Two Surprises on Western Campus (Cont.)
Screen 2 of 2A Missed Step
The Cherryton Village, named after Western's long-time President H. H. Cherry and referred to above was located on the south part of the campus just below an abandoned limestone rock quarry.
The high cliff which had been developed on the north side of the quarry by blasting and removing huge slabs of building stone was steep and rugged. (Later this cliff side of the quarry was used as the spectator-seating part of a football stadium, with the floor of the quarry being made into the playing field.)
I'm sure that most people who knew that cliff agreed only the adventuresome, quick, and agile (some would say only the foolish) would use it as a short cut home. And yet I did do just that many, many times when coming from the main part of the campus to our little home in Cherryton village.
I had done it so frequently that I knew exactly which projecting ledge or crevice to use in sequence from left to right, in order to descend quickly and safely from the top to the bottom of that cliff, which must have been almost one hundred feet high. Aided by tennis shoes, my confident leaping and bounding down the cliff in the late afternoon must have resembled that of a mountain goat.
But my good luck did not always hold. One winter afternoon, I was later than usual coming home and it was almost dark. Moreover, an earlier light, cold rain had formed an icy glaze on much of the cliff's surface. The reader can surely guess what happened.
I started at my usual place at the top of the cliff, jumping lightly--and too carelessly--to the first prominent ledge to the left, a move I had always used before changing direction and turning quickly to the right toward the next ledge below. But something went wrong this time--very wrong and quite suddenly.
My tennis shoe slipped on the icy surface and away I went on an unscheduled journey toward the floor of the quarry far below, first into the air in free flight, then bumping, rolling, tumbling and thumping on what seemed to be all the jagged rocks and ledges on the cliff.
And, as we used to say, I "saw stars" of all shapes, sizes and colors while I was falling.
A few seconds later--it seemed much longer--I lay still on a flat bed of rock at the bottom. Then everything started hurting, and I began crying, at first an automatic reflex, followed by conscious screaming for help. Surely someone would hear me, I thought. But nobody did, and I was on my own.
I felt my arms and legs to see if any bones were broken. All of them hurt very much, but none seemed to be broken.
A bump on my forehead, a deep cut on my cheek, and gushing blood then drew my attention. Would I bleed to death? I had read about people who did. I pressed my dirty handkerchief to the wound and soon the heavy bleeding stopped.
Finally convinced that nobody was coming to help me and that if I was to get home I would have to do it by myself, I sat up, then slowly rose to my feet. At first, I felt very dizzy and almost fell, but after a moment I started walking slowly-- very slowly. My clothes were badly torn and I had bruises and cuts allover my body, but at least I was alive.
I told God silently how thankful I was.
When I finally reached home, I came onto the back porch where my mother could not see me. When she heard me, she called out from the kitchen where she was cooking supper.
"Is that you, Chester? Why are you so late?" Before I could respond she continued. "Before you come into the house, draw a bucket of water from the hydrant (we did not have running water in the house) and bring in a load of firewood for the stove."
Of course, She didn't know what had happened, and I was too much in pain to tell her fro such a distance. So I got the water and wood, walked slowly into the house, an told my story.
* * * * * * * * * * Chester C. Travelstead
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