John (5) | (52.11)

[mragland]

4.09.1928 – Los Angeles

George sat with the fraternity's president and senior economics major, Hal Rogers, on a bench in the shade of Millspaugh Hall.

"Look, Georgie," said Hal, "if he isn't a student, he can't stay with us, simple as that. The rules give me no latitude in the matter."

"So, what then?  We just turn him out in the street?  His family are on the east coast, and I don't think they know about any of this," said George.

"Maybe somebody should tell them," offered Hal.  "It's the sort of thing his folks would want to know."

"I don't know.  If John hasn't spoken to his folks about it, turned to them for some help, maybe he's got a reason."  George waved his hand, "I don't know what that might be, so don't ask.  He never talks about his folks," George said, turning away from Hal for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts, perhaps.

"Georgie, we thought we'd lost the both of you for a couple of days, there.  What happened when you two disappeared?"

"You really want to know?" asked George.

"It would help me out," said Hal.  "We all know about how the dam broke and John maybe lost somebody close in the flood, but beyond that I'm in the dark."

"Alright," said George with a sigh, "I'll tell you what we were up to those three days.  We drove around every little town along or near the Santa Clara River, from Newhall on down to the coast at Oxnard," said George, sweeping his arm across the horizon in the general direction of the places he described.  "I drove.  Stone cold sober the whole time, I swear.  We were looking for John's girl, Dorothy Clarkson, but we called her Dot, and her brother and her sister-in-law.  Dot was visiting her brother, uh, Harry Clarkson, at a little place called Alicante.  It's gone now, but we were looking for any sign of them, alive or dead.  

"Three days we spent walking through makeshift morgues, wherever they had space to store the folks who'd drowned.  Churches, dance halls, vacant buildings, school gymnasiums, you name it.  Three days we spent looking at dead strangers' faces, but we never found the ones we were looking for.  

"They say maybe hundreds got washed clear out to sea.  I guess that's probably what happened to the Clarksons.  I don't know if John is ready to give up hope yet, though. We haven't spoken much about it, to be honest, since we got back."

George took a flask out of his breast pocket and took a drink.  Hal glanced down at his watch, 10:27, but said nothing.

"It was mostly workmen that we saw in those morgues, but there were families who had made homes near the the river.  Little kids, too, Hal.  We didn't get a good look at them if we could help it, there's only so much of that sort of thing a fella can take, but you could see the outlines of little bodies under white sheets."

"Geez, Georgie," said Hal thoughtfully.  "Reading about it in the papers is one thing, I suppose.  I don't know if I could do something like that for a friend.  Not sure I have it in me."

"Yeah, I didn't think I could do it either," said George.  "Not sure I could do something like that again if somebody asked me.  But you can imagine what John's going through right now. He just needs some time though, I think. He'll be alright."