Which brings me to my East River story, which I may have already written about, but I can't find it in the archives. About 15 years ago my husband was walking along the river when he saw a man drowning. Being the caring midwesterner that he is, he climbed over the railing and put out a hand to drag the man back in. But the man was inebriated and not fully conscious.
Whether he was trying to commit suicide or not he never knew, but he was really out of it. Unlike Bruce Willis, it is in reality very difficult to pull someone out of a river who is not helping himself, with one hand. Not too long after another man came to help and tried to brace my husband and himself with help from the railing and a sweatshirt to help pull. After about 15 minutes some police on a boat came and pulled the man out, still alive.
My husband had a sore shoulder for about a month, and never found out what happened to the drowning man.
(Addendum from my mother: The East River is not really a river: it’s a strait where each end is connected to the