Imperial Valley press., 1936-02-09
10
BY LOGAN JENKINS

HluiSo' 1iidI D Jlle All American
canal.
Once it was a vision, born in
heat waves over the desert. Then
it became reality, a reality of mud
and mules.
You're seated in the Calexico
office of j. H. Fertig, Department
of Interior engineer. He has charge
of miles of canal work on either
side of Calexico. It's just an or
binary engineering office, clean
and neat, draughtsmen at work,
sunshine pouring in the windows.
It's warm, lazy and not at all
exciting.
Fertig leans back in his chair.
His mild eyes drill into yours. His
is an interesting face, firm feat
ures, greying hair close cropped
and an almost white moustache
He looks as Perching might have
I looked in other years.
You chat bit on minor matters,
then Fertig leaves on his daily
inspection along the canal line
You go along. Not much news
breaking and besides you're mild
! ly curious.
Fertig's coupe with its drab
Department of Interior sign paint
ed on the side, rolls merrily along
the highway. You carry on a light
conversation, but at the same
time you wonder idly how many
other cars bearing this same de-
partment of interior sign are at
this very moment humping along
in far places. It's such a common
place little emblem. But how far
reachingl
This is the border Over yonder
lies Mexico. On either side is des-
ert, sand and low bushes, hot and
barren Fertig talks, interested in
his subject, and you wonder if he
notices big mud hole ahead. You
wonder if he'll slow down. Then
you wish. Soon it's a prayer, but
Fertig keeps on going. The car
plunges, mud flies and Fertig does
MT miss syllable. You breathe
again.
Now the car has stopped and a
few feet away is the All American
canal. Somehow it isn't as you'd
expected. It's smooth beveled, clear
cut. The sides slope at exact an
giles, the ridges on either side are
as even as though they'd been
carved by a master mason and
smoothed with a giant troWel.
Men and mules couldn't construct
such a thing. It's too perfect. You
try to estimate the dimensions,
but fail miserably. Fertig tells you
but you forget It's like measuring
the Acropolis.
The car lurches off on its mad
gallop over bumps and mud holes.
You're travelling parallel to the
canal now. This section, Fertig tells
you, has been completed except
for the canal bottom where drag
lines are needed to eat out the
muck You follow the level lines of
the canal with your eyes until the
car tops a sudden rise and slides
to a stop.
You blink. You're on top of a
sandy precipice. A few feet below
men with teams mill and wheel
in a man-made valley of fresh
turned earth. Each team has
driver on foot. The teams drag
scoop shovels behind that bite into
the soil and fill rapidly. At first
there appears no rhyme nor reason
to the operations and you grow
dizzy watching the twisting, turn
ing teams. You pick out one team
and watch. The driver fills his
scoop in the center of the valley
and drags it to one side, dumps
and returns in a circle for another
load. Obviously, they're digging out
the center and building up the
sides.
You look out the cars window
to where the completed canal
stretches away straight and
smooth. You look back at the men
and mules and muck. No, it doesn't
add up.
The cars engine starts and you
expect Fertig to back around to
the road. Your heart stops when
you realize he's going straight
ahead. He calmly sends the the mach
inc diving down the sandy preci-
pice with motor whining. Mirac-
ulously you reach bottom safely
and go bounding, bouncing, swerV-
ing over the newly plowed ground
at break neck speed, weaving III
and out between teams. The car
leaps hillocks of mud. After every
leap you resume prayer.
You're past the teams but still
the little car rockets over hills
of sand and plunges into depres-
Sions. You're resigned to your fate,
however. Death surely will come
quickly now and you look to one
side half expecting to see the
grim reaper. But you see wall
of sand. A glance to the left and
you see another blank wall of
earth. 1t dawns on you. You're
driving along the BOTTOM OF
THE ALL AMERICAN CANAL!
You feel like the music, going
round and round.
The car whumps to standstill,
headed into a blank wall of dirt.
Don't know whether or not to
try to drive up" Fertig says. You
think he's kidding but one look
at his face and you know he's not.
You shake inwardly. And maybe
outwardly, because Fertig smiles
and starts to get out. Feeling
somewhat sentimental about still
being alive you pluck at his coat
sleeve and hold out your hand.
Mr.. Fertig," you say, "once 1
thought I was pretty good at |