We were standing, maybe nine hundred feet from the bottom of the falls, which looks wide enough and deep enough from this advantage point to be considered a small lake, but is still called the Niagara River.
Here, there is a constant cloud of mist so thick that it can trick the mind into thinking you are under water. Humidity so thick, that it engulfs everything it touches. Enveloping you in a bath of icy cold blue water from head to toe.
Being our first time here, we were not prepared for that constant mist of water emanating from the fall's basin. I would have been better off wearing rain gear instead of one of my frilly white dresses. I instantly felt a chill down to my bones when the mist covered me whole.
The front of me was frozen from the crisp spring morning air blowing that freezing Niagara water onto my face and front torso.
I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to hug some warmth into my body. To no avail.
So I stayed behind knowing that in my new dress I wasn't going to get any warmer by getting any closer to the falls.
That must have given these three vagabonds the courage to speak to me in the vulgar manner in which they did.
The tallest and broadest fellow, I suspect he was crowned leader on those merits alone, had the gall to say he wanted to warm up my thighs with his hands and that I had some mighty fine knickers on.
Under my dress, I had my Sunday's best on. The ones Mama ordered for me from the Sears, Roebuck and Company Catalog.
Well, I mentioned earlier that I was well endowed, so when I folded my arms over my chest I never noticed how the lower part of my dress was sticking so tightly to my thighs and stomach. Since the dress was pearly white, the water made the cloth shear. You could see right through it!
I quickly yelled for Pa, but all that rushing water was sure an earful. I doubt he could have heard anything else right then. Even if our Church's Choir was singing it's loudest to warn away the Devil inside those sinners and for Pa to look my way. That splashing water was just too loud. I was in a pickle.
I was so angry by their cat calls that I wanted to put an old fashioned country whipping on those three boys. But I couldn't pull my arms down, away from my chest to protect myself. I was afraid of what those hoodlums would have seen then. I knew though, when the time came, I was going to have to fight for my honor.
They circled and surrounded me. Always taking a turn to say lewd things about what they were going to do to me. I think they did it to distract me. Keep me off my guard.
Then I noticed the big guy started closing in on me.
I was just about to say what I thought of his neanderthal looking face when this huge wool overcoat was wrapped around me and this handsome gentleman with beautiful blue eyes looks down into mine and says, “Just give me a minute.”
He was about the same size as the big vagabond leader, so I thought he could probably handle himself there, but there were three hoodlums. Was he going to fight them all by himself?
My worries were quickly abated. He not only knocked two of the three to the ground before I could say Jiminy Cricket but the third ran off without throwing a punch.
“How did you learn to box like that?” I asked, after the two bruised fellows on the ground got up and ran off.
“Five and a half years of being a Merchant Marine at some of the roughest docks the city of New York had to offer.”
That's when Pa came running up, asking, “What happened here? Are you alright Murray?”
My rescuer looks down at me with a perplexed look and says, “Murray? That's a funny name for a girl.” Smiling he says, “Did your parents want a boy?”
“And I was just beginning to like you.” I tell him with all the sarcasm I could muster. “It's not my Christian name buffoon, it's my father's sobriquet for me.” Then smiling I said, “Or is that too big of a word for you to understand?”
“Ouch.” is all he had time to say before Pa broke in.
“What's going on here. Who were those men? And who might you be?”
“I'm sorry sir. Let me introduce myself. My name is James Bartholomew King.” He stated with pride. “I was passing by when I saw your daughter, I assume it's your daughter?”
“Yes.” I blurted out.
“When I saw your beautiful daughter here being harassed by three of the lowest kind of street thug the Cities of America seem to fester these days.”
He was talking to my Pa when he said those words, but then he looked straight into my eyes and said, “I couldn't let such a beautiful flower be plucked away by the likes of those gentlemen. I had to stop them, or die trying.”
I couldn't turn away from his piercing gaze. I just stood there looking up at them.
I must have been in a trance because Pa had to wave a hand in front of my face to distract me, while asking, “Is your blood pressure up my dear? You're not moving at all and your face is as red as a Braeburn tree's first apple.”
Then I was really embarrassed because both men started laughing. And I don't remember a joke being told.
This is,
Always Wishing For Heroes In My Movies
And In The Books I Read
Jim Hauenstein,
And,
“Anyone who does anything to help a child in his life is a hero to me. ”
-
That is my story and I am sticking to it!
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