The Spirit of Blondin Lives in Wallenda!

This past Friday, June 15th,  the great Wallenda walked across Niagara Falls.

He is the first person to ever walk across Niagara Falls, but there is an exciting and sometimes tainted history of men and women who have challenged Niagara over the years.

In tribute to Wallenda’s feat, I’ m posting a short history of them that I had written a year ago.

Sit back and Enjoy the trip! 

   Ahhh –  Niagara, nature’s majestic triumph,

                                                             God’s glorious gift to humanity,                                                                                                              

Home of those….

CRAZY MEN AND WOMEN IN TIGHTS!

For strange – unknown reasons, NIAGARA has been (and remains) a mystic magnet, pulling in people who have thoughts of fame and fortune or just plain weird and crazy thoughts about becoming a part of the drama of the mighty cataracts – and some fulfill their dream and remain forever in Niagara’s lore (and depths).

“The pictures we liked the best (meaning those we argued the most about) were of those daredevils who’d done those bad-ass tricks and stunts over the Falls. While those pictures were exciting, they made us feel cheated as well, because the cops didn’t let anyone do cool things like that anymore.” Kevin; ‘Journeys Across Niagara‘

Beginning in 1827 (see “the ‘Pirate’ ship, the buffalo and the loss of innocence”) and right up to the present, people have challenged Niagara.  Whether it’s the surging brink itself, the powerful whirlpool, the steep walls of the gorge above or the raging rapids below – there’s been a steady stream of human fodder offering themselves to the water god in exchange for a moment of glory. Cowabunga!! 

The age of the Niagara stuntmen had begun!

And Niagara would never be the same again as men attempted to shrink Niagara to mere background to their feats of daring and danger. But did they? Since 1827 there are at least 81 documented ‘Niagara Daredevils’ with hundreds of individual feats of bravery – valor or sheer stupidityy, since that time. Have they demeaned and shrunk Niagara?

Let’s take a look at a few of them:

The Jumper

When the mighty ‘pirate’ ship “Michigan” was sent to its destruction over the Horseshoe Falls in 1827, standing in the crowds was a diminutive, young man of 20, named Sam Patch.  Sam was intrigued by the thousands of people come out to witness the massacre of the ‘animal‘ crew and he shaped his destiny to become Niagara’s first stuntman.

On the 17th of October, two years following the ‘Michigan’s‘ destruction, the 22 year old jumped off a platform, 130 feet high, set up below Goat Island, into the base of the Horseshoe Falls.

He survived. (Too bad, if he would have failed perhaps it all would have stopped there and then - not!)

Having to make the same decision all men face (to work for a living or not) Ol’ Sam chose the ‘not‘ and toured the country with his hand out. The cyber-age having not arrived yet, there was a shortage of digital cameras, websites, and IMAX screens, leaving him with only his mouth to promote the mighty leap. In 1829, most people didn’t know what Niagara Falls was yet (actually Niagara wasn’t labeled yet but was the ‘great falls by the City of Falls‘, now there’s some great imagination at work).

Just a month after his jump into Niagara, on November 6, 1829 he attempted a shorter jump of 100 feet from the Genesee Falls in Rochester, New York.

He died.

The Swimmers

Of course there’s the ‘Hermit of Niagara’ - but that’s another story for another day. He wasn’t a daredevil – he was just crazy is all. Let’s jump to…

…Captain Matthew Web - the first person to swim across the English Channel in 1875. Oh, how the English press raved! He could swim anything, anywhere, anytime. Niagara? Phefff – what’s a Niagara?

Born in Shropshire, England in 1848, he was the recipient of a gold medal from the Royal Humane Society of Great Britain for jumping off the steamer “Russia” to save a sailor who had been washed over board.

Webb came to Niagara Falls during the Summer of 1883 boasting to challenge the Niagara River. He had been promised a $2,000 reward if he swam the Niagara River Whirlpool Rapids.

On July 24, 1883 he was rowed from the Maid of the Mist landing and he slipped into the water downstream from the thunderous Falls to begin his swim through the Whirlpool Rapids. He made mighty strokes and showed the form that conquered the English Channel as he swam through the rapids in just two minutes. He truly was a great swimmer.

From there things didn’t go too well. At the vortex of the Whirlpool - he disappeared.

  His body surfaced four days later between Lewiston and Youngstown

The Barrels

“Some of those pictures were of men and women who had gone over the Falls in contraptions they called “barrels” but which usually didn’t look anything like a barrel. Just some old fart standing next to some gizmo called a barrel, staring at the camera with bug eyes in his long underwear like a zombie. Big deal—bo-r-ring.” Kevin; Bridges – a Tale of Niagara

In 1886, Niagara Falls witnessed its first barrel stunt. Carlisle D. Graham, an English cooper (that’s a barrel maker for you generation ‘Xers). Graham had made a five and a half-foot barrel of oaken staves and handmade iron hoops he planned to house himself in for a trip down the rapids.

On Sunday July 11th 1886 Graham began his trip from what is now the Whirlpool Bridge through the great gorge rapids and the whirlpool. Graham stood six feet tall had to stoop over once inside the barrel to allow the water tight lid to be screwed into place (why didn’t he make a six foot barrel?).

The initial trip took 30 minutes. Graham survived but had become extremely ill from the ride.

Carlisle Graham made a second trip on August 19th. Graham survived but sustained serious hearing loss. The next day, James Scott, of Lewiston, New York attempted to swim the rapids and lost his life.

Graham made three more trips through the rapids in a newly designed seven foot long barrel. He nearly suffocated after getting caught in a whirlpool in his last trip.

(those long johns became the rage after his ride – but worn down low – you know “pants on the ground”)

On September 6th 1901, Graham loaned his barrel (was there a waiting line?) to Martha Wagenfuhrer of Buffalo, New York. Miss Wagenfuhrer became the first woman to successfully navigate the rapids and whirlpool alone.

On September 7th 1901, Graham arranged a double performance with friend Maude Willard of Canton, Ohio. Willard would ride the barrel through the rapids to the Whirlpool and then both she and Graham would swim the rest of the way to Lewiston.

Ms. Willard entered the barrel with her pet dog for the journey through the rapids. As the barrel reached the Whirlpool it became stranded for six hours. When recovered, Maude was dead. Her pet dog jumped out of the barrel uninjured. The dog survived the ordeal by putting its nose to the only air hole the barrel had allowing the dog to breathe which resulted in Maude suffocating to death.

(As a side note, in 1886, Carlisle Graham offered $10 to anyone willing to retrieve his barrel from the Whirlpool following his daredevil stunt ride. James Scott accepted the offer. Scott made a practice jump into the water at the Whirlpool. Scott failed to resurface.)

Annie Edison ‘Maude’ Taylor -  Schoolteacher – looking to make some money (teacher salaries were really low back then) had a unique idea to go over the brink of Horseshoe Falls in a barrel.

And so, in October 1901, the 63-year-old school teacher did just that and was the first person to go over the Falls in a barrel (canoes don’t count).

After exiting the barrel, she said, “No one should ever try that again.”

She didn’t and she didn’t make any money neither. While she made some meager dollars posing for photographs and selling pieces of her barrel, her manager took her for everything she owned and left her ‘high and dry’.

