go anywhere near the van until Mike had cleaned it up. Mike ruined a good towel wiping up the awful mess. Then we wouldn't let him throw it on the side of the road as litter so he hung it on the pack bumper of the van where it froze and stayed the rest of the trip. I'm sure no one ever used that towel again.
Mike made weight that day and won his Palmer match, but he couldn't restrain himself enough to keep the weight down for the next day. Mike was not the only wrestler that had that problem, two other of my wrestlers were overweight. Rather than a strong team it looked like we might have only an average team. Three of our strongest wrestlers did not make weight.
"Tell the Torgustad Brothers not to worry about making weight. We'll put in the J.V.'s" I called out to our manager. "Mike I'll forgive your debut weekend, but let's not let the happen again. Let's get down to weight and stay there."
Mike looked down real disappointed in himself and said, "OK Coach."
I red-facedly made my way to the coaches meeting to make my substitutes. As years went along I learned that every coach had this happen to him occasionally, but at this first tournament I felt it had never happened to anyone in the history of the world of wrestling before this day. Making the changes turned out to be much less painful than I thought they would be however.
Wasilla High School was running a "Takedown Tournament". A 'Takedown Tournament" is a little bit different from most tournaments in that wrestlers do all their wrestling in standing position. When one wrestler is able to gain advantage over his opponent by taking him to the mat and gaining control over him it is called a "takedown". In any regular match the wrestling continues on the mat, but in a"takedown tournament" the referee stops the match and brings the wrestlers back to their feet to wrestle for another takedown. The winner is the wrestler with the most takedowns at the end of the match. It was a great way to start off the season. Wrestlers could concentrate on takedowns for the first part of the season and really perfect a very important part of their wrestling.
It was very exciting to be a coach at my first tournament. Coach Poindexter didn't seem outwardly as excited as I was, but I did notice his hands sweating. The kids were excited, not over anxious, but excited to be there. The only damper on our excitement was three weight classes with J.V.'s instead of Varsity wrestlers.
I was particularly concerned with Roger Engles at 98 lbs. He was just a freshman, and this was his first Varsity experience. Mike easily trounced him in practice, so I was a little afraid how he might do in this tournament. He was also the first of our wrestlers to wrestle that day.
The time for Roger's match came. Coach Poindexter and I gave him our pep talk, slapped him on the back, rubbed his shoulders and gave him as much encouragement as we could. The team gathered around him and chanted "go, go, go, go" which was a Homer custom. Before the last chant Roger was jumping up and down in place. On the last and loudest "GO", Roger leaped out of the middle of the group as if shot out of a cannon. He was in full sprinter speed when he hit the edge of the mat. For some reason the mat was not quite dry at our end and when Roger's feet hit the wet mat at top speed both flew out from under him and up into the air. He made the most beautiful broad jump in wrestling history, flew 20 ft. through the air, and landed rump first in front of his opponent. A hush fell over the crowd. Some were quiet because they had never seen anyone travel un-aided through the air that far; others because they thought he might be hurt. But Roger jumped up physically unhurt, but very red-faced.
There is a lot of psychology to wrestling, I thought sure that Roger was so embarrassed that his experienced opponent had already won before the referee blew the whistle to start. However, Roger shook hands with his opponent, the referee, and then wrestled like I've seldom seen a freshman.
It is extremely satisfying to see any wrestler complete a "move" , as a wrestling maneuver is called, a move that you know you taught him. I wish all teachers had the opportunity to see their students display excellence in the field of knowledge that they the teacher had sole responsibility for teaching. And to see it displayed publicly. It gives one a warm glowing feeling in the mid-section.
My mid-section glowed that day when I was at mat side with Roger. He nailed every opponent with takedown after takedown. Every takedown he executed was poetry in motion. Roger had no takedown scored against him and easily won the gold medal. I was extremely proud of Roger and met him at the mat center after his championship match and carried him off the mat (which is a lot easier to do with a 98 lb. wrestler). Not only was Roger successful, but the other two substitute J.V. won their weight classes as well. We had 7 champions, a couple 2nds and every wrestler placed in the top four.
You couldn't contain the kids when they announced Homer as the team champions. Those farmer, ranch and fisherman kids whooped and hollered all night. It was the first trophy Homer had won in several years. They were excited. I was pleased to say the least They had learned everything we had taught them. Coach Poindexter's comment was that they were not in quite good enough shape, but I knew they were the State Championship Team. Ah, the exuberance of youth and inexperience.
Roger was an excited kid, just a Freshman and a champion. Mike kept his promise, got down and stayed on weight the rest of the year. He was able to easily beat Roger, so Roger wrestled at J.V. the rest of the year and went undefeated. He was a boy destined for greatness in wrestling. The sad part of the story was that Roger on a hunting trip, later that spring, bent down to drink some water from one of those clear Alaska streams, his pistol fell out of his holster, discharging and killing him. Roger was always a gentleman and well liked at school. His death was a sad day for the entire school. To this day Homer High School gives out the Roger Engle Award to the wrestler who displays outstanding sportsmanship during the season.
