The Fog

The party was in full swing when I arrived. Most of the crowd were from my rowing club, catching up and swapping rowing stories. A few of us were standing in a small circle enjoying a glass of wine and chatting when Jonathan, our team captain, joined us.

“Did you hear about Allison?”

“No, what about her?” I inquired.

“She took out one of the small wooden row boats two days ago and hasn’t returned. They sent a search party out but haven’t found her or the boat.”

“That’s awful. What do you think happened?”

“Who knows. No one has heard from her, and she hasn’t returned; that’s all we know,” Jonathan replied.

My friend Bobby was listening and rarely said much, but eyes wide, he piped in with his thoughts about what he thought happened.

“She rowed into another time. One day she’ll return; they all do.”

“Huh? What are you saying, Bobby?” I asked.

“Haven’t you ever heard about the San Francisco fog mysteries?” he asked.

“No,” all said unanimously.

“There have been times when the fog is so thick it hides everything, and if you are unfortunate enough to be out on the bay when this happens, the fog takes whoever is caught in it to another time and dimension.”

Everyone either rolled their eyes or started to laugh before Jonathan asked, 

“Right…….and where did you hear about these mysteries?”

“My great uncle told me on his death bed.”

“He may have been delusional if he was on his death bed. What makes you believe that whatever story he told you was true?” Jonathan asked.

“My great uncle needed to confess a secret he held about the famous escape from Alcatraz.”

“What was his confession? Can you reveal it now that he’s gone?” asked Jonathan.

“Well, I can, but I don’t know if you’ll believe me.”

“Well, let’s hear it anyway,” I piped in.

“The date was June 11th, 1962, when three convicted bank robbers successfully escaped the maximum security prison on Alcatraz. They had planned every detail down to the fake papier-mache heads they left in their beds, dug holes through the concrete wall for weeks, and made a boat from stolen raincoats. They successfully made their way to the water and began to blow their hot breath into the sewed-up raincoats they made, making them buoyant for the water. My uncle said the water was bone-chilling cold, and the three men weren’t sure if they would be able to survive the chilly waters. But, it was either fight for your life, kicking or die. They made it halfway towards San Francisco when a thick fog began rolling off the water, completely engulfing them. After a few minutes of this thick mist, a break in the fog opened up, and they could see the beach and boat landing. Now, kicking even harder, they were almost there. Looking back, the fog was gone, and very few lights across the bay to Alcatraz, just the lighthouse flashing as it usually does. They arrived on the beach while it was still dark. The men stole clothes from the laundry room at the prison and shoes from the infirmary that were left behind, stuffing everything into a plastic bag. Making their way past the beach under a small Bridgeway, they changed their clothes. None of them recognized the city; it looked old and sparse. The first sign of the sun was coming up, and they needed to steal some food before they made their way to the train station. They spotted a closed supply store, broke a window, and quickly gathered a few things to eat. Some newspapers had just been delivered earlier and stacked outside the door with no word of their escape. One of the men quickly stuffed one of the newspapers down his trouser before leaving. When they were out of view from the supply store, the man who had the newspaper opened it and started reading, trying to see if their escape had hit the papers yet. He got a little confused at the information printed in the newspaper. The date printed was June 12th, 1880, and there was an article about the president of the United States, President Rutherford B. Hayes. But the year was 1962, and the president was John F. Kennedy; Hayes was president in 1880.”

We were all listening intently, unsure what to make of what Bobby was saying, but Jonathan spoke first. “Wait a minute, are you saying that these three guys time traveled to 1880?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, but let me finish the story. The men scratched their heads, trying to figure out what had happened, but there was nothing about their escape, not one word. They made their way to the train station, hoping to sneak onto a box car heading for the Carolinas, which they did. After arriving there and checking out their surroundings, they knew they were no longer in the 20th century and didn’t have to look over their backs for the cops. Each changed their name, got a job, and found love except for one. He was secretly married back in his time when he was incarcerated, and his wife knew about the planned escape, she said she would wait for him in the Carolinas. After a few years of living in the past, that man wanted to go home to his wife but knew if he got caught, he would be back in jail for the rest of his life. But he was willing to sacrifice everything to see her again if he had the chance. He decided to take a boat out on the ocean mainly to clear his head, and once there, that unusual thick fog set in just like the night in the San Francisco bay. When he returned to shore, he saw his surroundings had changed, and he was now back in his time. He had changed his name, and though it was two years later, his wife was still waiting. He located her, had a new name, got a job, and started a family where they lived out the rest of their days in South Carolina. No one ever knew what happened to the three men.”

“Aren’t you from South Carolina, Bobby?” asked one of our friends.

“Yep, born and raised.”

“Well, where does your great uncle come into the picture? What was it he confessed?” asked Jonathan.

“My great uncle was Frank Morris. He was one of the men who escaped Alcatraz and was never found. True story.”

Our eyes bulged with shock; could that possibly be true? They never found them or their dead bodies; some thought they had escaped to the mountains. Back in those days, you could hide a lot easier than today.

“Hmmm, I don’t know, Bobby; maybe your great uncle was just telling stories; it sounds a little far-fetched. Time travel, really?” Jonathan responded.

“I guess we’ll never know for sure,” answered Bobby. 

The subject was changed, and we each went on to talk to others at the party. A week later, I was walking along the Fort Mason piers, and that thick fog was laying a blanket of white on the bay again when I spotted Allison rowing her boat dressed in turn-of-the-century clothing. I was so excited and happy she was alive; I yelled to her, “Where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you, and why are you dressed like that?”

She grinned and said, “Have I got a story for you!”