Bobby Leach On July 25, 1911, became the second person to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. As he went over he was heard singing, “Anything you can do, I can do better….”

Bobby Leach was a circus stuntman in England. He announced his intention of becoming the first person to complete the “triple challenge” of Niagara: (a triple-dog dare)

1.) making a barrel trip through the rapids to the whirlpool,

2.) parachuting from the Upper Suspension Bridge into the  river upstream of the rapids. (Did they invent parachutes before airplanes?)

3) going over the Great Falls in a barrel.

On July 1st 1908, Leach jumped off the Upper Steel Arch Bridge using a parachute - 1 down.

In 1910, Leach returned to Niagara Falls to ride the barrel through the Great Gorge Rapids to the Whirlpool. Leach had attached an anchor to his barrel (?) but it got stuck in the rocks (duh!) and was cut. Leach’s barrel bounced from rock to rock through the rapids before becoming stuck in an eddy in the Whirlpool. William “Red” Hill Sr. (more about him later) risked his life swimming to Leach’s barrel and dragging it into shore. Leach was removed from the barrel unconscious.

Liking the limelight, ‘Red’ Hill climbed into the barrel and rode it through the lower rapids to Queenston.

During that summer, Leach made the successful trip through the Whirlpool Rapids. - 2 down – 1 to go.

Riding inside an eight foot steel drum, on July 25th 1911, Bobby Leach took eighteen minutes to reach the brink of the Horseshoe Falls before going over. The barrel became stuck in the river at the base of the falls before Fred Bender tied a rope around his waist and swam to the barrel and tied a rope to it. Leach was removed from the drum and rushed to the hospital suffering from two broken knee caps and a broken jaw.

He spent six months in the hospital recovering and then went on a publicity for his mighty deed.

In New Zealand (of all places?) he slipped on an orange peel.

Go figure – he died.

THE TIGHTROPE WALKERS

There seemed a special attraction for watching those daring souls venture across the gorge on a thin wire rope. It was a nonstop stream of ‘rope walkers’ doing crazy things over Niagara.

“The good pictures were of those guys who walked across the gorge on tightrope. Of course, they weren’t ropes at all but wires (why didn’t they call them “tightwires”?), and everyone always said those guys walked across Niagara Falls, but I’d never seen a picture of anyone doing that. It was always the gorge they walked across, away from the Falls. No matter, these guys were amazing. They did everything out there on those wires, suspended over the middle of the gorge with that wild river below them.” Kevin, Journeys Across Niagara

(Well, now we know that’s no longer true – on June 15, 2012 Wallenda ‘tightwired’ across Niagara!  Let’s trace his forerunners.

Jean Francois Gravelot, better know as “The Great Blondin” was the most famous of them all. He was born February 28th 1824 in St. Omer, Pas de Calais in Northern France.

Blondin came to Niagara in early 1858. He was obsessed with crossing the Niagara River on a tightrope and on June 30th 1859, he successfully walked over the river. He utilized a 1,100 foot long – 3 inch diameter manila rope stretched from what is now Prospect Park in Niagara Falls, New York to what is now Oakes Garden in Niagara Falls, Ontario.

During the summer of 1859, Blondin completed eight more crossings. He crossed carrying his manager, Harry Colcord, on his back.

During the summer of 1860, Blondin returned to Niagara for a second successful year of tight rope walking across the Niagara River for hundreds of thousands of sightseers. His acts included pushing a wheelbarrow along as he crossed and cooking breakfast on a stove, lowering it to guests on the Maid of the Mist below.

Thousands jammed the shores and climbed the trees - hoping to see him fall.

He never did.

The crowds actually became despondent and upset with him that he didn’t fall. What’s the matter with him – didn’t he know how to entertain?

Blondin died in 1897 at the age of 73 years.

William Leonard Hunt was born Lockport, New York in 1838. During the early summer of 1860, a young 22 year old Hunt watched intently from the shore of the Niagara Gorge as the Great Blondin made his way across on a wire. Hunt turned to his girlfriend and boasted that he could do that too. She laughed. That night, Hunt gave notice to his employer (his girl friend’s father!) that he was quitting to pursue a career as a rope walker in order to challenge Blondin. His girlfriend immediately broke off their engagement (think daddy had anything to do with that?).

William Hunt changed his name to Signor Guillermo Antonio Farini (couldn’t go wrong now) and he left his home in Port Hope after his father accused him of being a disgrace to his family by becoming a circus performer (“whats the matta for you?”).

He joined the Dan Rice’s floating circus on the Mississippi River and was reunited with his family after buying his father a farm (he made him an offer he couldn’t refuse).

He issued a series of challenges to Blondin but they went unanswered. Blondin was a polished acrobat however ‘Farini’ was a much more powerful performer and a much better businessman. Blondin usually took a collection at the end of each performance while ‘Farini’ marketed and ticketed his performances to ensure financial success.

His first performance at Niagara Falls occurred on August 15th 1860. ‘Farini‘ began the tightrope walk while carrying a balancing pole and an additional coil of rope strapped to his back. When he reached the mid-point he tied the pole to the tightrope and using the coil of rope he carried with him, Farini lowered himself to the deck of the Maid of the Mist boat 200 feet below.

Getting down was relatively easy. On the deck of the boat, he drank a glass of wine before ascending back to the tightrope above. This task was much more demanding than he had anticipated and he was near total exhaustion and nearly fell on several occasions. But he did make it back to the tightrope, and continued to the shoreline. After a brief ten minute rest, he made the return crossing blindfolding and wearing baskets on his feet. He would quickly become known as “The Great Farini”.

Blondin did not try to equal this feat.

In the weeks that followed, Farini matched or surpassed each of Blondin’s performances. He balanced himself on his head, hung from the tightrope by his toes and carried a person across on his back. On September 5th 1860, Farini carried an Irish washer woman across the gorge on his back.

When Blondin took out a stove on the tightrope and cooked an omelette, Farini carried a washtub out on the tightrope and lowered a bucket to the river below for water to wash a dozen handkerchiefs.

Farini had a passion (but still no girlfriend).

Farini performed at Niagara Falls twice each week. Although his acts were more daring and drew larger crowds, he never received the attention and press coverage that Blondin received.

For Farini, tightrope walking was but one of his many interests throughout his life. During his life he was an inventor, an explorer, writer, secret service agent, painter and sculptor. During the American Civil War, Farini was a member of the Secret Service for the Confederate Army.

In 1864, Farini attempted another death defying feat. Wearing a pair of specially made stilts, he waded out into the cascading water just above the American Falls. Farini planned to walk to the brink of the Falls on the stilts but one of the legs got caught in a crevice in the riverbed causing it to break. Farini suffered a badly injured leg but was still able to reach Robinson Island which is nearest the Luna Falls. Here he was rescued. Farini left Niagara Falls defeated, deflated and de-dollared.

The Great Farini retired to Canada in 1899 where he took up the art of oil painting.

William Leonard Hunt, aka: The Great Farini died in January of 1929 at the age of 91 years. The Great Farini was one of the worlds greatest tightrope walkers ever, but to this day remains hidden behind the mystique of Blondin.