Chapter 10
State Tournament---State Tournament is for the wrestler and his coaches the pinnacle of the season. There has been a long season of the most grueling work ever inflicted upon a high school kid, tournaments of elimination, and now only the best wrestlers in the entire state are meeting to wrestle to see who is the best in the State. Only two people in each of the 12 weight classes from our Region qualified for State. A coach only got to go if one of his wrestlers qualified, and this year we were taking two wrestlers: Mike Ferris undefeated for the entire season and Ross Aydelott one weight class heavier and both were best friends. Ross also had won his weight class at Regionals. Two of the 24 wrestlers from our Region were from Homer. I had to feel good about that for the first year of coaching.
"Coach, how do I stop Allen's tight waist?" Mike asked me one of those evening practices earlier in the season. Wrestling Allen from Kodiak was a real concern for Mike. Mike had finished 3rd at State as a sophomore and 2nd last year. Both times he'd lost to Allen from Kodiak.
"How does he do it?" I ask.
"Well, he reaches deep around the waist and grabs my hip bone. It squeezes my guts out and I can't seem to do anything with it. Everything I try he stops."
This was one of the many times that a wrestler had come to me after practice for specific help. Wrestling is a sport that is so complex, no one knows it all. But for every hold there is always a counter hold or a counter move. It is only after years of experience that one knows what does counter a move most effectively. I was a first year coach which gave me a lot more confidence than experience. I didn't know the answer so I faked it with confidence, something all good first year coaches can do.
"Mike your best bet is a 'Hop-Out Granby". Here let me show you. First you hop out your feet away from your opponent, then Granby roll back into him. If you work it right you can not only get a reversal, but also near-fall. Now let me talk you through it...." and I proceeded to instruct Mike in an effective counter. I had a good college coach who used excellent teaching techniques to teach his wrestlers. He first explained and demonstrated the move he wanted us to learn. He then talked us through it, by explaining how to do the move as we were doing the move. Then he drilled us over and over by having us repeat doing the move until we had it perfected. I tried to follow his example with Mike and each of my wrestlers, trying to prepare them for every contingency in wrestling. Mike never used the Granby against Allen, but we spent day after day of the week before State working on moves such as this to help prepare Mike and Ross for the State Tournament. Even though the rest of the team had not qualified for State most of them came in to practice just to wrestle with Ross and Mike to "keep them in shape." Most of the week we spent preparing Mike to beat two time State Champion Allen from Kodiak.
The weekend of State came we (Coach Poindexter, Ross Aydelott, Mark Edens and myself made the 700 mile trip to Fairbanks for the High School Wrestling State Championships.
Coach Poindexter and I had been to a State Championship as wrestlers, but this was the first for us as Coaches. Ross and Mike had been there the previous two years; to them it was no big deal. When we got to the site school, they immediately found old buddies and were right at home. Coach Poindexter and I stood in the middle of the gym looked around and up at the decorations and posters like lost tourists in New York City. We were dazed. Mike had to yell at me three times to wake me up.
"Coach, Coach, Coach, Allen's not here."
"What?' I said jerking to attention. "What?"
"Coach, Allen is not here. He went up a weight class then he got injured and he didn't make it to State." Mike couldn't contain the excitement.
"Is that right. Well, that's one person you don't have to worry about, but I hear there's a tough kid from Southeast Alaska a blind kid from Mt. Edgecomb. Then there is Spriggs from West Anchorage. His coach thinks he's going to go all the way. I heard another Anchorage coach say that no one can beat Spriggs this year. So maybe Allen is not here, but there's a lot of tough kids in this tournament." I had a tendency at the first of the year to tell the wrestlers how easy they had it with their opponents to build their confidence, but that had backfired on me. It seemed that Homer kids did best against kids they thought were tough and wrestled poorly against people they thought were easy. With this State Tournament I was adopting a "everybody is tough" policy.
"Yeh," said Mike. "I beat Spriggs last year, but he was tough. I never got to wrestle Noah from Mt. Edgecomb. He took 3rd last year, but I didn't get to wrestle him. Allen beat him 1-0."
Now I was scared. Publicly I was quite confident that Mike could beat anyone, but if there was a kid who was only beat 1-0 by Allen, I thought Mike might be in trouble. However, with the confidence that I didn't necessarily have I said. "You've worked hard, this year, Mike. These kids are tough, but you're tougher, right?"
"Right, Coach!!"
The seeding meeting went very well. The seeding meeting is a Pre-tournament meeting of coaches and tournament officials to determine who is "seeded" 1st-4th so the best wrestlers will not eliminate each other in the first rounds of competition. Wrestlers are seeded by their overall record and how well they did the previous year at State. Seeding, however, often becomes complicated, especially when Wrestler A has beaten Wrestler B., Wrestler B., has beaten Wrestler C., and Wrestler C. has beaten Wrestler A. At the same time all three have good win-loss records and none of them placed in State the previous year.
