Member-only story
Don’t Yell Shark
A work of flash nonfiction
On a summer day in 1980, a boy waded into the water at the 14th Street Beach in Ocean City, New Jersey. Dennis, a lifeguard, monitored the crowd as the boy bodysurfed. He dove, glided, plunged. The sun moved a notch. Then the boy walked out of the water streaming blood from his back. He needed 60 stitches. He thought he hit a submerged breakwater or pier.
Dennis knew better. He saw a fin heading out to sea. He reported it to the beach patrol captain, who shook his head. You don’t yell shark in July in Ocean City. Dennis didn’t like this dismissal. He told people he saw a shark that day. He persisted in his belief as life went on, and he became a real estate investor in Philadelphia.
Decades later, Dennis learned that a marine biologist had examined evidence from the incident: an old newspaper clipping, a family photo of the boy’s stitches forming a crescent on his back, and an interview with the victim. The scientist made his judgment — shark bite — and added it to a database of all known shark attacks worldwide. It probably was a sandbar shark, he said.
Dennis felt exultant. He knew what he saw. They tried to shut him up, and now he was proven right. He was proud that he never wavered.
When I began writing this, I wondered if it was possible to tell a completely factual history story in 200 words. (My history articles typically run 2,000 to 3,000 words.) This is the result. What do you think of it?