And of course – let’s not forget Maria…..

“There was one picture that Chuck didn’t like at all. It was another picture of a daredevil walking on a tightrope, just like the others, but that’s where the similarities ended. Two things made this picture different. First, the daredevil had a wooden bucket on each foot. As unbelievable as this way, it was the second difference that outraged Chuck to no end—the daredevil was a girl.” Kevin, ‘Journeys Across Niagara’

Signorina Maria Spelterini (also spelled as  Spelterina) was a buxom, beautiful woman of Italian descent, famous for wearing outrageous costumes. Her stunts included walking with her feet in baskets and performing wearing shackles and chains.

She was the first woman to ever walk cross the Niagara Gorge (as far as I know, she was the only woman too).

Many of her stunts were done at the age of 23, as part of the celebration of the United States Centennial in 1876. Her final crossing was on July 26th 1876.

Her personal life remains a mystery. The date and place of her death are unknown.

Note in the pictures above that in one she is wearing a hat and in the other she is not – obvious proof that she walked across at least twice with buckets on her feet.

Also note the Suspension Bridge in the background, jammed full of people watching. This is the bridge that ‘Lizzie’ and her ‘mammy’ escaped across to the:

“lan o’ plenty – where the colored man be free.” Mother Moses, ‘Journeys Across Niagara

An exciting, yet relatively unknown feat was done in 1846 involving the famous ‘Maid of the Mist’. The first Maid of the Mist was launched on May 27th 1846 and was not a joy ride but was a ferry, being the only method to cross the border. In 1848, when the first suspension bridge was built, the ferry was no longer required.

What to do? Fold or change?

Change.

The Maid of the Mist ferry boat service became a tourist boat attraction.

And it was so popular, on July 14th 1854, a larger boat, the Maid of the Mist II was launched. It was a single smoke stacked 72 foot long steam propelled paddle wheeler. But alas, in 1861, due to the impending American Civil War, the Maid of the Mist was sold at public auction was sold to a Canadian Company. That is, providing the boat could be delivered to Lake Ontario. The Maid of the Mist would have to be navigated through the Great Gorge Rapids, the Whirlpool and the Lower Rapids prior to delivery.

The thought was mind boggling and terrifying. Who would do it?

On June 6th 1861, 53 year old Captain Joel Robinson along with two deck hands, began the perilous journey. His engineer, James Jones tended the boiler, ensuring maximum power was available. With the shores lined with people come to watch and with a short blast of the whistle, Captain Robinson and crew rode the Maid of the Mist through one of the world’s most wild and dangerous white water rapids.

The first giant wave, threw the men to the deck of the wheel house and ripped the smoke stack from the boat. Engineer Jones was thrown to the floor of the engine room and the boat was now at the mercy of the mountainous waves crashing against and over the tiny boat. Carried by the water at 39 miles per hour through the rock strewn rapids, the Maid was propelled into the Whirlpool. The tranquility of the Whirlpool allowed Captain Robinson to regain control of his boat.

Captain Robinson struggled to break the Maid from the grip of the Whirlpool before challenging the dreaded Devil’s Hole Rapids. The Captain Robinson did the best he could to steer through the channel with his damaged vessel.

Being motivated by a five hundred dollar reward, the Captain and his crew had accomplished something no one had done before and thought impossible. But at a price – the frightening experience caused Captain Robinson to give up a career that he loved. He retired into near seclusion and died two years later at the age of 55 years

Stephen Peer was born in Stamford Township and was 19 years old when Blondin performed his first tight rope walk in Niagara Falls. He signed on to become an assistant to Henry Bellini (another ‘wire walker’) by helping Bellini string the rope across the gorge.

Peer made his first public appearance using Bellini’s equipment but without obtaining Bellini’s consent - not cool.

Bellini tried to stop Peer by trying to cut the rope, with Peer on it.

Bellini was chased out of town.

Peer became famous enough to begin performing under his own billing. But on June 25th 1887, Stephen Peer was found dead laying on the bank of the Niagara river directly below his wire cable. It is speculated that Peer tried an unscheduled night crossing, on a dare, after an evening of drinking.

On May 30th 1930, a crowd estimated at twenty-five thousand lined both sides of the Niagara River to witness a spectacular feat performed by legendary river man “Red” Hill.  Born in Niagara Falls, Ontario, now at the age of 42, Hill was going to fulfil his promise to run the Great Gorge Rapids and the Whirlpool from the docks of the Maid of the Mist.

Hill Sr.’s barrel was of steel construction, six feet long and three feet in diameter with a manhole for entry. There were air holes on the sides of the barrel with were plugged with cork to allow them to be opened in an emergency. It was weighted by a steel keel consisting of a section of railroad track.  The barrel was painted bright red with gold lettering with “William Red Hill, Master Hero of Niagara” inscribed on the sides.

On May 30th 1930, Hill climbed into the barrel and set off on his journey. It took one hour and forty minutes caught in the back eddies before the river released his barrel, allowing it to enter the rapids. In ninety seconds he was through and in the whirlpool, where it became stuck in the vortex. It was three and a half hours before his friends were able to free the barrel so he could resume the journey through the final set of rapids.

He suffered a few minor bruises and the next day went back to work driving a taxi.

This was actually Hill’s second trip through the rapids. His first trip occurred in 1910 using the barrel of Bobby Leach. On Memorial Day 1931, he made a third trip using the barrel of George Strathakis, who had died in the barrel while attempting to go over the Falls.

Red Hill Sr. had officially been credited with saving the lives of twenty-eight persons from drowning. He received more lifesaving awards from the Canadian Government than any man before or since.

Red Hill Sr. was the foremost expert in the knowledge of the rivers treacherous tides, undertows, whirlpool and eddies. He had grown up near the gorge and it was his playground. During his lifetime, Red Hill Sr. recovered the bodies of one hundred and seventy-seven persons who had died from accidents or suicides.

Hill Sr. spent the waning years of his life showing off his barrel and selling pictures of himself in a souvenir store. On May 14th 1942, William Red Hill Sr. at the age of 54 years, died of a heart attack.

William “Red” Hill Jr. felt compelled to fill the shoes of his father.

He had helped on most of his fathers twenty-eight rescues. He helped his father in the recovery of 117 of 177 corpse recovered. On his own Red Hill Jr. pulled another 28 dead bodies from the river. He twice made the strenuous and dangerous swim from the base of the American Falls to the Canadian shore and he twice rode the Great Gorge Rapids and Whirlpool in a barrel.

Red Hill Jr. acquired fame but the fortune eluded him. A month after his second ride, a bailiff seized all of his goods, to include the three famous barrels of the Hill family, for sale at a public auction in order to satisfy his creditors.

On the last Saturday of July 1949, Hill Jr. decided it was time to restore the legend and the financial status and so he challenged the Great Gorge Rapids once again in a torpedo shaped steel barrel. The journey garnered little media coverage and no financial gain and Hill Jr. had to be hauled up the gorge in a basket and hospitalized.

But his dream for a memorial to his father weighed heavily and he planned a ride over the Horseshoe Falls.