Fighting for the seed positions is an art that coaches learn only after numerous seeding meeting battles and then only after the scars from these battles have healed. The seeding meetings are often tense times of political maneuvering that puts Congress to shame and yet coaches who seem, during the meeting, ready to leap over the table at each other, and duke it out, usually after the meeting, slap each other on the back in hardy congratulations. In the many years of coaching in Alaska, I never saw coaches lose friendship for each other, because of seeding meetings. They were always treated like an intense game of monopoly. However, school officials and tournament officials never understood how much fun the coaches were having. These officials usually came out of a seeding meeting frowning, taking terse little steps, and muttering under their breath "that was the worst meeting I've ever been to in my life. We've got to do something about seeding meetings." The coaches strolled out afterwards laughing, slapping each other on the backs and inviting each other out for a "Root Beer." They had just had a great time.
This particular seeding meeting was a new experience for me. The old time coaches were kind to us and after making us sweat, seeded our boys where they deserved. Even the most ruthless wrestling coach is usually pretty good about seeing that the wrestlers, all wrestlers, are not drastically hurt by their seedings. Mike was seeded 1st and Ross was seeded 4th, which was pretty fair for both of them.
And so the tournament began. Ross wrestled his heart out, placed 4th and had his high point in the tournament when in the semi-finals he wrestled the #1 seeded man to a 6-6 tie, only to lose in overtime. Fourth was not bad, and he got a nice medal for his outstanding efforts that year.
Mike's tournament was a challenge to him. Even though he was seeded first and should have had the easiest path to the championship, he ended up wrestling every place winner in the tournament.
Mike ripped his first opponent 9-1. However it was a close match until the last round. Mike was great at takedowns and easily took Keller, his opponent, down for two points. In the 2nd round, Keller escaped for 1 point, but in the last round Mike reversed and then picked up two near-falls for two points each. The final score made it look as if this opponent was an easy match, but this young unseeded wrestler, Keller, went on in the tournament to take 4th.
Mike then had to wrestle the 4th seeded wrestler. This was Spriggs, the wrestler from West Anchorage. West Anchorage as a team would go on to win the tournament. The coaches and their team smelled victory, and were all at the edge of the mat. Spriggs was undefeated this year, his coach had been bragging "no one will beat Spriggs this year. Spriggs was tough, but Mike true to his form got one takedown which was enough to win 2-0. Spriggs went on in the tournament to place 3rd, but Mark was in the finals. Mark's opponent--Noah, the blind wrestler from Mt. Edgecomb.
"Coach, I've never wrestled a blind guy. What do I do?" Mike confided in me. "How can a blind guy even wrestle?"
"Mike never underestimate a blind wrestler. I wrestled one in the Olympic trials and he was good. Let's go out on the mat, I want to show you something." We moved out on the nearest mat.
"Now Mike, I want you to get in referees position on the bottom. Close your eyes. Now do an outside switch on me." Mike easily did an outside switch.
"Did you open your eyes?"
"No."
"How could you do it with your eyes closed?"
" I could feel where you were; I could almost see in my mind where you were."
"That's right," I said. "Now stand up. Keep your eyes closed and take my hands in this position." I showed him the hand position that wrestlers must use when wrestling with a sight handicapped opponent. "Now, shoot a single leg." Mike easily completed a single leg takedown.
"Did you open your eyes?"
"No," he replied.
"How were you able to do it?" I asked.
"I could see in my mind where your leg was."
"Keep your eyes closed. Don't touch hands." I stepped back and to the side.
"Now, shoot a single leg."
"I can't."
"Why?"
" I can't tell where you are."
"That's right. There is something about being able to touch your opponent that lets an experienced wrestler know where every part of his body is. Blind wrestlers can be great if they can only touch you. Now Mike the rules say that you have to maintain contact with a sight handicapped wrestler. You can't back off and shoot as you do to other wrestlers. It will be you that will be at a disadvantage, not Noah. To win this match you will have to wrestle your best, but you can do it. You're a winner; you'll find a way to win."
Nothing builds confidence like inexperience, at least with new coaches, and even with new coaches, occasionally accidents happen and they say the right things.
That night one of the classic wrestling matches of Homer High history was wrestled. Mike Ferris, Homer wrestler who had worked four years for this moment, a chance to be State Champion, verses Larry Noah, blind Indian boy from the small village of Mt. Edgecomb, both determined both having their own talents, both Seniors in there last wrestling match of their lives.
For a coach being at the finals is an exhilarating experience. It's like the academy awards, the lights, the cameras flashing, 10,000 screaming fans ( well maybe more like a 1000), but it was exhilarating, and that was just for the coaches. I don't know how the wrestlers could handle it.
Most of the Alaska coaches at this tournament liked to show off how "Alaska" they were. Some wore sweaters with a moose knitted on them. Some wore Carhart coveralls and some even wore authentic Eskimo parkas; gad, they must have been hot. Me, I wore what my college coach wore.
