The Brandon File: July 1966...

It was a typical summer day in Brandon. It was 90 in the shade and the mosquitos were nibbling at exposed ankles like starving vampires. All the neighborhood kids were out and about; some on their bikes popping wheelies and showing off; the rest playing pick-up baseball in the park. The games went on perpetually and were played with World Series concentration: "You're out! The hell you say, I beat beat it and you know it!" Three kids were crossing the field with fishing rods heading for the mill pond. "If the cats ain't a-bitin', maybe the brim will be", said one of the boys. "We gonna need some more tadpoles", said another.

A passing afternoon thunderstorm rattled village windows and temporarily sent all the kids scurrying for home; but as soon as the rain stopped and the thunder became distant, the convergence began again and the park area teamed with kids carrying bats and gloves, spitting Day's Work and arguing about who was at bat when the rain came: "I was up. Bullshit, Carlton was up and he had two strikes! You full of crap, I ain't even took a pitch!" The boys going fishing returned from their house just across the park and waved to a chubby kid splashing around in a freshly filled mud puddle. The gate leading to the pond was locked, but that rarely stopped a kid with dreams of reeling in one of the pond's big catfsh. The boy with the bait bucket yelled at his buddies, already over the fence, "hey idiots, hold on to this bucket whilest I crawl over"!

Twenty minutes later a millyard watchman quickly removed the chain that locked the gate just outside the pond. A woman crying hysterically ran from the house just across the park ignoring the shallow creek and the briars that grew along the banks. Within minutes, an ambulance appeared and slowed in search of the gate that lead to the pond. The watchman who had just opened it frantically gestured for the driver. Spotting him, the driver sprayed gravel as he gunned it for the mill yard.

The boy had fallen in attempting to catch more tadpoles. Unable to swim he had struggled momentarily before sinking to the murky bottom. One of the boys with him had called to a nearby watchman for help who summoned the ambulance and sent word to the boy's mother. Two mill hands, still in their overalls, dove continuously for ten minutes until one of them came up with the boy's lifeless, bloated body. The ambulance driver and his assistant pulled the boy from the diver's arms and immediately began to try to save him. The frantic attempts went on for twenty minutes. At last, the activity stopped and a quiet dejection settled over the crowd that had gathered. All that could be heard was the stiffled sobs of the boy's mother.

In the park, the game had stopped. The chubby kid splashing in the mud puddle was now standing beside his mother who wiped tears and said fervent prayers. As the ambulance carrying the boy's body made it's way from the mill yard everyone stopped and watched it as it disappeared from sight. By and by, the game restarted, but without the chatter. That evening, neighbors descended on the little house across the park with food, drink and somber condolences. The flashes of far away lightening promised another thunderstorm - which hit with ferocious intensity in the middle of the night.