Evening star. [volume], July 21, 1940, Page 8, Image 78

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
"If you ever have to make a water rescue, keep out of the victim s
reach until he’s tired out from thrashing around — then tow him in"
“No lifeguard hates feminine admiration. But he does despise the
jackass who likes to pretend he’s drowning — and hollers for help
Beach picnics are great hunger developers. Eat all you war ■
by Paul
Photot l
Captain Charles B. Scully has re
ceived two awards for lifesaving that
he remembers with particular fond
ness. One was the Congressional Medal of
Honor given him for his part in the rescue of
thirteen swamped canoeists on a stormy night
off Rockaway Point. New York City. The
other was twelve enormous tureens of spa
ghetti (one each succeeding Saturday) from
the grateful mother of an Italian boy whom
he dragged, unconscious, from the surf.
For 400-odd other rescues he has received
— and expected — nothing beyond his salary
as a lifeguard and the satisfaction of a job
well done. Life and death are all in a day's
work for these guardians of the beach a
prosaic job that wouldn't even be necessary
if the rest of us weren’t so foolish.
Charlie Scully drifted into the work in an
odd way. A frail, skinny kid at ten, threat
ened with lung trouble, his family was advised
by a physician to move near the seashore
where the boy could get plenty of good air.
Playing around the beach, Charlie soon got
to know and to idolize the husky lifeguards,
who eventually made him their mascot.
Swimming almost continuously, the boy rap
idly developed a fine physique. And when he
came through with a rescue of his own at the
age of thirteen, he finally knew that he was
destined to become one of this sturdy clan
himself.
Serving now in the triple role of Director
of the Lifesaving, First Aid and Accident
Prevention Services for the New York Chap
ter of the American Red Cross, Captain
Scully has twelve years to his credit as a guard
on the busy beaches of the city’s metropolitan
area, where 5(X) drownings occur each sum
mer. After that stretch, he taught his stuff at
the military and naval academies at West
Point and Annapolis; to municipal and state
police departments; and in scores of Red Cross
training schools throughout the country.
“The difficult thing about many water
rescues,” he says from his long experience,
“is that people get panicky and go berserk
not only the person who's drowning but often
the sjxtc tutors, and sometimes the would-be
rescuers. Scores of times, for example. I’ve
seen onkxikers who can’t swim jump in to
save somebody else which is certainly los
ing your head completely!
“I guess the toughest rescue I ever under
took involved a case of group panic. A girl
swimming a little tcx> far offshore went down
and I went out after her, retrieving her with
out any difficulty. I was swimming back eas
ily enough, towing her behind me, when
suddenly somebody grabtx'd me around the
neck with a grip like death. Hanging on to n j
first customer, I tried to free this clamp fro_
my windpipe while I treaded water. But b«rk
fore I could wriggle loose still another ps*w
of arms were flung around me from behin^
Finally all four of us went down. t
“The next thing I knew. 1 was on the beaJj
getting ‘the business’ from my pals onshoiy
who had seen the escapade and come after if
The two other swimmers who nearly gumm<
up the party were friends of the first girl wl
couldn't swim very well themselves but wl
decided they'd better help me get her in!”
“The death struggle of a drowning
must be a tough thing to handle,” I observe <
“Not if the rescuer knows his business 'j
the Captain corrected. “The most ditlici '>
rescue 1 ever made was that of my own broL
er, who fought like a wild man: it was diflici
because I was too young then to know befit
il
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