My college coach was an Oklahoma Indian who loved to dress up. He put on the best money could buy--sports jacket, tie, colored shirt, slacks and all. He always looked sharp. I was always proud he was my coach just because of the way he dressed. And I think that I wrestled a little harder because of that pride.
So here I was at my first State tournament as a coach, wearing a dark blue sports coat, dark blue slacks, bright yellow shirt, tie (tied in a full Windsor), all shinning like only polyester can. I looked around and felt as much out of place as if I came dressed like I was to a livestock auction. But somehow the other coaches felt out of place too. I could see them looking at their Carharts and wondering if they should have changed--maybe wore something else besides bunny boots, or something.
I know that what I wore that night had some effect. In the years to come nearly every coach got all spiffed up for the State Tournament finals. Some had washed their Carharts, some had even put on three piece suits and I think once someone even wore a tux. All were pretty well dressed up, except for Steele Jones he always dressed "Alaskan."
All the announcements, introductions were made, wrestlers warmed up and primed. It was time for the 98 lb. match.
The whistle blew, Noah immediately took advantage of the start and using his great upper-body strength, pulled Mike into him and grabbed both of Mike's legs. A takedown loomed imminent, but Mike hit a great whizzer counter, but was on the defensive. Noah kept Mike on the defensive, constantly pulling him in and trying for a takedown. Mike could only counter. If Mike would break away, the referee would immediately stop the match and start then again with the sight handicapped touching start. Mike fought hard, Noah bulldoggedly, relentlessly pursued, but no takedown was scored the entire first round. This was a victory for Noah. Mike Ferris, the best takedown technician in the State, couldn't take him down. I was sick with dread as the next round started.
In the folk style wrestling of High School those years, only the first round did the wrestlers face each other wrestling on their feet. The second and third rounds, a coin toss determined which man is on his hands and knees on the bottom and which man is in the so called "advantage" position or on top. The top wrestler usually was a little behind the bottom wrestler, holding his waist and arm. It is called the "advantage" position, because the top wrestler is theoretically closer to obtaining a pin, which is the ultimate goal of a wrestling match. Most wrestlers, however, when they have the choice, choose bottom position, because in practice it is easier to score points from the bottom position. They can do this with an escape, coming to neutral position (1 point), or a reversal, coming to a position of advantage himself (2 points).
Mike won the coin toss and chose advantage position meaning that he would be in the bottom position during the last round. Mike swarmed over Noah, but the Mt. Edgecomb wrestler had been well coached. He never got out of position. Mike pressed him, but found no opportunity to turn him to his back. Noah however took advantage of one opportunity and escaped from Mike's grasp to get to his feet and face Mike for 1 point. That ended the second round.
Mike needed 1 point to tie, 2 points to win. This round he was on the bottom. In a brilliant flash of motion, a mighty shrug of his shoulder, Mike stood up, turned and faced his opponent. The score now was tied. The referee stopped the match to again started the wrestlers in the appropriate "hand touch" position. Noah again went into his strategy of pull in the opponent and attack the legs. Frustration showing on his face, Mike fought off each shot never able to counter attack. The third round ended; the wrestlers tied 1-1.
In those days wrestlers who were tied wrestled an overtime match of three one-minute rounds after one minute rest. During the minute rest, coaches had the opportunity to actually talk to the wrestler and coach him as to how he might win.
After a drink of water, Mike between breaths panted. "Coach, he's squeezing my guts out when he's on top."
"Like Allen, huh."
"Well Allen was better, I think."
"What did we practice?"
"Granby?"
"Right."
"OK, Coach."
The overtime was a carbon copy of the regular match. First round, no takedown; Noah escaped at the end of the second round. The third round started. Mike hit a beautiful Granby roll, but Noah followed him, Mike hit another Granby and another with Noah right behind. The fourth Granby however created enough space, and Mike was out, free and tied 1-1 in overtime. Mike looked different this round, however, there was no frustration showing on his face. His face was passive, meditative, almost serene. And then in one dramatic effort, Mike shot to both legs of Noah, picked him up and planted him on the mat for a two point takedown. The whistle blew; the match ended; Mike was State Champion. With raised hands, Mike jumped to his feet leaped across the mat into my arms.
After all the victory laps, Mike shaking his opponents hand and coaches shaking hands and congratulating each other on the fine way their wrestlers wrestled, etc., I got Mike aside and asked:
"How did you do it? How did you get that last takedown?"
"I closed my eyes, Coach. I could see his legs better when I closed my eyes."
Mike graduated later that year and to this day is a fine citizen of Homer. Larry Noah in later years coached the Mt. Edgecomb wrestling team which continued to produce fine wrestlers.
Chapter 14
My wife and I had agreed when we got married to have a family. We felt that to have a good family, we needed a full time homemaker. Nina had spent a number of years in the work force and now happily volunteered for that position. I therefore became the bread winner. A school teacher's salary is not extravagant, but was sufficient if I also worked all summer. That first full summer, through Al Poindexter I was able to get a job at a sawmill. I'd never worked in a sawmill, but I was told the most important qualification one needed was a strong back. The sawmill was across the Kachemak Bay at a small inlet called Jackalof Bay. It would mean that I would have to be away from home nearly the whole summer. However, if we made as much money as we expected we could probably put aside enough money to put a down payment on a home and move out of the "Stinking Hole." So we determined to make the sacrifice that summer.
