My dear friend Carol, who I’ve only known since kindergarten, sent me this link to a WNBF radio story, “Rockbottom Dam Removal To Be Studied By City of Binghamton.” That would be in my hometown. She asked, “Didn’t you almost drown there?”
I replied, “Why, yes, I did. And I almost got arrested for skinny dipping the same day.” Carol noted, “I see a blog here, unless you’ve already done that.” No, I had not noted when I almost drowned. I said, “Okay, a blog post it will be! Thanks. I always need content.”
First, a bit of description. “The Rockbottom Dam, which has been a fixture in the Susquehanna River for two centuries, might become a thing of the past.” I did not know this: “According to historians, the dam was built in 1828 to power a nearby gristmill. The city acquired the structure several decades ago to control river levels for the nearby water filtration plant.”
And: “Three Binghamton firefighters died in the flood-swollen river near the Rockbottom Dam over a two-day period in September 1975. The mayor said the dam continues to pose a ‘‘huge safety risk’ for the downtown district and prevents people from safely using the river.”
Sketchy recollection
Here’s the thing, though: I don’t remember a lot of the details of my misadventure. For instance, it was likely in the summer of 1970, when I would have bicycled there. But it could have been the year before or after. I don’t know what month it was.
Obviously, it was hot enough for me to decide to go swimming. It was a spontaneous decision to go into the river. I didn’t have a swimsuit, but I figured I wouldn’t be seen from the nearby Brandywine Highway. I was only in the water above the dam for about five minutes when I obviously got too close to the undertow. For about 30 seconds, I was pretty sure I was going to die.
I have never been a strong swimmer, though I was pretty good at holding my breath underwater, a skill I honed from hanging out in the above-ground pool in the backyard of my maternal grandmother’s next door neighbors; one of the girls who lived there was one of my sister Leslie’s best friends.
In any case, I made it to the shoreline. I put on my underwear, pants, and shirt. At that point, two city of Binghamton cops came toward me from the roadway. One asked, “We got a report of a man skinny dipping here. Were you skinny dipping?” I lied, “no.” The cops looked at each other, shrugged, and one said, “Okay, then.”
I went home. I don’t recall that I told anyone, such as my family, though OBVIOUSLY I told friend Carol. I don’t remember doing that either.
At the end of each year, I list people whom I think were most heroic. In 2026, I will include Michael Lewis. 
One of this librarian’s curses is that he ends up checking multiple sources of information. There’s a lot of misinformation, disinformation, and mythology out there. The process of vetting can be exhausting, and occasionally even I can miss a few.
Until recently, I had never made pancakes before. Okay, that’s not true; I’ve made them quite often over the years, but almost always with a mix, either Bisquick or Jiffy. In my bachelor days, I might even make enough batter for two or three meals and put the leftovers in the fridge.