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A natural pond sat just a few steps from our house on Cypress Pond Road in Westport, inviting in the summer and winter. Each morning, I walked past it on my way to the school bus stop. In winter, when the ice froze solid, the neighborhood kids played hockey there. My brother and I would sometimes join them for a game of ice hockey once the ice was firm enough to skate on.

One afternoon after school, we jumped off the bus and saw our friends on the ice. One of the boys yelled, “Hey, we are about to start a game. Do you guys want to play?” 

After a long day at school, a game of ice hockey with my friends was just what I needed. We ran home, grabbed our skates, sticks, and coats, then yelled to our mother that we were going skating. 

My mother, ever protective, called out, “Raymond, please watch after your brother.” 

I was 9, and my brother Stephen was 7. We arrived at the pond, and I recognized most of the boys: two brothers from the house up our road, a few more from the next street, and a few girls standing by, watching the game. 

I laced up my skates, then helped my brother with his. About seven boys were out in the middle of the pond, passing the puck back and forth. As we skated around the frozen pond, warming up, my brother and I drifted apart. I pushed off to chase a puck sliding across the ice, leaving him closer to the embankment. 

Only minutes later, I heard a commotion and saw a few skaters racing back. I looked toward the area where we had laced up and saw someone had fallen through the ice. As I skated toward the group, one of them shouted, “Raymond, your brother fell through the ice! He must have fallen through while skating over a thin spot.” 

My heart dropped. I looked over and saw only Stephen’s head and the top of his shoulders above the icy water. I was about 50 feet away, skating as fast as I could. I screamed to him, “Stephen, I am coming to help you. Hold on!” 

The water was up to his arms, his legs gone beneath the ice. As I drew closer, it became clear what had happened: he had skated too close to an area of moving water, and the ice had given way. I knew that if I went any closer, I would fall in, too. Meanwhile, my brother was alone on the broken ice, struggling to stay afloat. 

Fortunately, one of the boys who lived near the pond had run home and returned with a length of rope from his garage. He skated over and tossed it to me. 

My brother was talking the entire time, his voice strained. “Raymond, I’m really cold and can’t touch the bottom.” 

“I have a rope. Just stay still, and I will pull you out,” I assured him, trying to keep my voice steady. 

The thought of him going under the ice was frightening, so I had to act fast. I tied a loop at one end of the rope and carefully tossed it to him, telling him to slip it over his head and under his arms. Then I threw the other end back toward the kids, who were standing at a safe distance, and told them to pull when I said so. 

I dropped onto my stomach and inched forward, army-crawling across the ice, moving slowly. 

“Raymond, hurry, I cannot hold on much longer,” came his tired voice. 

The ice creaked beneath me. I could feel it. There was no room for hesitation. This had to work.

When I reached him, I grabbed his coat. “Pull the rope, now!” I yelled. Each tug broke more ice away. I had to position him over thicker ice. As the boys pulled on the rope, I did too, lifting and finally guiding him onto firmer ice. He was out of the icy water, but not yet safe. We had to get him all the way out of the breaking ice. Together, we dragged him across the pond to a solid area. He was finally secure, though shivering uncontrollably. I removed his skates and helped him put on his shoes. 

As we walked home, soaked and shaken, he kept thanking me for saving his life. That ordeal was behind us, but we were now worried about what our parents would say when they saw us. By then, it was close to 4 pm; my mother was home, while my father had not yet returned from work. 

When we walked through the door, dripping wet, I told my mother that Stephen had fallen through the ice and that we had to pull him out of the water. She was stunned, then overwhelmed with relief that we were both alive and unhurt.

 We cleaned up, and later, when my father came home, he reminded us of the risks of skating on ponds with moving freshwater. His final words on the subject were, “The ice can be thin early in the winter season, so you must be more careful.” 

And then came my mother's words: “Raymond, why weren’t you watching your brother?”

That could have been much worse, but fortunately, we were safe. It was a shocking experience for both of us, and our parents were clearly upset that we had not taken precautions. 

There would be future days of ice hockey in the winters and fishing in the summers, but we never lost sight of how close we both had come to something catastrophic happening that day.