Working at the sawmill was an interesting experience filled with interesting characters. Bill, the sawyer, was never a good friend of mine. He soon learned of my conservative nature. This tall lanky Arkansian in his lanky southern drawl at lunch time drawled out one risque joke after another every lunch and coffee break. I hated his jokes and let him know so, but he enjoyed irritating me with them. I hated his jokes all summer, but somehow I admired his ability to remember that many. For the entire summer he told one "dirty" joke right after another all lunch break and most coffee breaks, and never repeated the same one ever.
Vern was another character. He must have been in his late 60's. He weighed about 115 lbs, but was an electric crane operator, which needed little strength. His arms were about as big around as a broomstick, his legs not much bigger. He shaved and bathed every couple of weeks. Al, who had worked at the saw mill several summers, told me why Vern still worked at the mill. It seemed that Vern had won the Tanana Ice Classic, several years early and so was a rich man.
"What is the 'Tanana Ice Classic.' " I said.
Al proceeded to explain. "Up near Fairbanks there is a river which, like many of the rivers of an area that far north, freezes thick with ice, but in the spring the ice does not gradually melt away as it does in a lake, but in one mighty crash breaks up and in mass moves down the stream. It never happens the same day or time so each year all over Alaska the city of Tanana promotes for charity, a sweepstakes. All over Alaska and I guess even in the Lower 48 States people pay a couple of dollars to guess the time that the Ice breaks up on the Tanana river. The prize is often several $100,000."
"So Vern won it," I said. "That's great. Why is he working here?"
"Well, the way I understand it is that a lawyer up in Fairbanks volunteered to help every winner with his taxes, so a winner won't have to pay all his winnings in taxes. One of the things Vern has to do to keep working at his job for 5 years. He's still got a couple years to go."
I had noticed that Vern was never very excited about pay day. Now I knew why.
Cecil was a big rawboned cowboy. He had grown up in Alaska on one of the several ranches that were in the Homer area. He was every bit a cowboy from his dirty old black cowboy hat to his Charlie Pride tapes. He was as fine a friend as a person could have, but you also knew it was not a good idea to cross him. He was as tough as that tough life had made him. We were room mates and good friends. He didn't hold a grudge, even when I pushed him in the bay on his birthday, but darn he was stubborn. He would never back down on an argument. He even lost two tires over one of his arguments.
It happened one morning as we were eating breakfast.
"You heard that Floyd woke up this morning to four flat tires." Sonny added to the conversation.
"No, you don't say." Cecil answered. "How did that happen?"
"No one rightly knows, they weren't cut of slashed or anything like that." Sonny answered.
"Probably someone shot them." I added.
"No one shot them. Everyone in camp would have heard that. Floyd's house is only a hundred yards away." Cecil insisted.
"Well they could have used a .22." I said.
"What do you mean? Floyd has 10 ply steel belted radials. A .22 wouldn't touch them." Cecil came right back
"I don't know," I said. "I was shot once with a .22 out hunting. It felt pretty powerful to me."
"You can't tell me that a .22 would even faze those tires. Floyd's tires are just like mine, and it would take a lot more than a .22 to flatten them." Cecil argued.
Most of the guys had been around Cecil a lot longer than I had, and they recognized a chance to push him into a real argument. So one at a time each of the guys at the table sided with me extoling the power of the .22.
"I'll prove it." Cecil finally said. We followed him out to his truck and he pulled out his Colt .22 revolver. He pointed it at his front tire--Bamm; he pointed it at his back tire--Bamm. When the second blast stopped reverberating from the hills all we could hear was the double "Pssssst" from each of Cecil's tires as they slowly went flat in front of us.
Cecil stood there with a surprised look on his face. "I guess a .22 is a little more powerful than I thought." It took Cecil several hours to fix both tires after work that night.
"I didn't think I'd ever need a spare with those truck tires, and now I have to fix two flats in the same day." Cecil admitted to me later that evening. He did buy a spare later I think.
The sawmill was owned by a Japanese company and somehow because it was owned by a foreign firm, the sawmill did not have to live up to rigid U.S. safety standards. There were several accidents; the most serious was my fault.
I was just a laborer at the mill I did what they told me to do. A lot of what I did had to do with being on the hard end of a shovel, but it was good money. Al Poindexter my good buddy, and Assistant Coach had worked his way up to the position of "offbearer" which was a little more money, but a lot more dangerous. An "offbearer" stood beside two giant circular saws which cut slabs from three to six feet diameter logs. Sawdust, water, tree juice and splinters flew everywhere. Slabs weighing sometimes a much as a man fell from the logs, which the offbearer must direct in one of the various manners to the conveyor belt and thus on to the burner where all slabs, and sawdust was burned. The offbearer not only directed the slabs aright, but also had the responsibility, of pushing the correct button to direct the "cants" (which were the final product of the sawmill) to the cranes to be stacked ready for shipping to Japan.
