The terrorists struck in faraway
places, but even rural Minnesotans have notice that the world has changed.
By
Robert L. Kaiser / Tribune Staff Reporter
Chicago Tribune / Page 1A /
Sunday, Oct. 21, 2001
Homefront: An American Journal First in an occasional series
"You
can be in a better mood down here on the river than anyplace else," said
23-year-old West Newton Charlie Davis, who lives on a houseboat at Winona and
whose father named him for a sunken riverboat.
"I like it
because the river's always changing," Mike Davis said as he helped his son
build a rooftop addition on his houseboat. "And yet there's a predictable
nature too."
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WABASHA, Minn. --
This time of year, the Mississippi River takes about 45 or 50 days to flow from
Marvel Lint's house to the Gulf of Mexico. Along the way, it delivers walleye
to the faithful at the fish camp, rocks to sleep a man living in a hosueboat
and provides work for those between jobs.
But in this peaceful cornre of Minnesota, the rest of the world no longer seems
so far away. With dams on the river being secured against possible
terrorist attack, a dark undercurrent of fear is building.
"It scares you," said Lint, who lives hard by the railroad tracks
overlooking the river. "That's how I feel -- scared."
Lint's America, a bucolic country lined with autumn-gold bluffs, towering
cottonwoods and ghostly river birches, seems an unlikely place for fear.
And, indeed, a cross-section of the river here shows many people going
about their business as if Sept. 11 never happened -- from the 18-year-old duck
hunters eagerly awaiting the arrival of migrating quarry to the engaging Lint,
a 77-year-old newlywed.
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"You can be in a better mood down here on the river than anyplace
else," said 23-year-old West Newton Charlie Davis, who lives on a
houseboat at Winona and whose father named him for a sunken riverboat.
But some here feel a vague sense of disquiet despite feeling far removed from
the news.
"From my really narrow view, we all felt really spared not even knowing
anyone who knew anyone" in the attack," said Melissa Gulan, area
engineer for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers . . . "I was appalled and
saddened by what happened. But then I realized that it's what's GOING to happen
that's my big worry."
In that, Gulan is not alone. Last month, workers at Lock & Dam 7 near
La Crosse, Wis., called the sheriff's department to report an
"unidentified package," said Mark Davidson, district spokesman for
the Corps of Engieers. It turned out to be a clipboard.
"We're being very wary of things," Davidson said.
The Mississippi has 29 locks and dams between Minneapolis and St. Louis -- more
than any other river. Manylocks are here, in the southeast corner of
Minnesota. If the locks were to become inoperable, boat traffic would stop.
If a dam were destroyed or sabotaged, the rushing river could become a
deadly wall of water.
This time of year, barges carrying the season's harvest -- grain, beans and
other produce from farms upriver -- pass those hauling salt and fertilizer
north for next year's crops.
Like workers at every other Army Corps of Engineers facilities on the river,
those at Lock and Dam No. 5 are on heightened alert, Davidson said. A
parking lot and picnic area for tourists has been cordoned off, and a sign
reads, "Visitor Facilities Closed."
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At the Bass Resort fish camp just south of Lock & Dam No. 5 last week,
fishermen hauled their boats out of the river for the season, scaping algae off
the hulls.
"It did affect me at first, said Al Vomacka of Austin, Minn., a veteran of
the Vietnam War who doesn't like to talk about his time in the military.
"I got pretty moody and stuff. I could see another war
coming."
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For many of those who live and work along the river, the abiding sense of peace
and countless small pleasures they find here far outweigh any disquieting
feelings they might have.
"I like it because the river's always changing," Mike Davis said as
he helped his son build a rooftop addition on his houseboat. "And yet
there's a predictable nature too."