Life on the Boat Dock

On May 13, 1952, the United States of America exercised eminent domain to purchase approximately 50 acres of bottomland from Dad for the construction of Bull Shoals Reservoir and Beaver Creek Park.  At this point, Dad and Granddad Arter switched from farming to operating a floating bait shop and enclosed fishing dock on the new lake.  They initially sub-leased from Claude Johnson and later from Frank Bartholomew.  Granddad Arter would open the dock in the morning and Dad would work the evening shift.  Having survived the Depression and WWII, Granddad and Dad were shocked that city people would pay good money to buy bait and fish in an enclosed, heated dock.

Dad was gifted at telling fish stories in an entertaining and engaging manner.  One of his favorite stories began by asking about the largest catfish anyone had ever caught, seen, or even heard about.  Invariably, someone would mention that scuba divers had observed catfish the size of cows while inspecting one of the hydroelectric dams on the White River.  With this lead, Dad would begin, “Those stories are true.  Several years ago, I was noodling catfish above Powersite Dam in Lake Taneycomo when my hand entered the cavernous mouth of the largest catfish I have ever encountered.  My arm was nearly up to my elbow when my hand reached the creature’s gills.  As I grasped its gills, the huge fish clamped down on my arm.  At this point I realized the fish was too large for me to handle.  But it was too late as the fish began swimming downstream toward the water flowing over Powersite Dam . . . with me in tow.  Since escape was impossible and going over the dam would be certain death, I turned and waved farewell to my family and friends on the shoreline with my free arm.”  At this point, Dad would simply stop the story and wait until someone asked the inevitable, “What happened?”  Without missing a beat, Dad would continue, “When the fish saw my arm waving farewell, it thought I was signaling a left turn.  Making a sharp left, it ran aground in Empire Park a mere 50 yards above the dam.”  With a twinkle in his eye, Dad would add, “I sure am glad that fish knew his traffic signals”.

Following Granddad Arter’s passing in 1961, Uncle Dale left construction (having built flood control dams at Table Rock and West Virginia and worked on the Saint Lawrence Seaway in Niagara Falls) to stay in Taney County and work on the boat dock.  In May 1965, Dad and Dale purchased the main portion of Beaver Creek Boat Dock from Frank Bartholomew and in 1966 the remaining docks from Virgil McPherson.  Mom and Dad and Uncle Dale and Aunt Maxine were nearly perfect business partners – Dale was a man of action, Dad was a man of planning; Dale and Maxine brought business sense, Mom and Dad brought relationship building.  Everyone in the family worked in the business.  Steve and I gained invaluable business experience that helped us throughout our corporate careers.  I was so shy growing up that I would hide behind the oak trees in our yard when cars drove past, but after working on the boat dock and asking a million total strangers, “Can I help you?”, the shyness disappeared.  Without Dale, Maxine and their family, we might never have survived and our lives would certainly have been less without them.

In the late 1960s or early 1970s, the Corps of Engineers required Dad and Dale to replace all 55-gallon oil drums with styrofoam flotation.  We might never have completed this arduous task without the help of Skip and Bob Kieffer.  The Kieffer boys had moved from Chicago to Forsyth briefly in the mid-1960s before going back to Chicago.  Each summer, they would come down and spend time with us.  Skip and Bob were stout, cornfed, midwestern boys that were not afraid of work. We spent the summer fishing, swimming, waterskiing, and putting styrofoam drums under the boat docks. Dad loved the Kieffer boys – Skip and especially Bob.  He and Bob were kindred spirits with a shared love for spicy food.  One evening, Dad (who never cooked) and Bob decided they would make chili for supper.  As the chili simmered, they would sample the chili and one would shout, “A little more salt”, and the other would echo, “A little more pepper”.  Finally, Mom had enough and said the chili was done.  The six of us sat down and, with the aid of crackers and Pepsi, ate some of the hottest, and saltiest, chili ever served in Mom and Dad’s home.  For the remainder of the summer, as we were working, Dad would instruct, “A little more salt” and Bob would reply, “A little more pepper”.  These simple phrases captured Dad’s outlook on working at the boat dock – a little more effort and a little more time, and any task could be accomplished.