It amazed me that anyone would want to do a job so intense and risky of death and injury. Al did a good job at it, until one day a giant slab fell right on him. He twisted his leg and in other ways was injured so that he needed to be sent by plane to the hospital in Homer.
The boss looked around saw me and said "You, your the new offbearer. This button kicks the cants off to the right, this one to the left. This button puts up the stop to keep the logs from going off into the conveyor. Understand?"
"I understood what he said, but I was not sure that I had been properly inserviced to this position, so I answered, "Uh huh."
"If you get in trouble pound on the saw cage and the sawyer will stop sawing. OK?"
Now that, I understood. I knew I could be all right if I had that kind of a safety valve. "OK," I answered and we were off sawing logs again. My initial fear of the dangerous conditions I was working under did not lessen. Soon a slab jam in the conveyor belt made it impossible to get rid of any more slabs.
I pounded on the saw cage and went to help Craig Poindexter, Al's brother un-jam the slabs. We were busily working when to our horror the sawyer dumped a cant on the rollers. No one had told me how to turn the rollers off or to keep the stop up whenever I was not at my position, so the cant rolled out and fell, all three thousand lbs., on Craig. The end of this big log landed right on Craig's leg, breaking it and trapping him in the conveyor. The conveyor began caring the cant and Craig up to be dumped into the fiery burner. I had not been told how to turn anything off, but I knew where the "off" buttons were. I leaped across the moving roller and hit every off button I could find in hopes I would turn off the conveyor. I did hit the right button and at the same time attracted a lot of attention, since I had turned off the entire mill. I hurried back to Craig. He was screaming in pain. The end of the log was crushing his leg. Vern was already there trying to figure out how to get the 3000 lb. log off Craig.
I was so scared, spurred on by the screams of agony and my own guilt, I grabbed the end of the 3 foot diameter green spruce log and lifted. It never entered my head that to lift that much weight was impossible. Up came the end of the log.
"Get him out of there," I yelled. Vern pulled Craig out. When Craig was free I set the log down and picked him up in my arms and carried him down the conveyor.
Craig screamed between sobs, "Look at my leg; it's broke!! I'll never be able to run again." Craig was one of the premier high school runners in the state. His leg looked like a limp noodle. He must have broken it pretty bad, because there was no stiffness in any of it.
"You'll run again," I said. "I've broken both of these arms and I'm carrying you in them."
With that statement Craig settled right down and took the rest of the ordeal stoically. The plane that took Al over to Homer, turned right around to pick up Craig.
It was the next day before I realized that I had done the impossible. I'd heard about little old ladies who had lifted up cars in times of stress. I know now what that's like. I got that burst of energy from just plain fear. I thought sure the whole situation was my fault and I felt at that moment that I had to do something about it. It was just one of those crazy once in a lifetime things.
The mill workers and loggers in camp somehow thought different. They called me "Mr. Wolfe" from that point on. I felt like I was back at school. Also Bill, the sawyer, didn't tell quite so many dirty jokes around me.
Both Al and Craig recovered fully and Craig continued to be a great runner. I was so glad Al came back two weeks later. I got used to the constant terror of the offbearer position. I didn't get used to the fact that the water used to keep the saws cool kept my hands wet constantly, and I hated touching anything with water wrinkled hands.
Chapter 15
Moving logs to Japan from Alaska was quite an undertaking. After the logs were run through the mill the logs were put in bundles; then in a raft of bundles was anchored in the bay. When enough logs were prepared, a ship would anchor just outside Jackalof Bay and rafts of logs would be towed up to the ship. The ship's cranes would lift the bundles to be stored in and on the ship.
When a log ship came in all work at the mill shut down. Mill workers and some of the loggers were needed as workers to load the ship. There was always a air of excitement about a ship coming in. I didn't really know what the excitement was all about, but I could feel it from everyone. There was a quickness in their voice when they talked about the ship coming in. Nearly all the stories about the mill and workers that used to work there etc. seemed to be centered on when the "ship came in."
When the ship finally did come in I saw why there was so much excitement . It was the rodeo of the ocean. There is something deep down inside most men that makes them enjoy something just a little independent, just a little harder than usual and with just enough excitement in it--excitement like barely dodging opportunities for death and being maimed. Loading a log ship was all of that and spiced with opportunities to help and/or see some of your fellow workers get wet.
The mill workers and loggers were not enough people to load the log ship so longshoreman from various places in the State and various other hardy part time workers would be flown in for the week of loading the ship. Everyone got a bit more pay and bonuses for getting loaded quickly, but the best part of loading the ship was that they brought to camp Leroy Long and his wife to cook that week.
