As we play the board game called LIFE, imagine there is a certain square which gives you the power to choose one day, any day in one’s life, to relive. Included in this power is the ability to affect the original choices made, essentially granting one a “do-over.” It’s your turn. You roll the dice, count out the spaces, and land on the do-over day. What day would you choose?
I know what my day would be: January 20, 1967.
Like more than half of the days in northeastern Ohio, this Friday dawns cloudy, dreary, and overcast. Must be that lake effect, for Lake Erie is just an hour north. On Geib Avenue in the village of Hartville, the seven Hershberger kids are curled up in their beds like cats, dreading the thought of leaving the cocooned warmth, to dress for school. The house is a split level, built by their dad, who is a mason contractor by trade. It is 20 degrees out. They stagger out of their rooms, fighting for time in the shared bathroom. The two youngest are too little for school. Lowell and Cindy wrap their worn, comforting blankies tightly around their shoulders and scurry to the parents’ room, at the other end of the house. The stepdown into the bedroom hosts a large heat register, a golden spot on such a chilly morning and the four and six year olds snuggle together.
The five oldest gulp down bowls of oatmeal before grabbing their coats and lunches and notebooks and dash out the door to catch the bus, bound for Lake School, the nearby local public school. Donnie is a junior, Sharon is a freshman, Trish is in eighth grade, Linda is a fourth grader, and Gary is in third grade. Some smart alec counts out loud as all five board the school bus. This evening the Lake Blue Streaks have a basketball game. Not that these Mennonite youth will attend; extracurricular activities are not permitted. They will be required though, to be in the high school gym at 2:15 pm, at the end of the school day, for the pep rally.
Back at the house, Mama is still in bed. An untreated bout of childhood rheumatic fever has affected her heart for many years, leading to episodes of debilitating weariness. Some days she just needs more rest. Daddy steps over the snuggled children at the register. He has on warm layers of clothes and heavy boots. He has plans for this overcast winter day. He has recently purchased a new outdoor toy, a snowmobile; how exciting to combine this powerful speed mobile with another of his passions, fishing! He plans to drive to a large reservoir, twenty minutes from town, and try his hand at ice fishing.
In my do-over day, I reach up my four year old hand and grab Daddy’s boot as he steps over us. “Please don’t go fishing today! Lets make pancakes with hamburger gravy. And then we can play lots of rounds of our favorite card game, Dutch Blitz. We could drive to the Akron/Canton Airport and watch planes land and take off. And then we can build a fort in the living room with all the couch cushions and you can tell us hunting stories from your recent trip to Colorado and Wyoming.” In my make believe day, Daddy does all these things and the snow mobile is forgotten.
Daddy gets into his truck, pulling the snow mobile behind, and drives to his friend/employee’s house: Mose will be part of this day’s grand adventure. Daddy always loves being surrounded with his friends and this Friday is no different. Near the reservoir, Berlin Dam, they pull into another friend/employee’s driveway. John has decided earlier that he will not be going along on the ice fishing adventure today; nothing like some friendly persuasion to try to get him to change his mind. He agrees to go to breakfast with Daddy and Mose. The robust men wolf down a full, late morning breakfast in a neighborhood diner. As they drive to the water, they pass John’s road but they keep driving. He had been convinced to go along.
The trio are not the only ones ice fishing this day. They try their lines near other fishermen but Daddy is restless and wants to try out a new spot. It’s after 2 pm when Daddy and John decide to utilize the snow mobile and scout out a fresh fishing area on the reservoir. They offer Mose to climb aboard as well, but he declines, saying he doesn’t quite trust the ice. He will just walk along the shore’s edge. They speed away, two men in the prime of their lives, each with a loving wife and a large family of kids. (Please please, will someone stop them?! This is supposed to be my do-over day!)
There is a channel in this body of water; an undercurrent of movement keeps the strip of ice in its path from forming thick enough to hold up the weight of two large men and a machine. As the snow mobile approaches this channel, nearby fishermen try to warn Daddy and John, frantically waving their arms. The men see the soft, slushy ice too late; the snow mobile tries to turn, but skids into the water. Their friend, Mose, is 500 feet away on the bank. He hears their shouts for help as they struggle momentarily in the icy grave, weighted down with heavy clothes and boots. Someone calls to God for mercy. The water folds in around them.
The Hershberger children ride the bus home from school. Donnie drives to their maternal grandparent’s home. They are out of town and he is charged with doing their chores. On Geib Avenue, the kitchen phone, with its long, over-stretched cord, rings. Beautiful Mama, busy preparing dinner for hungry children, dries her hands on her apron and answers. Someone on the other end of the line wonders if she knows where Daddy is? There has been an accident. Two preachers’ cars slowly pull into the driveway, a most ominous sign. They are the bearers of the most unbearable news that Daddy is lost in the water.
Sheriff’s deputies are on the scene at Berlin Reservoir until 9 pm. Twenty divers, suited in wet-suits and oxygen tanks look for Daddy and John. They use a grid system to mark the bottom of the water so they know where to search. They locate the snow mobile, resting on its side with the ignition still on. The next morning, divers resume their work. They find Daddy first, about ten feet from the hole in the ice. An hour later, they locate John. (Can this please be part of my do-over day? If I can just have this, I will never care about winning at a board game for the rest of my life). The oldest Hershberger children live with the incongruent knowledge that while they were cheering at a high school pep rally, their Daddy was drowning.
Family photo taken six months after that fateful day. Mama was scheduled for heart surgery at Cleveland Clinic. We all wondered if 1967 would be the year that we would be orphaned.
Last summer, several of us siblings tried to locate the exact place that Daddy drowned. We used information from old newspaper articles about the tragedy, to guide us.
If I had a do-over day, I’d choose to have Daddy back.