Memories of
Mattoon
Embarras
River
I used to annoy or
amuse many of my teachers with my questions and sometimes
correcting them on a mistake they made. I think it was amusing
to most of them (except Miss Honn) until I reached the 8th
grade and annoyed Mr. Waltrip by correcting him twice in one
class.
I liked Mr. Waltrip and avoided annoying him from that point
on but I must confess that when I began high school there were
certain teachers I went out of my way to annoy. There was one
in particular but I won’t mention his name.
When my parents or teachers couldn’t answer a question to my
satisfaction I would go to the public library and pick the
librarians brains for books they though might help me in my
quest for the answer I sought. I hate to say it about the
school system in Mattoon at the time but I learned more from
the librarians and books in the local library than I did from
most high school teachers.
One thing that immediately caught my attention as a young
child was the Embarras
River east of Charleston. One day as we drove across it I
asked dad why people pronounced the name of the river Ambro or
Ambraw (I guess according to how southern their accent was)
when it was spelled embarrass and at that misspelled since
they had left out an S.
Dad and all adults I would ask, including the teachers and
librarians (who could not think of any books that would prove
or disprove it) said it was an Indian name for the river
though they weren’t sure what Indian tribe had named it.
From that point on I and most of my friends (they were ornery
like me) began to call it the Embarras River and point out it
was misspelled at that. To reinforce this belief I would ask
people that if a white man heard an Indian pronounce it Ambro
or Ambraw why would they spell it Embarras and misspell it at
that?
Things tend to stick in my “curiosity craw” and this column
will definitely prove that. The river didn’t exactly become an
obsession with me but it has and will always be a part of my
life for more than one reason and I think the truth of that
river and its name will surprise a lot of people by the time I
am finished with this column. It sure did me.
One summer it had been raining hard for several days and
nights.There was concern the steel span bridge that crossed
the river near Lake Charleston would be swept away which even
with my teenage imagination seemed unfathomable to me.
I managed to talk three friends into driving over to the
parking area at the Lake Charleston swimming area to witness
such a spectacle if it did happen. I’m pretty sure Don Gurkin
was driving, Dave Wells riding shotgun and myself and Kenny
Zike were in the back.
Though we were all underage we managed to get some beer for
the night ahead. As we sat in the parking area it seemed the
rain came down harder as the night wore on. Roads were being
closed throughout the county and the river was indeed running
higher and faster.
We would take turns getting out of the car for a better look
at the river to see if it was still rising and it was at a
rapid rate. We were all drenched, cold and shivering as the
night wore on.
We had been listening to the radio when Don finally started
the car and turned on the heater. The river got within a foot
of the bottom of the bridge when the rains let up a little and
as night slowly began turning to day the waters began to
recede. It was obvious the bridge wasn’t going anywhere.
When it was obvious the bridge wasn’t going anywhere
(personally, I didn’t think it would but wanted to be there if
it did) my friends began ragging in me for talking them into
another one of my ridiculous ventures.
I convinced them that if it had we would have been the only
witnesses and could have sold our story to the
Journal-Gazette and we joked about how we would
stretch the story a little to make it really interesting.
As we worked our way back to Mattoon all of us, except Don
worried what we were going to tell our parents. I simply said
fib to them knowing I couldn’t lie to my parents and that it
wouldn’t do Dave any good because his dad was so strict and
Kenny? He probably wasn’t too concerned because he could
weasel his way just about out of anything with his
personality.
I finally had everyone laughing when I said, “Can’t you see
some farmer two counties south of here wake up and see that
bridge sitting in the middle of the river down near his bottom
land, scratching his head and saying to his wife, “Maude, what
do you suppose that is?”
“Well, Hiram,” it sure looks like a bridge to me but sure
don’t look like a very good one sunk as it is out here in the
middle of nowhere.”
“Who on earth do you suppose would put it there?
“Hiram, only God knows for sure.”
Over the years I would talk about the river and not long ago
it crossed my mind again and I looked up embarrass in one of
my dictionaries for other meanings than what most of us know
it to mean. I found this: 2 a: to hamper the movement of b:
Hinder, Impede.
I could then picture a gentleman of means, well-educated and
respected in his community, which I have elected to call Terre
Haute, Indiana making a big hoopla about moving his family to
California some time in the 1800’s.
Following the parties and farewells he, his wife, and whatever
children they had would head west where they would run into
torrential rains around the Charleston area before it had been
settled. Perhaps they were the first to take that route
angling southwest through where Effingham now is towards St.
Louis to avoid the traffic.
I think I’ve been in California too long and the traffic is
getting to me. Besides, a little humor is good for one’s
health although the traffic out here isn’t. Probably the
reason I rarely leave the mountains where I live is because we
have very little traffic in the area where I live.
At any rate, they come upon this river one night that is
running high and fast and is most definitely hampering,
hindering and impeding their progress west. Perhaps its
running higher and faster than it was the night four of us sat
and waited for that bridge to wash away and had a bridge been
there then it may have ended up as far away to just southwest
of Vincennes, Indiana.
The gentleman, who is well-educated, leaves his wagon, surveys
the situation returns to the wagons. I’m quite sure there were
more wagons holding their worldly possessions and perhaps
other families and their wagons journeying to California with
them as well.
He goes from wagon to wagon telling all there is a slight
problem and they will further survey the situation the
following morning and see how bad it is. By daylight the rain
is falling even harder and the river is running virtually out
of control. It is a very discouraging sight.
Later in the day the men gather and after much discussion take
a vote and the majority decides this is as far as they are
going because there is no telling what other obstacles they
might come across if they decide to continue.
The gentleman of means scuffs the toe of his boot in the mud
and says, “What an embarrassment this is to me. I make a big
deal that I’m taking my family to California, all of you elect
to join me with your families and I doubt we’ve journeyed a
hundred miles.”
So in my youthful and still active imagination I picture him
painting a sign calling the river the Embarrass River but only
having enough room for one S which is even more embarrassing
to him.
Just seeing that alternate meanings for embarrass were to
hinder, hamper or impede movement should have satisfied me but
while in the hospital for too many times and days to suit me
(three trips amounting to about 28 days from April 22 to may
30th) and a lot of idle time when they weren’t doing those
things they do to you in the hospital in which that river
chose to occupy my mind.
I had to be absolutely certain I was right that the proper
name for the river is Embarrass and I am right; and I’m
standing by that even though I was surprised how it came to be
and the alternate names and spelling of Embarras are also
acceptable even though it did not come from any Indian tribe.
“The name comes from French explorers who used the term
embarras for river obstacles, blockages and difficulties
relating to logjams and the like. And the United States Board
on Geographic names settled on ‘Embarras River” as the
stream’s official name in 1964. According to the Geographic
Names Information System, it has also been known as the ‘Amraw
River’ and the “Embarrass River.” Either way, it did not come
from some Indian tribe.
For you fisherman the Embarrass River, as I will continue to
spell it and call it, has the only population of harlequin
darters in Illinois.
I would like to dedicate this month’s column to the memory of
my brother David Lee Wright who passed away at his home July
10 2009. He would have been 64 September 1st.