Oh, how fickle are the winds of fortune! On August 5th 1951, Red Hill Jr., with no funding, built a cheap ‘barrel’ called “the Thing”. It wasn’t a barrel at all, but rather was a contraption of thirteen large heavy duty inner tubes lashed together with canvas webbing. These were encased in a heavy gauge fish netting.

“The Thing” was launched on the Canadian shoreline approximately three miles upstream from the Horseshoe Falls. With Red Hill Jr. inside, ‘the Thing’  rode through the upper rapids and went over the the Horseshoe falls, was caught under the falls and the pressure of the falling water broke it apart.  It was long minutes before pieces of ‘the Thing’ began to surface. There was no sign of Red Hill Jr. Above the thunder of the Falls, Red Hill Jr.’s mother, wife and children frantically called out for him.

The vigil lasted through the night.

His body was found in the morning near the Maid of the Mist dock.

Following a public outcry over his death, a special order to the directors of the Niagara Parks Commission was issued to arrest anyone who commits an act of stunting upon the properties of the Niagara Parks. Since that day, no permission has been granted to allow any stunting within the park.

But, of course, that didn’t stop them…they continued to evade the police and challenge Niagara, some over the brink, some running the rapids, some …. well, you take a look….

THE KAYAKER!

There’s few pleasures in life as soothing as a quiet ride in a kayak down a peaceful river with the birds chirping and the fish jumping.

This is the last picture of Jessie Sharp, who chose to ride his kayak on the Niagara River on June 5, 1990, without a helmet or a life vest (he didn’t want to hide his face from the cameras).

On June 5th 1990, the 28 year old bachelor from Ocoee, Tennessee and an experienced kayaker, attempted to ride over the Horseshoe Falls in a twelve foot long, thirty-six pound polyethylene kayak. Having planned the trip for three years, he brought a crew to video tape his journey.

He confidently had made dinner reservations at the Queenston Park Restaurant, as his plan had been to continue riding the Niagara rapids after he successfully went over the Falls.

Sharp was never seen again.

His body was never recovered.

THE SKIER!

On October 1st 1995, Robert Overacker, a 39-year-old man from California, went over the Canadian Horseshoe Falls on a single jet ski. Entering the Niagara River near the Canadian Niagara Power Plant, he started skiing toward the Falls. At the brink of the Falls, Overacker  ignited a rocket propelled parachute that was strapped to his back. His plan was that the rocket would quickly deploy the parachute allowing him to safely land in to river below the Horseshoe Falls where he could be rescued. Overacker did ignite the rocket which deployed the parachute as planned. Unfortunately as the parachute deployed it fell away from Overacker to the ground below. Unknown to Overacker the parachute was not tethered to his body. The parachute was not packed by Overacker prior to the stunt and he was unaware of this fatal error. His step-brother and a friend witnessed this unfolding tragedy as Overacker fell to his death to the water below the Falls.

Robert Overacker was married and had no children. Overacker became the fifteenth person since 1901 to challenge the Falls.

He paid with his life. His body was recovered by staff at the Maid of the Mist.

So – what do you think?

From jumpers to barrel riders – from rope walkers to skiers – Niagara Falls has attracted them all for almost 200 years. Officials say that they recover an average of 20 people per year who chose Niagara Falls to commit suicide, but there are those who choose to go over the Falls in the name of adventure or fame or fortune.

The Niagara daredevils of today can’t compare to those of years gone past. The power of the mighty Falls has been sucked dry – bled away from the brink to power the unending thirst for electricity. Technology has removed the gadgetry of the daredevil and replaced it with scientific analysis and design. The odds of failure have been greatly reduced.

Daredevils can be best summarized as persons who wish to take conscious risks with their lives. It’s all a question of odds. Some risks are so great that the odds of survival are so little that they become suicidal in nature.

It may be a thin line between being a ‘daredevil’ and being ‘suicidal’.  The definition of a daredevil is success.  Fail and you’re suicidal – succeed and you’re a daredevil.

The public doesn’t really care – they want to SEE it and hopefully SEE it FAIL! Most spectators come in the anticipation of a deadly outcome. Successful stunts are actually boring.

Want to know more?

‘Google’: ‘Niagara daredevils’ and you’ll find more than enough information and pictures to fill a scrapbook.

or view more pictures at the Historic Niagara Digital Collection

or visit: Niagarafrontier.com  thunder alley  daredevils

or Read: ‘Niagara Daredevils – Chills and Spills over Niagara Falls ’ by Cheryl MacDonald

or go down and have some ‘dare-deviling’ adventure of your own riding the:

Whirlpool Jet Boat!!

Well – there you have it, all the thrills and chills and kills!

Niagara is a wonder – and it has and always will beckon to the daredevil. 

Are you ready?

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

dk Levick

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A ‘River Rat’ and a Raft

Recently, I was asked, “Just what is a river rat, anyway?”

In the fly-leaf of ‘Journeys Across Niagara’, I describe myself as growing up on the Upper Niagara River, as a ‘river rat’—(I didn’t think anyone actually read fly-leafs anymore.)

Well, let’s go to the source for the answer—Wikipedia:

“…a large, herbivorous, semiaquatic rodent and the only member of the family Myocastoridae. Originally native to subtropical and temperate South America, it has since been introduced to North America, Europe, Asia, and Africa, primarily by fur ranchers. Although it is still valued for its fur in some regions, its destructive feeding and burrowing behaviors make this invasive species a pest throughout most of its range. There are two commonly used names in the English language for Myocastor coypus. The name “nutria” (or local derivatives such as “nutria- or nutra- rat”) is generally used in North America… In Italy the popular name is “nutria”, but it is also called castorino (“little beaver”), by which its fur is known.”

Quoting from Elvira Woodruff, The Christmas Doll (2000):

“To her horror, she discovered that the rope she was holding was not a rope at all, but a tail. And attached to the tail was a large river rat that scrambled frantically in midair, thrashing to get away.”

Whoa – let’s just wait a minute there fella– ‘a large rodent’?– ‘an invasive pest’? - that ain’t a gonna do it.  ’A semiaquatic rat’ called “little beaver”?   That’s not what I want on my tombstone. What do they know?  Who reads the lousy Wikipedia anyway? And,we all know how shallow internet research is, — don’t we? (see ‘Research-the Writer’s Mantra’).

Let’s check another source – one that understands real people. How about the Urban Dictionary?

 “Someone who either lives or represents El Rio, California. Usually low life wannabe gangsters who frequent Wal-Mart stores and attempt to steal sh_ _ only to be caught and think they are bad ass mofos. They start fights only to run away from it.”

Say what? I’m either a hairy wet rodent or a Wal-Mart wannabe gangsta?

Well—how much can a dictionary that calls itself ‘urban’ know anyway? Bet they never even seen a real river.

Ok – let’s go to the master book of definitions itself – Webster’s Merriam Dictionary.

Nothing. No entry – it’s not in the dictionary.

They’re kidding right? Now, I don’t even exist? Wait – here’s something in the Expanded Webster Merriam (so, I do exist – I’m just rare):

“…one who spends his leisure time on or along a river.”

Ok, that’s getting closer, but, it’s rather bland, isn’t it?

