More About Keen’s Pond

When I was a teen, on a cold weekend, kids and adults would gather on Keene’s Pond to play hockey or just to skate. Franklin O’Donnell had a cart with an attached cabinet, the doors and shelves of which were stocked with candy bars, cheese crackers, Devil Dogs, Whoopie Pies and other stuff, all frozen. Frankie would haul his cart onto the ice to peddle his wares. A 5-cent Milky Way was 10 cents — everything was marked up 5 or 10 cents over Sted’s prices. Stedmans, the store on the corner of Ferry Street and Sea Street, was also known as the Seaview Package Store.

Some nights, folks would come back to skate. Many times a bonfire would be made and we would cook marshmallows and sometimes hot dogs. The stick you would cook with was never long enough, and you would nearly cook your legs!

Ice blocks were sold by the pound.
Mom would display the pounds she wanted
at the top, in the porch door window.

“Dirty Russ” Williamson delivered ice to the neighborhood for Horace Keene. Russ stopped his truck on Station Street, under the overhang of a big maple tree (long gone). He would honk, then holler, “Ruthie, how much ice ya want?” Mom would have a sign in the porch window with the amount above. I never understood why Russ had to ask — maybe Russ couldn’t read or see? Anyway, Mom would holler back the amount, Russ would uncover a block then stab lines across with an ice pick. A small block would fall off. Then he would grab it with tongs and toss it into the scale, trim it, and put on his leather apron, which hung down front and back. Russ grabbed the block with tongs, lugged it into the back hall, then fitted it into the icebox. How did he know what size to cut a 50# block? There was always a chip of ice left near the tailgate that I helped myself to, standing barefoot in a pool of ice water that drained from the ice truck (summertime only).

A block of ice headed to our icebox.

In 1945, Horace Keene was no longer cutting ice. I think My Dad bought ice in Greenbush and hauled a block home, set onto the front bumper of his Chevy. Within a short time we got a refrigerator.

The icebox.

Horace Keene’s helpers cutting ice. looking W.   Courtesy of H.C. Keene’s grandson Tony Lambert.
 ” H. C. Keene” Sea View Mass. icepick.
Courtesy of H. C. Keene’s grandson, Tony Lambert.

 

 

Horace Keene’s Ice House looking NE. Courtesy of H.C. Keene’s grandson Tony Lambert.

 

Horace Keene’s ice house under construction. looking SE.

As the years went by, I watched Keene’s ice house, on Church Street, become a derelict — first sagging, then a wall crumbling, and one day in the mid-to-late 50s, it came tumbling down upon itself, spewing sawdust out its walls in big heaps all around. It remained a heap of rubble for a few more years. A house has been built forward of where the icehouse stood.

I never knew who owned Keene’s Pond. I suspect it was named for its abutter, Keene, on the south side, however there were other abutters on the east, north and west. The late Seaview historian, Philip Randall, told me that the pond was also called Little’s Pond, Randall’s Pond and maybe Seaview Pond. I wonder what folks call it now.

Just another remembrance: In the spring, after ice-out, Charles “Simmy” Simmons and Fred Hall, members of the Marshfield Rod & Gun Club, would replace the NO FISHING sign on the pond, about 50 feet out from Summer Street. It seems the pond was privately owned, and the R&C stocked it with rainbow trout. I never did catch one of those babies! And the sign and post usually helped cook marshmallows!

 

by Ray Freden
Originally published in the Marshfield Mariner, March 25, 2009

Ice Cutting on Keene’s Pond

In the late 30s, my Dad would help cut ice on winter weekends. I remember one cold day, maybe 1939 or ’40, my Mom bundled me up, stuffed me into the wooden box attached to my sled, along with a green tin lunch box and a thermos of hot tea. Off to Keene’s pond to bring Dad’s lunch.

Upon arrival, we saw men standing around a big black hole in the ice. My Dad came over, sat on my sled, and ate lunch. We didn’t venture onto the ice this time.

Another day or year, my Mom once again prepared a lunch for Dad, who was ice cutting. This time I had a longer sled with no box on it. I had to hold the green lunch box and thermos as well as holding onto the sled. As we passed Charlie Randall’s house, the road sloped down. Mom turned the sled backwards so it would not bang into her. She held the rope and let me coast slowly down the hill. Everything was going well until she pulled the rope to stop — off I went! The lunch box & thermos went flying. My Mom screamed something at me about the thermos! I picked it up, handed it to her, she shook it, it wasn’t broken! Phew!

A big hole with a team of horses pulling a sled filled with
blocks of ice. The man on the right is using a hand saw.

Out on the ice, this time the big black hole was near the back of the pond. Men were pushing blocks of ice around. We sat on the sled near the edge. It was scary to me. I don’t remember any machinery around, I’m just lucky I remember this much.

