One of the many segments of that great Hollywood epic, “Blazing Saddles,” has a scene where the preacher in the town of Rock Ridge telling the new sheriff, “Son, you’re on your own.”

As we all now know, this particular sheriff defeated the great Mongo and the evil Hedy Lamarr. (That’s Hedley!)

Maybe this sheriff and the folks of Rock Ridge, where everyone had the last name of Johnson, were involved with what can be called “sink-or-swim” encounters with life.

I’ve encountered sink or swim situations all too many times in my life. And the one event which really emphasized this theme took place at Fort Ord, Calif., during the first of my two periods of active duty in the U.S. Army.

Fort Ord, which no longer exists, was located between Monterey and Salinas. This military post was then being used as a staging facility for troops destined for overseas duty. As a result, we had plenty of physical training, rifle range sessions, boring classroom orientations, and a visit to the post’s indoor swimming pool during the two weeks I was at this place.

One morning our barracks unit was marched off to the post’s pool building. Once inside, we were ordered to take off all our clothing except for the shorts. Then we were told our assignment was to somehow swim across the deep end of this pool. By the way, that cement pond appeared to be Olympic size.

The purpose for our session at this pool was to be prepared to swim and hopefully survive in case our troopship would start sinking out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. In other words, this was a big-time test.

Right at this point, I was in deep trouble. Here was a sink-or-swim situation and I could barely swim.

There were several good reasons for me not having this talent. First, I was then from a fairly dry part of east Oregon. Second, folks in my hometown didn’t have a swimming pool or even a decent gravel pit hole available. The Powder River (the Oregon version, not the more famous one in Wyoming) which ran through town was then one of the most polluted streams in the nation. This watery disaster was created by a gold mining dredge up river in the Elkhorn Range. Third, the municipal indoor pool, called a natatorium, had been closed during my junior high and high school years. And, fifth, the nearest outdoor pool was about 11 miles away and only open during the warmer parts of the year.

Now there was a small body of water in the south end of town. In reality, this was a mill pond. Logs were dumped off into the pond from flatbed railroad cars into the rather shallow pond and pulled out within a few days onto a ramp leading up into a sawmill. This was obviously a poor place for a picnic, wading pool or a swim.

Some of the soldiers easily swam across the deep end of this pool. A few failed and had real trouble in the water. Lucky for them, there were several lifeguards on duty.

When it was my turn, I managed to flop into the fairly warm water and somehow dog paddle my way over to the other side of the pool. However, I did need help to get out of the cement pond.

Incidentally, failing this swim test didn’t mean one was ineligible for overseas duty. Failure just resulted in a long-winded reprimand and attendance at several swimming lessons.

This barely adequate swimming talent wasn’t actually needed during the rest of my military service.

One can safely say we’ve all encountered this sink or swim concept all too many times in our lives.

At the first of this column there was a reference to that great film epic, “Blazing Saddles.” For those folks who didn’t see it on television a few weeks ago, don’t worry. It will be showing again sometime in the near future.

In the next column I’ll have an update on James R. Bourne, the editor of Albert Lea’s Town Talker monthly newspaper of the 1940s who was featured in my columns dated Feb. 20 and Feb. 27.

Ed Shannon’s column has been appearing in the Tribune every Friday since December 1984.