Wait a minute…what do we have here? This looks more like it:

“Trademark Search > Trademark Category > Clothing Products > WHAT IS A RIVER RAT? DEFINITION OF A RIVER RAT (RI-VER RAT) N. Mammal, Unique and rare breed. Thrives best on or near water. Usually travels in groups, but may be spotted alone. Capable of consuming mass quantities of adult beverages. Peaceful by nature, respects others, loves life. Heavily concentrated in Louisiana, but can be found worldwide. WARNING: APPROACH WITH CAUTION IF PROVOKED.” Legal Source

Now we’re getting somewhere, or as Betty Bryant wrote in ‘Here Comes the Showboat!’ (1994):

“While other children were learning how to walk, I was learning how to swim, and I knew how to set a trotline, gig a frog, catch a crawfish, and strip the mud vein out of a carp by the time I was four. Dad called me a river rat.”

That a girl, Betty! Ride that boat!

Being a ‘rat’ on the Niagara River (actually it’s not a river at all, but a ‘strait’, see ‘The Niagara River – a Wonder of Creation’) I wasn’t in wonder of the mighty Niagara Falls, located downriver. I feared it greatly, viewing it as a threat—as the ultimate and final judgment for my escapades.  More than once, I found myself fighting to escape the swift current, carrying me to that huge, misty cloud ahead, as various capers went astray. Rather than captivating me, like it did the crowds of  ’ohhing‘ and ‘ahhing‘ tourists, it scared the living daylights out of me. I’d look downriver and loath that huge cloud on the horizon, knowing that while I tinkered and toyed along the length of the river, it was always there, beckoning and calling to me with open arms to enter its eternal embrace.

Not that I ever did anything stupid, you understand. Things just seemed to happen for no reason of my own. It was the ‘river gods’. They were out to get me. It’s true. I’ll give you an example and you’ll see what I mean. How about an ordinary Bass fishing trip?

Navy Island is a small island that sits off of Grand Island, in the middle of the Niagara River, just a short distance above the brink of the mighty Niagara Falls.

The current along the island is fast, around 8 to 12 miles per hour, picking up speed as it approaches the abyss ahead. It’s also home to one of the best Smallmouth Bass drifts in the entire river (some great Musky fishing too). Get in a boat, shoot to the upper tip of the island, put the motor in neutral and drift the length of the island and you’ll tangle with some of the most beautiful three to five-pound smallies anywhere.  Great fishing – if you have a boat, but make sure your motor is running  - you wouldn’t want to stall here! The picture below shows the downriver end of Grand Island, with Navy Island off to the left and the Falls above it.)

Well, at the time of this fishing trip, I was 16 years wise and did, in fact, have a small, 12 foot aluminum Jon boat with an old, beat up 18 horse outboard on it. It was dinged up pretty bad and wasn’t much as far as boats on the Niagara go, but it worked, and to me it was the Queen Mary luxury liner. Unfortunately, at that time, it was sitting on the bottom of Lake Erie at a place called Sturgeon Point, after a Coast Guard Officer emptied a full clip of .45 hollow point bullets into it (but that’s another story).

Meanwhile, it was the peak of the Smallmouth bite and I was determined not to be left out. I managed to get possession of a 10 foot inflatable rubber raft that had a 3 ½ HP motor on it, a friend used on a small, inland lake. I tested it out – the raft didn’t leak and the motor ran good – so I was going bass fishing.

At daybreak, on the shore of Grand Island, I pumped up the raft with a foot pump, fastened the motor to the mount, loaded up all my gear, and pushed off for Navy Island. It was slow going, cutting across the swift current, to cover the  half mile to the upper tip of Navy Island, but I finally made it and was elated and feeling quite pleased with myself that I was going to get in on the fishing. I cast out a chartreuse Mister Twister, topped off with a live crawfish, and got ready for the action as I started the first drift.

It didn’t happen.

Unless I was trolling for birds, the drift was too fast for the lure to sink as it skipped across the surface. I put on a half ounce drop sinker—no go. One ounce – no good. Two ounces – still not working. The inflated raft, riding on top of the surface, having no hull friction below the waterline, skimmed across the surface – like a surfboard catching a wave at Maui. By now, I’d drifted down to the end of the island and it was time to motor back up to start another drift. Those 3 ½ horses barely moved me against the current, but after enough time to read “Crime and Punishment” a couple of times through, I arrived back at the head of the Island, ready for another drift, and – I had a plan. The slow journey back up the river had given me plenty of time to figure out a solution. I untied the anchor rope from the five-pound mushroom anchor, and strung the rope through the hole of the anchor. I then tied one end of the rope to one side of the back of the raft and the other end to the opposite side, with the anchor riding free in the middle. Ready to start the drift, I tossed the anchor overboard. It quickly sunk and I could feel it bouncing along the bottom of the river as the raft drifted.

It worked great! The dragging anchor slowed the raft down to enable the perfect drift, and if the smallies cooperated, it was going to be a great fishing day!

I had boated (rafted?) a nice three-pounder and was setting the hook on a second one, when all hell broke loose. The anchor snagged the bottom of the river and didn’t bounce – but held fast.  With the raft anchored firm on the river’s bottom while being pushed hard by the current on the river’s surface, the ten-foot raft instantly became a five-foot raft as it buckled in the middle, with the back half going completely underwater – motor and all.With half the raft underwater, and the river claiming the rest, inch by inch, everything that was in – went out – into the river and either sunk or floated, carried off by the current. Tackle box, rods, lunch – everything. When the bait box of crawfish went down, I had a fleeting thought of seeing the largest smallie in Niagara inhaling it and flipping me a “Thank you” with a smirk on its face.

But I was losing the raft fast. In a panic, I began sawing through the anchor rope with my pocket knife. When the last strand finally let go, the back of the raft popped up out of the water, like a jack-in-the-box. Whew—tragedy averted! Everything was gone, but the motor was still mounted on the back of the raft. Thank God!

Yanking on the starter cord, it didn’t start. Again – nothing; and again—and again. Nothing. Not a purr. Not a putt. Not a cough. Water ran out of the housing. Looking around, no boats were anywhere in sight. The shore of Navy Island was only about 70 feet away, but the raft was surfing by it and would soon be past the Island. Again I panicked—once past the Island, there was nothing between me and those thundering cataracts downriver. Looking ahead, I could see that ominous cloud on the horizon and I swear it was grinning.

Holding the rope in one hand, I dove into the river and began swimming for Navy Island. I knew if I didn’t reach the shore before the current carried me past the Island, I’d be fish food. I swam as hard as I could. But swim like I did, I was losing ground. The raft was flying with the current – and was taking me with it. I let go of the rope and swam like the devil for the island (believe me, the devil can swim).

Nothing in my life ever felt as good as when I felt ground under my feet as I was about to past the end of the island.

Pulling myself onto the shore, I sat there, watching the raft skimming along the surface, until I couldn’t see it any more.  After fulfilling my need to scream and kick a bunch of trees and rocks, I started waving and hollering for help. Finally, another fisherman came along (having a real boat), who gave me a ride back to Grand Island.

I never did know what happened to the raft.

So you see, it wasn’t anything on my part that caused me to fear and dislike the Falls – it was those river gods that didn’t like me and were out to get me. You can see that—right?

