Life on the Niagara
David Halliday
I was eight years old when I first saw Niagara Falls. I was taken there by my uncle Tom and his new girlfriend and future wife. My parents were busy making my sister. I saw a man take a coin out of his pocket and flip it into the Niagara River. A French bulldog named Pepper leaped in after it. A lady named Miss Lucy, whose name I read days later from the local newspaper, The Niagara Falls Herald, was beside herself in shock. It was her Pepper. She leaped into the river after her little darling. Pepper survived the experience. Miss Lucy's body was never found. So who knows. In a human interest story, Pepper was discovered wandering up and down the shore of the river, looking for his mistress.
No one can remember who was the first human to go over the Falls and survive. It could have been a woman name Lucy Maud Montgomery. Or maybe not. But it was a woman, who went over the falls in a barrel. This was quite uncommon since she was a woman, and women were expected at this time to stay at home and cook dinner. The other reason was that she went over the falls voluntarily. After she went over, she married a man named Stephen Foster, who went on to great fame as one of the original Beatles. There were sixteen of them. They were a barber shop quartet to the second power.
And then the craze began. There were dozens of barrels that went over the falls. And some of the inhabitants made it safely leading to great riches on the talk show circuit. The others just floated lazily down stream, meandering in and out of floating houses and beaver dams. And there were races. Several barrels, screaming down the river toward the Falls. And wagering. People gambled on who would win. And suvive. And I read all of this in one of Pierre Berton's books although I don't remember the title. Or if he was knighted at all.
And then the advent of the daredevil tightrope walkers began. Or maybe it was Lent.
On July 5, 1930, George Kuris, or was it Stathakis, along with his pet turtle, Sonny, went over the Falls in a huge barrel that weighed over a ton. Mr. Stathakis did not survive, but his 150-year-old turtle, to everyone's delight, did make it. Died the next year in a hot dog contest. That's not really true. I don't know what happened to him.
Tightrope walking was banned by Canada and the United States after a series of deaths. And then Nik Wallenda of the legendary Walenda family petitioned the two governments for permission to go for a stroll. On June 15, 2012, 13 million people watched on television, many hoping for the worst. In 25 minutes, it was all over. They were disappointed. Nik had conquered the world.
And that was the way it was until Artificial Intelligence, when folks started to create videos of cats crossing the river on a tightrope, and then hippos, and raging lions, and orphans. And then there was the American army using the tightrope to invade Canada. The Canadians cut the tightope, and thousands of innocent Marines went to their demise. Most never saw their homes again. Or their mother.
At three o'clock p.m., on a Tuesday, in 1604, or thereabouts, Samuel De Champagne (often misspelled as Champlain) and his native guides heard the roar through the woods days before they reached the Falls. Champayne expected to find some huge creature, the Kraken, roaring in pain, chained to a rock. It was just water. But something shiny on the shore caught his eye. He bent over and picked it up. A coin. “Mon dieu,” he said, and flipped it back into the water. And then he saw the body of Miss Lucy.
No one can remember who was the first human to go over the Falls and survive. It could have been a woman name Lucy Maud Montgomery. Or maybe not. But it was a woman, who went over the falls in a barrel. This was quite uncommon since she was a woman, and women were expected at this time to stay at home and cook dinner. The other reason was that she went over the falls voluntarily. After she went over, she married a man named Stephen Foster, who went on to great fame as one of the original Beatles. There were sixteen of them. They were a barber shop quartet to the second power.
And then the craze began. There were dozens of barrels that went over the falls. And some of the inhabitants made it safely leading to great riches on the talk show circuit. The others just floated lazily down stream, meandering in and out of floating houses and beaver dams. And there were races. Several barrels, screaming down the river toward the Falls. And wagering. People gambled on who would win. And suvive. And I read all of this in one of Pierre Berton's books although I don't remember the title. Or if he was knighted at all.
And then the advent of the daredevil tightrope walkers began. Or maybe it was Lent.
On July 5, 1930, George Kuris, or was it Stathakis, along with his pet turtle, Sonny, went over the Falls in a huge barrel that weighed over a ton. Mr. Stathakis did not survive, but his 150-year-old turtle, to everyone's delight, did make it. Died the next year in a hot dog contest. That's not really true. I don't know what happened to him.
Tightrope walking was banned by Canada and the United States after a series of deaths. And then Nik Wallenda of the legendary Walenda family petitioned the two governments for permission to go for a stroll. On June 15, 2012, 13 million people watched on television, many hoping for the worst. In 25 minutes, it was all over. They were disappointed. Nik had conquered the world.
And that was the way it was until Artificial Intelligence, when folks started to create videos of cats crossing the river on a tightrope, and then hippos, and raging lions, and orphans. And then there was the American army using the tightrope to invade Canada. The Canadians cut the tightope, and thousands of innocent Marines went to their demise. Most never saw their homes again. Or their mother.
At three o'clock p.m., on a Tuesday, in 1604, or thereabouts, Samuel De Champagne (often misspelled as Champlain) and his native guides heard the roar through the woods days before they reached the Falls. Champayne expected to find some huge creature, the Kraken, roaring in pain, chained to a rock. It was just water. But something shiny on the shore caught his eye. He bent over and picked it up. A coin. “Mon dieu,” he said, and flipped it back into the water. And then he saw the body of Miss Lucy.
David Halliday is the author of Murder (Coach House Press), winner of the 2002 Eppie Award for poetry, Church Street is Burning, winner of the 2003 Eppie Best Poetry Collection, and Sleeping Beauty (LTD), which was a finalist in the 2003 Dream Realm Awards and winner of the 2004 Independent Publisher Award for Best Horror. Recent publications include New Quarterly, Queens Quarterly (Fall 2025), Hog Creek Hardin (Spring 26).