"Ferry." What a loaded word with many meanings—some
positive and some negative. Who cannot remember as a kid putting lost teeth
under pillows in the hopes of getting a treat from the tooth fairy? Who may
also recall having been called such in an unkind manner? I can relate to both
of the above, but this column will focus on other aspects related to the word.
Back in
the early 1990s when we lived in New Orleans, I used to love to take our
children downtown on weekends and park at those free meter spots near to where
the World's Fair was held in 1984. I would take them in a wagon to the Riverwalk
to see the neat stores there, especially the toy store with the train track
that circled the perimeter about 10 feet up high.
Next, we
would go to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas and end the day with a free
ferry ride nearby by going across and back over the Mississippi River in the
pedestrian section. What a thrill we would have feeling the wind briskly
blowing over us as we saw all sorts of ships pass by.
Another
ferry memory was initially okay but then not so fond. Back in our high school
years, I had been asked by Scott, my best friend, to help him get his service
hours in per a Boy Scout Jamboree that was being held then in Luling—on the
Westbank of New Orleans area around Destrehan. So we went and had a good time
supervising some of the younger Cub Scout Webelos who were going through their
various achievement level requirements.
It was a
great time to camp out, fish and do all kind of outdoor activities, since it
was a cool fall weekend in October. The nights around the campfires that
weekend were neat with roasting marshmallows and
the fun songs and the stories that we all made up to scare the younger folks.
Overall,
that weekend was wonderful. We had arrived at Luling for the event per the
usual Greater New Orleans Bridge route from the Eastbank. On our way back home
from the Jamboree, we decided to have a little fun and take the Luling Ferry—it
was nice and breezy on the open waters!
On the
following Wednesday, October 20, 1976, Scott and I heard some astounding news:
77 people died who had been on that same ferry per a crash that it had with a 665-foot-long
Norwegian tanker, the "Frosta." It is still known as the worst ferry
disaster in U. S. history. Scott and I were dumbfounded and simply numb about
what had happened. What a tragedy and how close we felt associated to the
situation!
Later,
while I was in college at Loyola, I met Anne, who was from the Luling area. She
recounted to me once how on the terrible night of the ferry accident, she had
been very upset about being late for an important meeting. It happened that she
was driving the second car that was attempting to board that ferry but missed
it. She noted how quickly her anger turned to sorrow when she witnessed the
accident.
As I
reflect upon these incidents, I can't help but ponder the Byrds song,
"Turn, Turn Turn," based upon Ecclesiastes 3: "To every thing
there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."