Later in life, I made amends with the Falls. Upon going down into the gorge below the cataracts, I was in wonder of the great canyon, the awesome rapids and the lush beauty of this glorious place that was right under my nose all these years. I was consumed by the mystery of it. I realized Niagara was actually two rivers, the “Upper” and the “Lower” Niagara, and they were as different as night is from day. One is an open faucet, emptying the ‘Great Lakes’, with a roar and thunder in a cloud of mist. The other is a living monument, craving across the earth, leaving a trail of beauty and attitude.

Much has been written about Niagara over the years, most about the mighty cataracts—little about the Niagara Gorge. This is truly amazing, when one considers the beauty, the challenge and the extensive, exciting history that engulfs the lower river  .          

Regardless of where on Niagara – Upper, Lower or the Cataracts themselves, my heart resides in the River, watching—listening to the “water”. When the time comes for me to depart this life, my ashes will finally fold into those beckoning arms of Niagara, and like the ‘Hermit of Niagara’, I’ll be ‘one with the water‘…

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

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You Be The Judge

The day dawned in shadows, with a chilling bite, but the air sizzled with anticipation.

An exhilarated populace began gathering on the streets outside the Federal Hall building. Excitement rippled through the crowd, as both, the passion and the history of the moment was felt by all. Numbering over 10,000, they came from different nationalities, cultures, religious beliefs, economies and walks of life. But even with the many differences, there was unity. They were freedom fighters–war-weary and battle-scarred, bloodied—but unbowed. Their cities had been leveled, their homes had been burnt, their families defiled and murdered. They had fought the greatest nation in the world; a nation so strong and vast that it was said “the sun never set” on its empire – and they had been triumphant.

It was April 30, 1789 and they were revolutionaries and founders of a new experiment in government.

Great Britain was the most powerful nation on the face of the globe, having colonized the majority of the known world. She had the mightiest of armies and strongest of navies with which to defend, expand and enforce her influence.

The Colonies were not united, and argued and bickered among themselves. They were independent and separate from one another. They had no army, no navy, no defenses and no organization. Only some scattered, independent and largely ineffective militias calling themselves ‘soldiers’. They were economically weak from over taxation, and were not in agreement as to independence and breaking free of Great Britain. They haggled constantly, debated everything and only reluctantly reached agreements. They withheld monies, muskets and men to support the revolution and resisted attempts as unified leadership. During the long struggle, many ‘Tories’ gave supplies, support and information to the enemy. Many more, just plain weren’t interested, being too busy with their own struggles to survive or too afraid or just too apathetic to the cause.

George Washington was chosen, amongst bickering and dissent, to be the Commander-in-Chief of the Colonies forces—a collection of rag-tied, farmers and merchants carrying squirrel muskets and tomahawks, going up against the best equipped, battle-hardened soldiers in the world, solidly entrenched in well positioned and defended forts and harbors. Greatly outnumbered, and his ‘army’ lacking discipline, organization, logistics and equipment, those who didn’t undermine him, thought him a fool even to attempt to command such a rabble. Under any wisps of wisdom and or thoughts of knowledge, the revolution should have failed miserably.

But, George Washington was a godly man, believing in the power and providence of God.  The images of the general kneeling in the snow-covered woods of Valley Forge to pray were real. He believed in Divine intervention and in Divine providence, and his men often found him on his knees, praying. He believed God would lead them to victory, and he relied upon the Almighty and on his strong belief in Divine Guidance.

From such a foundation, he led his army, overcoming shortages of supplies, men, and weapons. Outmanned, out maneuvered, out gunned; lacking experienced fighting men and leaders; fighting internal politics and traitors; he forged an army of dedicated, competent freedom-fighters and made those around him believe they could win. He made no apologies for his army—his strategies—or his reliance on prayer and the Almighty.

And he would not fail.

After enduring many setbacks and reversals, he led this army of farmers and merchants to victory, defeating the strongest military power in the world—and thereby establishing the roots and beginnings of a new nation that was to become the greatest nation the world had ever seen.

Now, in 1789, after months of work, debate and argument, a constitution had been written and a president had been unanimously elected as the leader of the emerging nation.

The people gathered now, on this cool April day, to witness their dream be born.

A tall, distinguished-looking, solemn man walked onto the second floor balcony. He wore a modest, broadcloth suit with tails, high silk stockings; silver shoe buckles and carried a ceremonial sword girded about him. Placing his hand on the open Bible from St. John’s Masonic Lodge #1, he gave his oath to “…preserve and protect…” the new nation and amid thunderous applause, booming gun salvos and ringing church bells—George Washington became the first President of the United States of America.

Following the oath, the new President bent his 6’3” frame, kissed the Bible, waved to the crowds and went down to the first floor of the Senate Chambers, to deliver his inaugural address.  Observers noted that he fidgeted, was uneasy, and looked as though he would prefer to be back in Valley Forge in the winter of ‘77 rather than making this address. Senator William Maclay of Pennsylvania observed that the new president trembled when he faced the assembled representatives and senators. “This great man was agitated and embarrassed,” Maclay added, “more than ever he was by the leveled Cannon or pointed Musket.”

Of course, the President’s inauguration took place in the nation’s capital.

Fast forward to September 11, 2001.

Yes, to that fateful day in America’s history when America was attacked and our ‘wall’ was breached. Everyone knows what happened, and the pictures of the World Trade Towers collapsing and of a commercial jetliner imploding into the Pentagon are forever burned in our consciousness and memories. We know the story of Flight 93, headed on a mission of death to slam the Capital Building or the White House, only to be permanently detoured off course by those having the courage and bravery consistent with that of the founding fathers.

On that terrible September morning, a small church in New York City, St. Paul’s Chapel stood in the very shadow of the World Trade Center towers. When the towers collapsed, with those massive waves of devastation, spewing thousands of tons of steel, cement and stone, transformed into shrapnel, they destroyed everything, large and small, new and old, strong and robust, within blocks of Manhattan—and the small church was doomed and would certainly be demolished.

After long minutes, as the debris began to settle and the smoke from the ruins swirled upwards into the heavens like unholy incense, from out of the haze and thick clouds of dust—a steeple materialized. St Paul’s Chapel, covered in layers of ash, paper, stone and debris, stood undamaged—the only building so.

People were in disbelief. Some called it a miracle; some called it a coincidence; no one could explain it.  It was a complete impossibility for the 235 year old, stone church to have survived—without so much as a crack, a fallen stone or a shingle from off its roof. Some theorized the Sycamore tree in the line of fire, intercepted an ‘I-beam’ aimed directly at the small chapel, and was uprooted to fall and cover the chapel, deflecting the falling debris around it. A tree? A coincidence? A miracle?

Built, in 1766, on a field outside of the city proper, the Georgian-Revival style building was a satellite of St. Trinity’s church, located inside the city. It was built to provide a place of worship for persons living some distance away from the main parish church.

That field is Ground Zero and despite standing directly across from the World Trade Center site, the little stone chapel, not only survived the attacks, but was undamaged!