And what cooks they were. Every morning, we had our choice of oatmeal with honey and cinnamon, pancakes of every style, french toast with side orders of bacon, eggs, sausage and my favorite biscuits and gravy with big chunks of ham. Every homemade pastry was fresh and hot right out of the oven, and gallons of milk, apple juice and orange juice. All you could eat was the order of the day. We packed big lunches for there was everything you needed for great lunches. And then at night there was always a great meal, like pork chops with lots of gravy, rice and several vegetables. Wednesday night was steak night with great Alaska baked potatoes, smothered in butter and sour cream. And of course fresh salad that I usually smothered in thousand island dressing. Of course every night was great and for desert-- pies: pumpkin, coconut cream, blueberry, apple all freshly baked that day. The desert was left out on the serving table until about midnight for everyone to come back for a snack. When the ship came in, the food Leroy and his wife cooked was worth getting excited for.
Working the ship was an exciting affair. You got up in time to catch the transport barge that ferried you out to the ship. Once on the ship the crew was divided into two crews, the ship workers and the raft workers. The raft workers were the most prestigious workers. Wearing heavy clog boots they would climb down the rope ladder from deck of the ship sometimes 50 ft. to their work on the log rafts. They stayed on the rafts all day except at breaks and lunch. The raft men usually climbed the ladder to the deck at break time, but just to show off. They had races up and down. Some climbed up the ladder with no feet just to be macho. Everyone wanted to be on the rafts except those of us that weren't that good at climbing up and down ropes. Raft work also gave those that worked there the opportunity to slip off the logs and get wet which was all kinds of fun in the 40 degree F. water of Kachemak Bay. A dip in the ocean in Alaska is all kinds of fun for everyone else that sees it. They get a great kick out of laughing at them. Even when we couldn't see the raft men it was no more than 10 seconds after someone fell in that through the gossip line everyone on the ship knew about it.
Occasionally there were a few guys on a hot day that would purposely take a dip, but they had to be strange. That temperature water usually causes hypothermia in about 4 minutes. Once Pete, a hippie from Seldovia, dived several times 70 ft. off the crows nest into the water of course everyone said he was on marijuana when he did it.
The mode of operation went like this. The crane operator would lower two cables to the raft men who would take the cable end in one hand, the hook in another and then loop the cable under and around a bundle of logs. Then they would step onto another bundle and wait for the crane to haul the bundle out of the water to the hold of the ship. The workers on the ship unhooked the bundles. The work in the hold didn't sound dangerous, but in fact it was the most dangerous. The bundles of wood were lowered by the crane and placed in the hold. The hold men had to keep out of the way of the swinging bundle. This was not especially hard in good weather, but when the weather turned foul so did the lives of the hold men. The ship swayed back and forth making footing unstable. The slings from the crane also swayed which started a wave action that traveled down the sling and terminated at the bundle. The whipping motion on the bundle made it impossible to know where the bundle was going to be at any given time. It was only the skill of the crane operator that kept the hold men form becoming red stains on the side of the hold. There were just no places to hide from those bundles in the hold of the ship.
Once the bundles was in the right place and unhooked the next dangerous situation came. To pull the cables out from under the logs, the wench had to strain until the end knob was pulled free. The end of each cable always popped out so hard that the twenty pound nubs at the end of cable snaked all over the hold. Us hold men soon learned to find some hiding place from those unpredictable snakes. If either one of them hit a man hard it would inflict serious damage maybe death. Sometimes you'd swear they were alive and would even follow you right into your hole. A few hold men got hurt , but very few and we just kept loading logs.
It still amazes me that the more of those floating logs you put in the ship the deeper the ship sank. Floating logs should make the ship float better, but they sink it. I know there's some physics principle that explains it, and I think I had someone explain it to me once, but it's still amazing to me.
As I mentioned before as long as the weather was nice things went usually great, but when the weather was bad then everything was bad. The boat began rocking so that about half the crew started getting sick. When the crane operators or "wench men" as they were called, were sick they had to keep working, but they didn't care nearly as much about the hold men. Some of the hold men were so sick they didn't care that the wench men didn't care. Down in the hold there was not even a good place to throw up.
At the end of the bad weather day, everyone was so glad to see the ferry boat coming to get us, there were cheers everywhere. The bad weather was not done with us however. One night the waves were pitching everything around so that we couldn't get the ramp close to the ferry. The raft men finally came to our rescue by deciding to climb down the rope ladder running across the log raft to meet the ferry. That was a little dangerous to say the least with logs pitching everywhere, but when a few made it, everyone was over the side of the ship and running toward the ferry. No one wanted to be another minute on that ship, and land was only a half hour away. Miraculously everyone made it safely.
Weather conspired against us that night again. The waves were crashing so hard against the beach that the landing craft ferry couldn't get close to the beach. After cruising off beach for a least an hour all of us even more sick, finally some logger on the beach fired up a D-9 Caterpillar and drove it out in the waves as far as he could and ferried us, eight at a time back and forth from ferry to beach. Eight people is all that can hang on to the cabin of a D-9 Cat. We know; we tried to get more. Somehow we all made it safely to the beach, and I think all of us kissed the solid ground. A funny thing about sea sickness. When you get back on solid ground, it's gone. All of us sick guys in the 100 yard walk to the mess hall just got hungry as all heck for Ross's beef stew and biscuits, and we all ate a healthy bit of them that night.