The next few years, my Dad did not work the ice cutting operation. We did go to the pond often to ice skate, first with double runners. My Dad would push me in front of him while he skated along.

A model ”A” powered  ice cutting saw driven with a flat belt.

Once or twice a winter, the ice cutting operation would be going on. About 1943 or ’44 I was old enough to go skating by myself. I now remember more of the ice cutting. There was a gas engine powered machine (I think it was a Ford model T engine) with a huge saw out front, all mounted on sled-like runners. It must have been self-powered to move, because I don’t remember a horse on the ice.

Most of the men were from the neighborhood. The only ones I can remember are Charlie Randall, Manuel DaLuz, Wally Loud, Lyman Kent & ” Dirty Russ” Williamson. I remember Charlie pouring gas into the fuel tank & “Dirty Russ” hollering instructions along with cuss words.

Poling the blocks to the conveyer.

There was a canal cut to the icehouse, with a fence-like structure that extended out into the pond. The men would push the “ice cakes” through the canal to the conveyer that hooked the cake, and haul it up to the level were it would be stored. The conveyer was powered by a gas engine that was housed in a small shed.

Up the conveyer and into the Icehouse.

If you wanted to get to the upper part of the pond, you couldn’t jump the canal with skates on, so you had to skate up along the fence-like structure and cross under the conveyer, then back on the ice and over to a spring hole, down on your belly, and slide up to the hole for a drink of clean, pure, cold, ice water.

The ice cutting operation stopped in 1945. From then on, Keene’s Pond was for the joy of skating or fishing.

by Ray Freden
Originally published in the Marshfield Mariner, March 11, 2009

The Arrival of the 1949 Ford

Cost $1590

Early in 1948 there were rumors of the new restyled Ford at the Seaview Garage. Packages of literature began to pile up under the Parts Department counter, tubes of posters leaning in the corner, all sealed tight. Jim, the parts manager, kept guard over this booty.

My head spun with ideas of what the new Ford was going to look like. In the summer of 1947, I saw a new-style Studebaker while visiting my grandmother in Holliston, MA. One had to look twice to know which direction it was going to go! Another new style was the ’47 Kaiser; there was one in town. I molded these new designs in my head and came up with the new Ford.

It was springtime and rumors were that there were two ’49 Fords stored in Seaview! Where, oh where could they be? My head searched all of the garages and barns nearby. Al C’s two-car garage? No. A three-car garage down the street? No. A large barn down Summer Street? Nope. Then, right under my nose, why were Charlie and Mrs. Langille’s two Fords parked on Station Street?

Charlie had recently built a two-car garage on Station Street after he sold the Seaview Garage, so he could now keep their two new Fords safe and under cover. They had been out for a few nights, and the garage windows had cardboard over them. How was I going to get into his garage to see the new Fords? My head spun with ideas. The best I could do was, after school, and when Charlie wasn’t home, to ask Mrs. L if she had any odd jobs for me — I needed 50 cents for gas for my old woods car. (My A-bone pick-up, a story for later). Mrs. L said she would clean out her flower garden, which ran from Summer Street to Station Street. I was to fill the wheelbarrow and dump it across the old railroad bed. That would be tomorrow!

Oh my, would tomorrow ever come? My plan was to ask for the keys to the shed to get the rakes and wheelbarrow, then unlock the side garage door and take a peek! Well tomorrow came, the longest day in school I’d ever had! Off the bus, change my clothes, over to Mrs. L’s. She was already out, and had piles of litter, so no keys! But no wheelbarrow either! I asked where it was. Mrs. L said it wasn’t in the shed but was in the garage in the far corner, and the garage was unlocked. Oh my word, how easy was this going to be . . .

She told me to lift the wheelbarrow over the cars and to be careful. I ran to their garage, opened the door, flipped on the light and oh —–! The cars were covered! I lifted the front of the nearest, and oh my! A black, wide thing with a large bullet in the middle of the grille. Then I slipped down to the rear of the other, lifted the cover . . . this car was either light green or tan — I can’ t remember. They had no fenders, that is, not added on! Long, low, wide, somewhat a cross between a Studebaker and a Kaiser, much like my mental picture.

It even had fender skirts!

I could barely get the ‘barrow from the corner, over the hoods, out the door, down the stairs, and now I had no interest to pick up the garden litter! But I did, and earned a dollar — very generous for two hours work and a preview of the new 1949 Ford. Wow, life was good. Bragging rights in school — and I did! Mrs. L. didn’t have a clue I was interested in the cars or that I would take a peek.

The Seaview Garage got cleaned up, floors got painted, windows cleaned. The big opening day came and that weekend I helped pass out literature. The Ford Motor Company strained to catch up on the thousands of orders.

by Ray Freden
Originally published in the Marshfield Mariner, February 18, 2009