It became a rallying place of refuge and hope for the people. It provided a staging area for the rescue workers, giving comfort, rest and relief to the hundreds of volunteers, firefighters, police, and recovery workers. Volunteers manned the chapel, providing clothing, food and rest for the workers long shifts, mending torn hands and feet as the search continued searching and clearing the massive rubble for survivors and victims. It became a temporary headquarters and served up spiritual as well as physical comfort. A podiatry station was established, with medical personnel and volunteers offering massages and care of bloody and bruised feet. The pews were filled with exhausted workers sprawled everywhere, needing sleep and rest. It offered support and love to a shattered city, during its worst nightmare. Many called out to the Almighty there, seeking answers to their many questions and comfort to their fears and anguish.

Above the altar, the Hebrew Tetragrammatons’ is engraved:  “YHWH”—Jehovah.

The outside of the chapel became a magnet for survivors and family members, as they attached hundreds and hundreds of photos of missing persons and messages of love and hope on the fence of the church. Numerous funerals, for the fallen, were held in the church, and people sought solace and understanding in their grief. The little stone chapel stood as a beacon of hope and faith—in the midst of chaos and catastrophe and today it stills stands as a memorial to that infamous day of awakening in America.

But, is that all to the story? A miracle or coincidence of a small stone chapel surviving the breaching of America’s ‘wall’?

On April 30, 1789, George Washington, the founding father of America, was sworn in as the first president of the United States, in the capital city of the new nation.

In Washington, DC?

No, this was 1789, and there wasn’t any Washington, DC yet.

The Nation’s first chief executive took his oath of office on the balcony of the Senate Chamber inside of Federal Hall on Wall Street, in New York City.

He then gave his inaugural address before a joint session of the 1st United States Congress assembled on the 1^st floor of the Senate Chamber.

After concluding his remarks, a day of prayer for the new nation was declared, and the President, along with the Vice President, the 1^st Congressional Representatives and members and local political leaders, walked through the cheering crowds, lining Broadway Street, to a small chapel, where they prayed and thanked the Almighty for delivering and establishing their new nation. There, the first act of the new government was to pray for the future of America.

The ground is consecrated ground and the small stone chapel was—St. Paul’s Chapel.

Yes, the same St. Paul’s Chapel that withstood the onslaught of attack and was a beacon of hope to America. The very same ground that was consecrated at the founding of our nation—where the founding fathers prayed for Devine guidance and blessings—where George Washington knelt in prayer and supplication to the Almighty for the future of America—is the same ground that was attacked when the ‘walls’ were breached, 212 years later.

And the consecrated ground was spared.

A fluke? A coincidence? A miracle?

Or something more—a warning?  From the Almighty to a sleeping America?

During the brief time that New York served as the nation’s capital, George Washington continued to worship there, attending services until the capital was moved to Philadelphia in 1790. Over the next 170 years, numerous presidents and leaders of America visited St. Paul’s and added their prayers to the litany of America’s blessings.

We have enjoyed the many blessings and great bounty of this land—but have we lost sight of our founding fathers faith? Is there a much deeper message in the little stone chapel that we’re failing to see and receive?

I can’t answer; I’m only a mere inconsequential man sitting at a keyboard, but let our Founding Father, President George Washington, answer—from Ground Zero—212 years before it became Ground Zero:

“…it would be peculiarly improper to omit in this first official act my fervent supplications to that Almighty Being who rules over the universe…that His benediction may consecrate the liberties and happiness of the people of the United States… “

“…No people can be bound to acknowledge and adore the Invisible Hand which conducts the affairs of men more than those of the United States. Every step by which they have advanced to the character of an independent nation seems to have been distinguished by some token of providential agency…”

“…You will join with me… to be no less persuaded that the propitious smiles of Heaven can never be expected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right which Heaven itself has ordained… “

– President George Washington

First Inaugural Address—April 30, 1789

You be the judge.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

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The Niagara River – a Wonder of Creation

Is there anyone in the world – who hasn’t heard of Niagara Falls?

Well – I’m sure there is, in the deepest jungles of Africa and Brazil, and on the remote steppes of Mongolia and the grassy plains of the Yellow River – and on various desert islands across the oceans – there can be found lonely people wandering about who have never heard of Niagara Falls.

But, everyone else walking on the face of the planet, has heard that somewhere, within North America, there exists a magnificent waterfall, called Niagara.  In fact, millions upon millions have seen it, standing in awe at its immense power and majesty.

No – they’re not the tallest or even the most beautiful waterfalls in the world, (actually, there are about 500 waterfalls in the world that are taller than Niagara (Angel Falls in Venezuela is the tallest, at 3,212 feet), but most have little water flowing over them)…

Iguazu Falls – Brazil

…but they are the most known and visited. The combination of height and volume separates Niagara from all the others and makes them the spectacular wonder that they are.

Over 28 million people visit Niagara’s waterfalls each year. Since 1825, the world’s leading statesmen, monarchs, authors, painters, scientists, politicians, celebrities, business leaders and people from all walks, colors and languages have journeyed to stand in awe of the majestic falls and hear them roar their song of glory.

The Niagara River and Niagara Falls have been known outside of North America since the late 17th century, when Father Louis Hennepin, a French priest, at the request of King Louis XIV, accompanied the explorer La Salle, and first witnessed them in 1679. He wrote about his travels in ‘A New Discovery’ of a Vast Country in America (1688). While his painting of the Falls contained some exaggerations and distortions, it was widely circulated in Europe and became the icon of the “new world”.

But, what are the Falls and from where do they draw their strength?

Let’s take a journey down the Niagara River.

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The Color of Christmas

Being the old man that I am, when I think of Christmas, I get a visual of Bing Crosby singing “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas”.

Remember the ‘white’ Christmases?  I do.

They were good. They were warm. They were about people – loving – giving and appreciating people.  They were when the first snowfall was a thing of joy and happiness.  When people sang songs to one another on the street corners, in the stores and in their homes. When the giver meant more than the gift.

I watched the news this weekend and all I heard about was something called ‘black Friday’.  What’s a ‘ black’ Friday? And where did Thanksgiving go?  In early September, I seen lots of candy and costumes in the stores for a celebration of the darkside – Halloween.  By mid-September, this was backed up by decorations and sales for Christmas.  Did I miss something?  Halloween still wasn’t here – and where did Thanksgiving go?

When Halloween finally receded into history (on November 1st – didn’t take long), then it was all about something called ‘black Friday’.  Seems like Thanksgiving had moved from Thursday to Friday and had taken on a color – and from the results on the news broadcast – a not so very nice color. Pictures of mobs pushing, shoving and wrestling with one another over ‘things’. Fights. Children getting hit by adults. Shoppers getting pepper sprayed by other shoppers or police trying to control the mobs.  People dropping dead in the store and shoppers stepping on and over them. All for a piece of plastic or an electronic circuit board.  Where did Thanksgiving go?

I heard little about Thanksgiving.  When I did, it was about eating – parades and football.  Lots of the ‘giving’ and ‘taking’ part – little of the ‘Thanks’ part. Talk around Thanksgiving tables centered around the ‘game plan’ for this thing called ‘black’ Friday.  Many even totally erased any symbolise of Thanksgiving and bypassed it completely by pitching tents and camping out for the entire day in a line at their chosen ‘black’ Friday staging area.

