Texas is number 1! So we often said when I lived there (essentially 1952-2007). But in some fields, it is better to be last rather than first—for example, child drownings. The sad truth is that more than 70 kids in Texas die by drowning every year, followed by Florida, California, New York, Ohio and other states. They go under in bathtubs, wells, backyard pools, neighborhood pools, creeks, rivers, lakes and the Gulf of Mexico. Such drownings happen so often that they are not exactly front-page news. In 1962, when I was just a stripling, I almost became such a statistic.
Fortunately, I knew how to swim. I had gotten some basic lessons from the lifeguards at the pool adjacent to Harry Stone Rec Center in east Dallas, and used to go there with my brothers and friends twice a week during the summers. I never had the slightest fear of the water. In fact, I will say that swimming has been one of my greatest and most enduring pleasures. I sometimes meet people who tell me they cannot swim and have no desire to learn. I find that utterly perplexing.
My family, although far from poor, had little money to throw around. So vacations were rare and rather basic. Six weeks in Paris? A Caribbean cruise? Trekking at Yellowstone National Park? Not our family. In the summer of 1962, the decision was made that we would pile into the car and head to Sandy Lake Lodge. This facility, which is actually in the suburb of Carrollton, had been in existence for several decades before we arrived on a hot morning. It had, and still has, an abundance of tall trees, room for people to park their motor homes, cheesy amusements, miniature golf and so forth. Sandy Lake was a fine place for a picnic or any kind of gathering.
Our having visited there in ’62 would be of no significance if not for my near-death experience. I refuse to cast blame on my parents, the lifeguards or the management of the facility. What happened was not their fault, and if I had died, they would not have been responsible in the least. There is now a man-made pool to go along with two lakes—one big and the other much smaller. Although it is possible that I remember incorrectly, I do not think there was a pool back then. I, a whole bunch of kids and a few adults were having a lovely time swimming and cavorting.
A curved slide stood perhaps 50 yards from the shore. I cannot attest to the depth of water other than to say I could not reach the bottom. No, of course, I was not wearing a U.S. Coast Guard-approved life jacket—or any kind of life jacket. Who needs that when you can swim? I took off down the slide and plunged into the water, as I had done before, but this time things went awry. I immediately knew I was in trouble. I remained underwater for several seconds and felt somewhat disoriented. Where was the surface, and how could I get there as quickly as possible? I was taking a lot of water into my mouth and lungs, and for a moment or two I was gripped by terror. Whether or not I was in real danger of drowning, the point is that I feared I was. Check that number in the top paragraph: 70-plus Texas kids drown every year.
Obviously, I did not die that day at Sandy Lake. Desperate for air, I thrashed and struggled to the surface, took hold of the slide and slowly regained my equilibrium. It had been a frightful experience. And it is still quite vivid today, more than half a century later.
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