SKINNY DIPPIN' AT THE FLOWING WELL
SKINNY DIPPIN'
AT THE FLOWING WELL
CHILDHOOD MEMORIES OF GROWING UP IN
FORT MYERS FLORIDA IN THE 40s AND 50s....
SKINNY DIPPIN'
At The FLOWING WELL
I wonder how many boys there were in Fort Myers in the 1930's?
Hundreds surely. But, I wonder also how many of those boys ever
enjoyed the pleasure of swimming in the canal called the "flowing
well? The canal ran alongside of the ACL railroad tracks going to
Naples.
The swimming hole itself was a special place in the canal very close
to the old Fort Myers airport that later became Page Field during "the
war." As I recall, it was about five miles by foot from our house on
Fowler Street. There was also a way to get there by car (if you had
one). You could drive out Anderson Avenue through Safety Hill and
then turn off right onto a two-rut dirt road. Heck, it was not just
dirt it was deep sand in some spots - more about that later.
It would be a hot summer day. School was out for the summer and we
neighborhood boys spent our time in various types of play. South
Fowler Street was not paved and traffic was light so it became one of
our playgrounds. We might be playing One-eyed Bat, or some such
game, and sooner or later someone would say. "Let's go to the flowing
well for a swim!" Most of us would run home to tell mom where we
were going, get a brief lecture on being careful, and off we'd go.
The group could be as few as two but most of the time there would be
about five of us, all at different ages, and of different sizes.
We'd go south on Fowler Street for a while and then cut through the
"woods" of Southern Longleaf pine trees, saw palmettos, and wire
grass, until we reached the railroad tracks. We would walk the tracks
using various techniques. Walking the cross ties was one way, but it
mattered how long your legs were. The spacing of the ties was "just
right" only if your legs were just the right length. Legs too short
and you had to reach. Legs too long and you had to shorten up your
stride. The distance between alternate ties was almost too far for
most of our legs, but we reached out using uncomfortably long steps,
marching along with sort of a galloping gait.
Of course, everybody had to show his skill at walking the rail.
Although the rails were wider than a rope, and stiffer than a rope, it
still took a bit of skill to walk them. Some boys just didn't have
good coordination and would fall off after only a few steps. Watch
those sandspurs all along the track! Other boys had good balance and
could walk for long distances. We always avoided walking alongside
the tracks because that territory was thick with sandspurs for most of
the trip. Ah, those sandspurs. Now that I have a college education
I might have said that they were ubiquitous. But back then I'd just
say that they were everywhere.
We had to be on the lookout for trains. Be careful, you know. The
train was scheduled to run down the spur to Naples once per day
several days of the week - Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday perhaps?
I don't remember and probably didn't really know in those days.
Recalling memories is getting to be like watching a flock of Wood Ibis
circling – now you see them, now you don't. Anyway, we would look
forward and backward down the tracks every so often to check for
onrushing trains. But, the "best" technique was the old reliable
Indian Method – put your ear to the track and get an early warning.
The "science" behind this is that sound travels faster through steel
than through the air. We didn't know that, of course, (we hadn't
studied physics yet) but we knew it was true because we had seen it
many time in the movies - at the Ritz, naturally. Some boys could
hear a train, they claimed, and others couldn't. But, be careful
with your ear. That steel rail was HOT!
On many of our trips we actually had to get off the track to let a
train pass. The rig was a small one. It had the steam engine, the
coal car, a baggage car, and one passenger car. We would wade through
the weeds (and sandspurs) far enough to the side to be "safe." Of
course, we would wave frantically at the engineers who would always
reward us with a few toots of his steam whistle. Whoeeeeee!
Whoeeeee!
About half way to the well, we would be a bit tired, and hot, and
thirsty. We never brought along water because water was there on the
way. There was a farmer's field on the right and it was either fallow
or full of tomato plants. At one end was an "oozing" flowing well.
The pipe was flush to the ground and was about ten inches in diameter.
The artesian water had very low pressure so that the water "bulged
out" of the top of the pipe maybe a quarter inch or so. There was
always a thin layer of water over the soppy ground around it. The
water oozed out and ran off until it was absorbed in the sand.
Getting a drink from this well was a bit tricky. Of course, you had
to get your mouth down to the water level without getting yourself all
wet. (We were going swimming, but not yet!) The idea was to place
your hands in the mud on each side of the pipe and support your body
by your toes - pushup style. Or, if you didn't mind getting your
knees wet, you could use the "Muslim prayer" position. Now that you
could get your face close to he water you had to get that much wanted
drink. Most humans can't lap up water like the four-legged animals
can. Either they can't or they haven't practiced. To get that drink
you had to more or less push your face into the water. You could hold
your breath and do it or you could just put the tip of your nose it
and pooch out your lips and suck. Whatever, we never went past that
well without taking a sip or two. Ahhh!
Shortly beyond the tomato field we would leave the RR tracks and pick
up a path that meandered up and down the spoil bank formed when the
canal was dug. Here is where more sandspurs dwelled and where a
rattlesnake could be lying. I almost got killed one day by a
rattler. Well, not by the rattler itself but by J.K. who was walking
the path in front of me. I was about six feet behind him when, all of
a sudden, he whirled in his tracks and charged through and across me!