Friday night we had fresh halibut. Leroy had done it right. He had deep fried it in his own special batter with a side dish of the best homemade tartar sauce. Halibut is the best fish in the world. I know a lot of Southern catfish lovers and English cod lovers would like to argue with me, but they wouldn't argue long if I could have given them a taste of fresh Kachemak Bay Halibut cooked by Leroy Lewis.
After I ate my third helping and let out my belt the second time, it was time to feel bad. Not that I'd eaten so much that was worth it. It was time to feel bad toward Floyd, our boss.
The reason we had fresh halibut at camp began a week earlier. Sonny and Vern came to me one day after work.
"Steve would you like to go halibut fishing with us?" Sonny said.
They knew that they had me hooked with that question. Since coming over to Jackalof Bay I'd caught the fishing fever that my dad always had. There were salmon everywhere over here. It didn't take a lot of patience to catch one and it was a whole lot of fun tying into a 10-20 lb. fish that fought you tell your arms were tired. I couldn't get enough. I was fishing until 1:00 a.m. after work and at breaks in work, I'd cast a few in the surf. I had so many salmon I didn't know what to do with them tell Leroy showed me how to smoke them. But I'd never fished for halibut, however I was game.
"Yeh. When?" I was ready to go then.
"Well," said Vern, "Were going to set a skate out in the mouth of Jackalof tonight if you want to come along. We have the skate and the bait. Were going after dinner and if you help us we'll share the catch."
"That sounds great to me. I'd love to go. Thanks." Something in the back of my mind said "look out, something's going on." These guys were fellow workers and could be considered friends, but it was unusual for them to ask me along on any of their activities.
After dinner we walked down to the beach to the boat and then I saw why I'd been invited. It was a row boat. I doubt Vern, had strength enough to lift one oar out of the water let alone two and Sonny liked his beer and his belly was as rotund as his bald head just bigger. He was certainly strong enough to row, but his strength was not in the endurance category.
We loaded up and I took the position, I knew I was supposed to and began rowing. Vern and Sonny were really friendly and except for the tediousness of rowing across Jackalof Bay for an hour it was pleasant.
In summer the sun goes down for a couple hours, but it doesn't get dark, it's just twilight all the evening. That summer evening, out on the water, listening to friends chat away, hearing the gentle slap, slap, swoosh of the water against the boat was rather a nice experience. On I rowed as Vern and Sonny discussed the best place to put out the skate, and gave me directions where to row.
A halibut skate is a series of hooks tied to stout line, baited, anchor at one end and tied to a buoy at the other. The hooks generally stay on the bottom where the halibut feed. The skate is left out for a period of time and then retrieved with any fish the skate has caught.
We found a place that Vern felt was just right. Vern was pretty smart about things like that so Sonny agreed. We tossed out the big rock that was the skate anchor, tied off the buoy and headed for home. I rowed for another hour as Sonny and Vern finished the six pack they bought out and everyone had a good time. I convinced myself that I liked to work that hard and that it was good for me on the way back, but I sure wasn't looking forward to rowing back out to check the line.
Saturday Floyd, the boss, pulled into camp with his 18 ft. motor boat because a ship was coming in that day and he had to be there to oversee the anchoring. Like most bosses, everyone could have done everything without him, but we always let him tell us what to do so he'd feel important.
Sonny was quick to see the advantage of the motor boat though. He quickly ask Floyd if he'd check our halibut skate when he went out to meet ship. Floyd was a little reluctant, but agreed to do so.
That night just about supper time, Floyd came in with his boat just a hooping and hollering.
"One-hundred and thirty pounds." he yelled. We ran to the dock, and sure enough he had a big fish. The biggest I'd ever seen in my life to that point.
"I weighed it on the ship, and if you think this is big, you should have seen the other two 156 lbs. and 202 lbs. The Japs on the ship were excited when I gave them those fish."
"What?" I blurted out. Vern kicked me right in the back of the leg. I shut up, but was a bit perturbed, Floyd would steal our fish and give them away without asking.
Sonny and Vern accepted their fish with grim faces and Floyd didn't notice they were not nearly as happy about the situation as he was. We hauled the fish up to the cook shack and the cook put it in the freezer for us. We decided we'd share it with the camp. Then Vern said: "Sorry I kicked you, but Floyd would have just fired you if you called him on that. He's like that." Vern added a few choice explicatives about the boss and continued:
"He was just brown nosing with the Jap bosses on the ship and he didn't give a damn whose fish he did it with."
We rowed out a couple more times to the skate and we caught a few fish, but none of them were close to the size that those first three were.
The summer finally ended, I collected my last pay check, and we moved into a new Farm Home financed house that was to be our home for twenty years. We almost tearfully left the "Stinking Hole," well not exactly tearfully.
