Debacle At Second Pond

I had learned of Second Pond from some of my school friends, so I suggested that we check it out. It was in Oakdale, a meandering hours bike ride from the house and we would spend most of the day there. Since we were gone so long the folks inquired where it was we were spending our time. It could have been China for all my folks knew but Big Jim was familiar with Second Pond and knew exactly where it was. Turns out, it was a sort of a lover's lane and hang out for the kids of his generation.

One day while we were hanging around the farm, Big Jim told us to get into our bathing suits, cutoffs or whatever  we swim in and he'd take us down to Second Pond. Instead of taking his car, a brand new 1956 Oldsmobile, he told us to pile in the back of his milk truck.

Second Pond got its name because it is the second and largest of three ponds strung in a row. It was hidden away down a dirt road, not easy to find. There was a small clearing at the end with enough parking for five or six cars as I remember it. The edge of the pond at the end of that dirt road banked down to the water as boat launching ramps do, but trying to put a boat in Second Pond is like trying to squeeze a yacht into a bathtub.

There were a few other kids there when we arrived and in no time we were all involved in a game of water tag. There was also a rope tied to a tree at one end of the pond and we would swing out on it and cannonball into the deep water there. Big Jim walked into the water briefly, got his feet wet and walked out again. About a half hour later we noticed the truck backing down the bank until the tires are right at waters edge. A few minutes late we saw Big Jim washing the truck bed out using a bucket and a broom.

This kind of stuff was nothing new to us and we continued our games until we saw the truck wheels spinning but going nowhere. We all went over to see if we could help push it out. No dice! The truck is bogging down deeper and the water is now over the rear bumper. Meanwhile all the dirt and mud thrown by the tires has completely undone any cleaning that was intended and we are all muddy as well. Finally Big Jim takes a walk to Dickey Wolfe’s house intending to use the phone. Dicky Wolfe was an acquaintance and dairy customer who lived in the neighborhood. Joe’s Power Test was located just up the road on Montauk Highway. This was the service station where the milk trucks were normally serviced, and they had a tow truck. But Big Jim “don’t need no stinking tow truck,” and instead called Brother Fritz.

A good half hour later Fritz arrived with his milk truck and promptly backed it up to the front of Big Jim’s truck. Fritz brought a thick rope with him and after much discussion about how to “rig gear” we were finally ready to get the hell out of there. We had been there for a few hours now and were starting to get hungry. Fritz gave his truck some gas, Big Jim gave his truck some gas and we were all pushing. Wheels were spinning, and mud flying and then the rope breaks, twice.

It became apparent that something stronger than a rope was needed so Fritz decided to go back to the farm and get a chain. Only now Fritz’s truck was also stuck. Once more we all tried pushing but it would not budge. Big Jim headed for Dickey Wolfe’s house again.

        A normal person would have given up right there, called Joe’s Power Test and used the tow truck. They knew Joe. As I mentioned, Joe serviced their company trucks. They had an account with him so it wasn’t about a shortage of cash. Hell, Joe probably would have done it for free. But there is no quit in a Salvatore. So like the doomed men in Custer’s regiment they marched on, deeper and deeper into the quagmire because twenty minutes later Nick arrives with his truck. Thankfully he had also brought a heavy chain. It won't be long now we foolishly thought as Nick backed up to the front of Fritz’s truck, which was backed up to the front of the truck that had started the whole mess in the first place.

       Another twenty minutes later all three trucks were buried up to their wheel hubs in mud and hopelessly stuck at Second Pond. Indian Neck Farms Dairy is finished, kaput, shut completely down and out of business unless somebody has a V-8 moment. To make matters worse this is now starting to draw a crowd.

The visual image alone was priceless. One, two, three identical muddy white trucks with the Indian Neck Dairy logo on the doors all buried in mud up to the hub caps, and all in a neat row that led the eye down to waters edge. The entire visual image served as telltale, or should I say tattletale proof of futility in its purist form. Finally in a long overdue moment of clarity, the three brothers decided to get the tow truck involved. When it arrived, zip, zip, zip – all three trucks were out. 

Fifty years later those of us who were there or for that matter anyone who knew Nick, Fritz and Jim would unanimously agree that if Indian Neck had ten trucks that day all would have been offered up in sacrifice to Second Pond. What I know firsthand is that when Big Jim parked his truck back at the farm that evening it looked like it had placed dead last in the Swamp City Mud Rush 500… so much for cleaning the truck.