Arizona sun., 1948-03-26
Ne
FICTION
Corner

T JOINED the crowd gathered on
l the bridge watching the crew
dragging the lake above the dam.
"Who are they searching for this
time?" I asked as I pushed closer
to the rail.
"Young Doc Warren" several an
swered at once.
I had never seen young William
Warren, but I knew about him-the
whole town knew about him. He
had Joined the army with our Ma
tional Guard. The boys were still
singing his praises. He had been
through a lot at the front and had
won the complete devotion of his
men by his untiring efforts and
unceasing good humor. He had re-
turned to his fathers clinic almost
Immediately upon his return to the
States. I had heard little about him
in recent months.
"What about the woman they
were dragging for yesterday" I
asked.
"They found her earlier this
morning. Plain case of suicide. But
when the boats were coming in to
the dock over there by those willows
they found mans hat. It had his
name inside-William Warren"
"And about the same time," an
other put in, "the police find this
car on the bridge, out of gas and
nobody around" He pointed to a
green sedan that several officers
were shaking down. "They find a
drivers license on the steering post
in the name of young Doc Warren.
They figure something has hap
pened to the Doc, so while they
radio headquarters for a check the
boats lower the grab hooks and
start working again."
I edged my way over near a
couple patrolmen who had arrived
from headquarters. Calls to Doc
Warren's home, his office, the two
hospitals, all brought the same re-
sponse: he wasn't there.
His wife had told the officers that
he had left home early, before she
and the children were up. He had
come home late after an emergency
operation, seemed unable to relax,
and had spent q restless night. She
had awakened while he was dress
ing and asked if he had call. He
explained that he was just going
out to clear the cobwebs from his
mind. He had kissed her goodby.
She had thought no more about 1t
until the police called.
moved back to the rail to watch
the boats as they trolled slowly
toward us, the graphing hooks
searching the lake bottom in the
lane between them. The water was
plenty choppy, a cold raw wind had
been blowing out Of the north since
yesterday. Nothing about the scene
seemed urgent. The boats moved
slowly. The crowd just stood and
watched, coat collars turned up
against the wind.
A young boy had crawled under
my arms to press himself against
the rail, excited by his first-hand
experience with tragedy. "They got
somethin'," he shouted, and the
crowd came to life. All turned
toward the men in the boats, watch
ing with a strange fascination, wait
ing to see what was being dragged
out.
Someone said, "That's him!" when
the men pulled the thing loose from
the hooks. "They put him in a
gunny sack!"
We saw the men in one of the
boats peering into the sack. Then
one of them, looking up at us,
pulled out and held up decoy some
hunter had lost. There was muir
mur Of relief, Of restrained amuse-
ment, and the crowd settled back
again into their coat collars.
Someone commented, "This jump
ing off bridges is getting to be an
epidemic"
Another one questioned, "How do
you know he jumped? Maybe he
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