In 1956 the state built a new highway through Bigbee bottom and dug a huge pit a quarter of a mile from where we lived to get dirt for the embankment. The pit was about 100 yards long, 75 yards wide and 25-30 feet deep. The state stopped getting dirt from it when they reached the water level and it started filling up. Within a few days after they moved the equipment out the water rose to a depth of four feet or so in the deepest places and two feet or a little more at the shallowest and leveled off.
It was a good place for swimming but the pit wall were almost straight up and down. We tied a rope around a tree and went down in it a few times but it was really hard to climb back out so we decided to cut steps down the east wall. That was the highest side but also the side the road the state had built to haul the dirt out was on, and that side had the deepest water. It was harder than we thought. It took five or six of us almost a week to get the steps to where we could get up and down them but it was worth the trouble. It was used almost every day during the summers, except when it was stormy, for many years.
Several of us were there one day when we heard a car drive up. We couldn't see who it was but in a minute John Henry Mills came scrambling down the steps. John Henry was a few years older, we were all 12, 13 or 14, and he was a total looney. He would do or say anything and stayed in trouble most of the time. He waded out a few feet from the steps and hunkered down to where the water was up to his chin, started acting like he was treading water and yelled, "Y'all waachis" at us. We wondered what he was up to but soon found out. Danny Taylor had come with him but had took time to change into a swim suit up top. John Henry had hurried down the steps so he could pull one on Danny. Danny came down the first three steps, looked down to see John Henry apparently treading water and asked how deep the water was. We were 50-60 feet away but heard John Henry say, "They ain't no bottom ratcheer." Danny was at least 15 feet above the water and before we could say anything he dove off the wall. His feet never got wet.
John Henry like to have passed out laughing, and never tried to get Danny out. We ran through the water as fast as we could and pulled Danny up. He had swallowed some water but would have drowned if it had been left to John Henry to get him out. The bottom was sandy and soft but it scraped half the skin off his forehead and hurt his neck so that he had to wear a brace on it for a couple of weeks.
John Henry thought it was really funny, and when Danny got over it he seemed to think so too even though it could have killed him. John Henry married a Winston county, Alabama gal not long afterward and his inlaws like to beat him to death over something he said. His wife's family was having a dinner and all their kin was there. His sister-in-law was expecting and some of the women and a few of the men were discussing what to name the baby. In a loud voice John Henry told them that since every SOB within 100 miles had a shot at it they ought to name it Target. He meant it as a joke but them Winston county folks never did have much of a sense of humor.
It was a good place for swimming but the pit wall were almost straight up and down. We tied a rope around a tree and went down in it a few times but it was really hard to climb back out so we decided to cut steps down the east wall. That was the highest side but also the side the road the state had built to haul the dirt out was on, and that side had the deepest water. It was harder than we thought. It took five or six of us almost a week to get the steps to where we could get up and down them but it was worth the trouble. It was used almost every day during the summers, except when it was stormy, for many years.
Several of us were there one day when we heard a car drive up. We couldn't see who it was but in a minute John Henry Mills came scrambling down the steps. John Henry was a few years older, we were all 12, 13 or 14, and he was a total looney. He would do or say anything and stayed in trouble most of the time. He waded out a few feet from the steps and hunkered down to where the water was up to his chin, started acting like he was treading water and yelled, "Y'all waachis" at us. We wondered what he was up to but soon found out. Danny Taylor had come with him but had took time to change into a swim suit up top. John Henry had hurried down the steps so he could pull one on Danny. Danny came down the first three steps, looked down to see John Henry apparently treading water and asked how deep the water was. We were 50-60 feet away but heard John Henry say, "They ain't no bottom ratcheer." Danny was at least 15 feet above the water and before we could say anything he dove off the wall. His feet never got wet.
John Henry like to have passed out laughing, and never tried to get Danny out. We ran through the water as fast as we could and pulled Danny up. He had swallowed some water but would have drowned if it had been left to John Henry to get him out. The bottom was sandy and soft but it scraped half the skin off his forehead and hurt his neck so that he had to wear a brace on it for a couple of weeks.
John Henry thought it was really funny, and when Danny got over it he seemed to think so too even though it could have killed him. John Henry married a Winston county, Alabama gal not long afterward and his inlaws like to beat him to death over something he said. His wife's family was having a dinner and all their kin was there. His sister-in-law was expecting and some of the women and a few of the men were discussing what to name the baby. In a loud voice John Henry told them that since every SOB within 100 miles had a shot at it they ought to name it Target. He meant it as a joke but them Winston county folks never did have much of a sense of humor.
,bet he did.