Reprise of the Tube Man

If you live long enough, especially down South, you will undoubtedly hear a lot of “stories”. Some are good, some bad, some legendary and some best forgotten. A good storyteller is a highly prized asset for any community. In the culture of the American Indian, this person might have been called a “medicine man”, or in the bands of itinerants that roamed Eastern Europe in earlier centuries, she could have been known as the “teller of fortunes”, and nowadays in the small towns of middle Georgia, you can still find such a person, and they usually are just referred to as that “character” who drinks coffee all day long and spreads gossip over at the Huddle House. I faced the fact long ago that I was not meant to be a storyteller, it takes too much energy and emotion, but knowing how people love a good story, I occasionally try to write one down. This particular one took place around a Fourth of July over on the Flint River above Cordele, and as Mark Twain once said, “sometimes truth can be stranger than fiction.”

You probably never thought about it, but after World War I most automobile and truck tires had rubber inner tubes as standard equipment. Inner tubes were big business back then, and patching tubes and tires kept many filling stations and many young filling-station attendants busy. Tubes came in different colors; red, white, blue and black. In the 1920s and 30s, times were tough, and folks had to invent a lot of their own entertainment. So, it was just sort of a natural occurrence that the imagination of young boys combined with a plentiful supply of old, repairable inner tubes and a nice, wide river nearby led to the creation of a new pastime. By 1928, the last steamboat carrying cotton down the Flint River had shut down, and only a few local ferries still crossed the mighty Flint, but “tube-floatin” was going full speed. All you needed was a patched up inner tube and a basic understanding of dog paddling, and you were all set. Every Sunday after church, the riverbanks were crowded with picnic goers who delighted in the parade of small, medium and large tubes and the entertaining antics of the amateur sailors floating by. It all went along just fine, but the devil couldn’t let it be. Before long, competition invaded the friendly innocence of tubing on the Flint River. Tube races led to tube wagering which brought out the sinful influence of inner tubes. Who knew? The hand of evil was in it, and the local clergy heard the call to arms! The shameful carryings-on would have to stop. The ministerial association decreed that the next Sunday would be the last tube outing and the Sheriff would be there to ensure no betting or other mischief was afoot. It was around this time that a young man of foreign derivation began to be seen in the Sunday crowds there at the river. He seemed to be almost invisible in the throng of people until the tubes began their procession onto the water. His tube was a large, white-faded Dunlop truck tube, amply dotted with orange patches. It almost looked like a floating stage. As the current gently carried him toward the crowd, they quieted down in anticipation. They had heard about him and had come to see if what they heard was true. As he drifted toward the center of the wide river directly in front of the large crowd, the young man vaulted himself up into a handstand, then turned and flipped into the air almost as if he had wings. The crowd was a chorus of gasps and cheers. His act was an aerial display where gravity did not exist. His balance was uncanny as he flipped from side to side of the big inner tube. By now, the flotilla of other tubes in the river had paddled to the bank to watch with everyone else. The crowd was beginning to chant, “Tube Man, Tube Man”. Even the Sheriff was cheering. As he started into the bend of the river, the mysterious acrobat slid under the tube as it calmly drifted out of sight. No sign of him was ever discovered after that day. Word was later given that the young man was a German who had been in America since just before the war as a trapeze performer with a touring international circus. He had evaded authorities for years to avoid being sent back to Germany. Apparently, he wanted to perform one last time before retiring from the work he loved. Strangely enough, at the same time this was happening, a floating airship was spotted high overhead crossing the river down below the bend. Witnesses saw what they described as German markings on the tail of the blimp. Stories about the Tube Man persisted for decades; turning into legend and then becoming myth. In the years that followed, tubing was restored to an innocent pastime on the Flint River, and it still continues today. Anyhow, that’s the story I got from a yellowed page typewritten by a much more skilled storyteller than myself. Strange enough for you? I wonder what Mark Twain would have said about this one.