Knocked me down he did. When I finally caught up with him I said,
"What's happening?" He said, 'Rattlesnake!!"
The path wandered about, as I said, but it mostly followed the bank of
the canal. Those pesky sandspurs grew alongside the path and reached
out with their prickly heads trying to hitch a ride on somebody's
pants leg. Here and there you could see the remains of garfish on the
ground or see them lying on the surface of the water while waiting for
a prey. These prehistoric fish have a long croc-like jaw filled with
many fine, sharp teeth. Their bodies are covered by hard, diamond-
shaped scales and when they are caught and left to die on the bank,
the shape of their bodies would be preserved by these scales. Most
of the time we would pass black ladies fishing for the family supper.
Finally, we would reach the flowing well itself. This was not the
swimming spot but it was the well that gave the hole its name. This
well was a "gusher." The pipe came up out of the ground near the
bank and then turned horizontally. The pipe was about five inches in
diameter and ran out over the canal by about six feet or so. A
stream of water jetted out from the open end for another five feet.
The well flowed 24/7 as we say nowadays. It represented the
"endless" supply of water that early Floridians tended to waste
without a second thought. How long had the well be flowing like
this? Forever we kids thought. It had always been there and it
always would be – so there!
This well gave the opportunity for another drink of water. This
water was really smelly and was typical of the "sulphur" water
characteristic of flowing wells. Long strands of greenish, whitish
"stuff" hung down from the pipe. The well was surrounded by thick
growths of cattail plants. To get a drink of this awful, but
"oxymoronishly" refreshing, water you had to use another technique.
You would stand by the pipe as close to the bank as you could (Your
height had a lot to do with this.) and using the horizontal part of
the pipe as a support, lean out so that you could get your mouth close
to the flowing stream of water. Pucker your lips and let the force of
the water gush into the side of your mouth. You usually got your
face wet here also.
After tanking up at the well, we continued on along the canal until we
reached the swimming hole. This place was where the canal had been
dug across an outcropping of Florida limestone. The sides were deep
at the remaining rocks and the depth dropped off as a cliff. The rock
platforms jutted a bit out into the water so that there was a gently-
sloping access on one side. This is where the little kids played.
On my first few walks to the well, I didn't know how to swim. So,
while the older boys were swimming back and forth over the deep water,
I would jump up and down and paddle in the shallows. This is where I
learned to dog paddle. One of the older boys taught me how. Oh
what a thrill it was the first time I dog paddled all the way across!
Wow! How wide was that? At least thirty feet, I think.
I failed to mention that we always swam in the nude. Naked but not
nekkid! A natural thing to do (please pardon the pun). This is when
we learned that boys weren't much different. One day as we arrived
at the hole, we were disappointed to find that there was a man there
with his young daughter. They had driven there by the sandy, two-rut
road no doubt. So, having an audience, we just rolled up our pants
legs, took off our shoes (had to pick those darned sandspurs out of
the lacing first!), and then sat on the rock ledge and kicked our legs
in the water. "Why are these boys here, Daddy?" the little girl
asked. "Why they are here to go swimming honey." "Well, why aren't
they swimming?" "I think they are waiting for us to leave." "Why?"
But, finally, they did leave. Off with the duds and into the water.
Whee!
I have pondered the question: How many other boys ever walked or
drove to the flowing well to swim? It was a rare occasion to arrive
at the swimming hole and find another group of boys there. When we
encountered another "tribe" of swimmers already there we usually just
joined in. Sometimes the other group would object. "We were here
first!" So, following the protocol, we would wait our turn. At
least we didn't act like the apes in the movie 2001 and have a pitched
battle over water rights.
I suppose most of the boys in town would go to the Municipal Swimming
Pool down at the city park when they needed to swim. Of course, they
had to wear suits there and step through that chlorine water, and take
a shower. And, it cost a whole nickel! But, as compensation, there
were girls there. You can't fault that.
I've mentioned the dirt road that would also take you to the flowing
well by automobile. There are a few stories about that. One of the
older boys in the neighborhood had what was called a "skeeter" in
those days. A skeeter was an old Ford Model T or Model A that had
been "cut down" by removing the top. This left an open passenger
compartment that was a crude version of a touring car. With owner as
driver, a bunch of us would pile in for a trip to the flowing well for
a swim. No seat belts of course. Gasoline was about eighteen cents a
gallon so the trips were cheap. As I said, we would drive out
Anderson Avenue (Now Martin Luther) through Safety Hill to the turn off
onto the sandy, two-rut road. This road meandered through the pine
woods skirting around old tree stumps. Hit one of those and there goes
the transmission!
There were several spots that crossed deep ball-bearing sand... like
beach sand. If the weather had been dry, these sand traps were
places for the narrow wheels of the skeeter to get stuck. We boys
would jump out over the sides of the contraption and take up positions
to push while the driver "gave it the gun." With a bit of effort, we
were through that trap and ready for the next one. Eventually, we
reached the swimming hole where. . . . . Well, you know the rest.
I wonder if the girls of that time ever went skinny dipping? Nah,
never happened. Skinny dipping is a guy thing. But, I won't ask if
you won't tell. Promise.
Don Sawyer
June 2007
Pagetender
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Thomas G Stewart
Last edit: 07/21/09 08:25am