Bodies found
Comments (...)I remember, when I was a teenager in small-town Monroe, there was a drowning in the Des Moines River not too far from town. A fisherman in a boat had capsized with no life preserver. The volunteers and lookieloos went out to try and find the body. People lined up on one of the bridges across the river, trying to spot a body floating down river. There were many false sightings. “Look!” someone would shout. They would all run to the other side of the bridge, flash lights crisscrossing the dark water, only to discover that it was a floating log.
Dragging the river produced no results. The swollen flood water of spring runoff was too tricky. About a week later, two volunteer firefighters in a boat were drawn by their noses to what they thought was a dead sheep along the bank. It was the drowning victim. The body was found and recovered, and there was closure for the family.
Social and cultural mores don’t change much. In my 60s now, when the call went out from the sheriff’s department of Jefferson County asking for volunteers to search a farm for a missing man (which, in all probability meant a body) there really wasn’t much hesitation. Did I know the person? No. Did it make a difference? No. If I reschedule this and cancel that, I could help. The thought of searching an 800-acre farm wasn’t appealing. The farm had already been scoured by people on ATVs. But nothing quite compares with a good old fashioned foot search. I prepared myself for the probability of spending the day with no results.
The morning of the search blessed us with dense fog. Great. Nothing like searching for a needle in the haystack with poor visibility. I was hoping for a good turnout of volunteers. The winter usually finds grain farmers with not so much to do, and since the missing person was a farmer, the turnout should be fair.
Land sake, more than 100 volunteers showed up dressed in orange and ready to do what was necessary. The atmosphere was sort of like a funeral, with people standing around solemn in the cold, talking in low voices to people they hadn’t seen in years.
“How many grandkids you got now, Harry?”
Along with the sheriff’s departments, there were volunteer firefighters, the DNR, emergency management people, the Red Cross, a K-9 dog and people on horseback. Of course, hot drinks and food were provided by a church group.
We were all to start in line at 9 a.m. going the same direction, 15 feet apart. Getting that number of volunteers organized to do anything is a chore, but the sheriff’s department did a good job with what they had to work with. At 9 a.m., we were all lined up like pheasant hunters ready to hunt a field. Just as we were ready to start, the sheriff called us back in. What was going on? Was this another exercise in hurry-up-and-wait, like in the military? Had the body been found? Nah. Too soon.
Rumors flew up and down the line of grumbling people, their orange clothing matching rosy cheeks.
“At least we will have closure now,” was overheard.
The body had been found, before we even started. It was 20 yards from the road and within sight of the victim’s house. The sheriff told us that we could all go home and thanked us for coming. Mission accomplished. Political correctness is sketchy here. The “war” had been waged but there still was a fatality.
The 100 or so volunteers stood around drinking coffee and eating donuts, not knowing quite what to do with themselves. There was small talk. “We bought hay from him. Always had good hay.” Could there be better appraisal of a man?
I wonder, if the victim could have seen all these people showing up for his benefit, would the outcome have been different? Rest in peace, Duane.
Curt Swarm can be reached in Mt. Pleasant at (319) 217-0526, email at curtswarm@yahoo.com or visit his website at www.empty-nest-words-photos-and-frames.com.
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