Engineers Swore Nothing Could Move The Sunken Rig Until An Old Man Started His Nineteen Forty Nine Wrecker

everybody had noticed.

His name was Hank Whitaker.

He was seventy-three years old, thin as a fence rail, with a white beard trimmed close to his jaw and eyes the color of cold river stones. He wore faded overalls, a red flannel shirt, and a John Deere cap so old the letters had nearly vanished. His hands were folded over the head of a walking cane, but continue reading …