The Foreign Service Journal, June 2009

product floating on the surface? I triaged my fears, and decided to put that one aside. While waiting for the rope, I looked for the first time at my surroundings and saw that I was, indeed, in a large room of approximately the length and breadth I had sensed just before the fall. But how far had I fallen? I guessed the height of the deck to be about 30 to 35 feet. However, 40 feet may be more nearly accurate — as oth- ers present at the time and historical records concerning the fort’s dimensions indicate. How in the world did I avoid breaking my legs, or even my back, falling into such shallow water from that height? The answer can only be that, although I began my fall in an upright posture, I gradually rotated forward by 90 de- grees, thus spreading the impact of my contact with the water over my entire body. As I continued looking around in the light of more flam- ing spheres of newsprint, I saw something even more sobering. Protruding above the surface of the water all around me were large rocks and concrete blocks. I had fallen in the only open space in which I could possibly have survived a 40-foot drop! Spinning to Safety Soon the rope arrived, cheering me immeasurably as I imagined all manner of marine predators circling and siz- ing up my meaty white legs. Judging that my freedom of action at the top would be greater if I ascended in a stand- ing, rather than in a seated position, I stepped onto the rope’s loop, rather than sitting in it, and the crew began slowly hauling me up. Suddenly the rope began spinning— and I spun along with it. The centrifugal force induced both vertigo and a growing fear that I would lose my grip, resulting in an in- stant replay of my swan dive. Tony Bennett may have left his heart in San Francisco, but I definitely did not want to leave my body at the bottom of Fort Drum! After what seemed a much longer time than it actually was, I arrived just below the deck and had to shout for the crew to stop hauling. Fromwhere I hung, I could see that the edge of the deck was bright, sharp metal, and I did not want my body dragged across that blade by over-enthusi- astic rescuers, especially while spinning. With the help of strong arms on the deck, I was able to gain control, stop the spin and clamber over the edge with only a minor two- inch slice along the fatty part of my waistline. Luck was with me that day. The worst injury was to my watch, which was a total loss. My body got away with scrapes and scratches. The motor launch dropped me off on the Bataan Peninsula (site of the bloody “death march” of World War II), where I was checked out and treated at the infirmary of a blue-jeans factory located there. After a quick shower, I was outfitted in some of their products, since the clothes in which I had begun the day were no longer usable, and then zipped across the bay in a motorboat just in time to join my colleagues for lunch and the afternoon tour of the wartime tunnels. All in all, it was an eventful and memorable day. When it began, I had never heard of Fort Drum. By the time it ended, the concrete battleship had become a place I will never forget. And although by the end of the day I had scratched off one of my “nine lives,” that was just fine by me, consider- ing the alternative. F O C U S Out of the depths ... Delegation headMike Smith administers first aid. 40 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U N E 2 0 0 9 Photos by Lazare Teper Fort Drum, the concrete battleship.