Well, now this ‘black’ Friday has come and gone.  But has it?  Everytime the TV is turned on, they’re taking about ‘black’ Friday sales – on Saturday – Sunday – Monday – and onward right up to Christmas.  In fact, I seen a commercial talking about ‘post-Christmas’ sale.

It appears the color of Christmas has changed.  ’Black’ Friday is no longer a day – but is now the official kick off of ‘black’ December. It seems to me, what used to be a happy time of Thanks and Joy has merged together into a dark time of greed, anger, resentfulness, rudeness, stress and unhappiness.  No one sings on the corners or to their neighbors, but the airways are saturated with the commercial songs for days on end, without let up until they have no meaning and we’re only happy when they’ve stopped. Christmas has evolved into gifts; the biggest, the best, the coveted, the ‘what will so and so get me so that I can get something equal for so and so? Trees and lights and yards that compete one against another. And again I ask – where did Thanksgiving go?

I wonder what God thinks about all this. I wonder if this is what He had in mind. I’m not trying to say I know – I don’t. But I wonder all the same.

No matter what God thinks – I don’t think it’s what most people think it should be. I think everyone wants to have a Merry and happy Christmas – and that’s why there’s so many nostalgic and sentimental Christmas movies and stories flooding the markets and airways.  Some do have that and that is good.  But most, dream about having it and then merge into the chaotic streams jamming the roads and stores of ‘black’ December.  I know, many will say ‘Christmas and Thanksgiving’ are in the heart and I’m being wrong for judging others.  Yes, I agree – Christmas and Thanksgiving are in the hearts, and what’s in the hearts is reflected outward. And yes, I’m judging, but I think we each need to judge what is being reflected outward – don’t you?

“I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” is no longer just a song – but is a cry going up from the earth – from a world that dreams it but doesn’t know how to find it.  I think it would be nice to close all the stores on ‘black’ Friday and see if we can have a ‘white’ Christmas again.

How we miss Bing.

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A Gift for you

Hello All -

Been tied up this past week with a lot of things that have taken up all my time – and energy. Sometimes life takes us along on a ride and there’s not much we can do except fight to stay upright and ride it through.  We’re doing just that.

But – I did get to publish a story on Amazon and Smashwords!

And I’m giving it to you as a gift from me. Go to Smashwords and search for “Potatoes  dk levick”.  Use code # RL64M to buy it free.  It’s a short story so it won’t take much of your time away and I think you’ll enjoy it. If you do – then let me know and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a review on Smashwords and Amazon too.

If you’re not familiar with Smashwords, then you should check it out and join (it costs nothing to join). You’ll find lots of good writing there. Once you get something you can download it in various forms. The one I like best is .mobi which is the Kindle format. If you don’t have a Kindle that’s not an issue. You can go to Amazon.com and click on “All Departments” and then search for “Kindle for PC” and you can download the Kindle software to run on your computer.

That will allow you to gain access to all the Kindle features to include buying books. Once you download from Smashwords you can run it on your computer Kindle. It’s actually better than the Kindle itself because you have full color for the cover and any pictures.

“Potatoes” is a story about an old man who goes back to the scene of an accident. Take a few moments of  your time and take a look at it, I wrote it for you.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

dk Levick

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The Hill

Welcome Friends -

Sorry I missed last week. Was visiting family and dealing with the aftermath of a storm and then some business issues that came up.

This week’s post is written with a pondering heart while resting on ‘the hill’ and is a gift for each of you who ‘climb the hill’ and ponder.

I hope you enjoy….

The Hill

It is dark as I climb the hill,

so dark  I see no horizon. No moon. No stars. Only dark. I move slowly,  arms outstretched, feeling for trees to steer clear of, branches to grab and stones to avoid so as not to trip and stumble. I am sore, bruised and weary. What is this hill I climb? Why am I here? Why do I climb it? What sits at the top?  Why do I seek it?

I stop and sit -to rest and to ponder these things. Sitting thus, looking down into the blackness from where I have come, it looks no different than from where I am going – all is darkness.

Why am I climbing this hill?

Because it’s here.

But why am I here?

Because I’m alive.

I live – therefore I climb.

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Freedom to me is…

This weeks blog post is in conjunction with the Blog-A-licious Blog Tour. I am pleased to be on the tour along with some very interesting and informative writers. At the bottom of this post will be a listing of the addresses of the other bloggers also discussing this weeks subject. I encourage you to visit them also.

Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy it.

The topic for this week’s Blog-A-licious Blog Tour is:

.

 “Freedom To Me Is…”

.

I sit in the corner of the room and I open my eyes…

… The room is small, eight feet by ten – smaller maybe, not any bigger for sure. The floor is cold, hard and wet. The walls are stone and they too are cold, hard and wet. They seep a gooey mixture of condensation and slime that smells and oozes down the walls forming green puddles on the floor.

There are no windows in the room and so – there is no light, except for a narrow slit cut through the bolted, heavy wooden door, no larger than the width of an eyeball and just a few inches long. I don’t know why it’s there, it just is but it allows a small sliver of dirty light to invade the room. I never knew light could be dirty but this light is dirty having a dingy, yellow pale just bright enough for me to see the outline of my hand (although it looks nothing like my hand but more closely resembles a mangy paw from some poor creature that’s been run over in the street). When I hold it in front of what was once my face but is now an infested, matted hair covered orb, it is unrecognizable as anything once belonging to my body.

The room stinks a foul, pungent odor of stale urine, decay and blood. Things crawl in here.

How I miss the privilege of light.

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Writing to me is….

This weeks blog post is in conjunction with the Blog-A-licious Blog Tour. I am pleased to be on the tour along with some very interesting and informative writers. At the bottom of this post will be a listing of the addresses of the other bloggers discussing this weeks subject. I encourage you to visit them also.

Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy it and sign up to follow it.

The topic for this week’s Blog-A-licious Blog Tour is:

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 “Writing To Me Is…”

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.…the tunnel is dark, long and narrow. The walls and ceiling drip with slime and an unhealthy gooey substance seemingly moving of it’s own will, while a green, stagnant substitute for water slouches loudly over my boots leaving a dirty, oily residue behind. The smells of mold and stagnation fill my nostrils and assaults my senses as my mouth puckers and crinkles against the bitter, metallic taste or the cavern.

My hands and arms bleed and sting from bumping against the sharp, craggy walls and my legs are stiff and sore from the running. But I cannot stop. I must keep moving back, ever back, deeper into the tunnel, further away from the light. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the light bathed in its radiance – reflected in its power.

I’ve forgotten the caress of the sun on my face.

How I long for the sun.

But I must keep moving deeper into the tunnel, deeper into the darkness – away from the beast.

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The Book that Inspires Me the Most

This weeks blog post is in conjunction with the Blog-A-licious Blog Tour. I am pleased to be on the tour along with some very interesting and informative writers. At the bottom of this post will be a listing of the addresses of the other bloggers discussing this weeks subject. I encourage you to visit them also.

Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy it and sign up to follow it.

The topic for this week’s Blog-A-licious Blog Tour is:

Okay, dk – what book inspires you the most? Wow! That’s a tough one. Kinda like going to a Baskin’s Ice Cream parlor and having to choose one flavor for the rest of your life.

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