DENNIS, THE GOOD SAMARITAN

[My Northern Wisconsin]

   


By:  Sandy Onchuck

“NO, DON’T STOP” was hardly out of my mouth before I felt the forward thrust from the braking of our flatbed trailer as we pulled off the interstate.  There, on the shoulder of I-94, somewhere between Chicago and Milwaukee, stood one unsightly group of people (seven, to be exact, four adults and three children).  The children looked pitiful, and their disheveled appearance screamed “neglect.”   Their old, rusty, and beat-up vehicle with its hood raised appeared to have given up the ghost, and they were waiting for some "Good Samaritan" to stop and rescue them.  Even though my “DON’T STOP” request had gone unheeded, I could understand why Dennis was stopping.  He holds the record for being rescued from a “MULTITUDE” of perilous situations and feels a deep obligation to repay society.

A born mechanic, he had intended to help get their rig up and running again.  He figured they might need water in their radiator, or maybe they had a broken fan belt.  But immediately after pulling over, Dennis’ furrowed brow told me, this time, he might be experiencing "Samaritan's remorse" and had misjudged the need.  The reason?  We had yet to come to a complete stop before they began hoisting the women and children onto the back of the pickup.  Then, one of the men started jerking their earthly belongings out of that old car trunk and throwing items onto our truck bed without taking any measure of care.  Before Dennis could get out of our vehicle, the other man poked his head (bad breath and all) inside the passenger door window to thank us for stopping.  Happy couldn't begin to describe his reaction.  He was probably in his mid-thirties, with ratty hair and scummy teeth, and was smiling from ear to ear.  We had definitely made his day.  We were dumbfounded; they weren't interested in exchanging information about their breakdown, names, or intended destination.  It was evident they just wanted to get out of there.

Their vehicle had Michigan license plates, but it was apparent from their gear they were not on vacation or out sightseeing.  Our biggest clue was the humongous wire cutters they transferred from their trunk onto the truck bed.  Vacationers usually take swimwear, golf clubs, roadmaps, and cameras - not hammers, wire cutters, and crowbars.  Their dirty and disheveled appearance suggested they had yet to be guests at any Holiday Inn or even a low-budget Okey Dokey Motel.

I wondered about these people - what was their story?  Had they fallen on hard times, or were they, as my mama used to say, "Just plain trifling and wouldn't shake a stick at a snake?"  One thing was for sure: they needed basic hygiene skills.  But there was no guessing as to their intentions.  They had no plans to stick around and revive that old car.  They performed like the “Incredible Hulk” as they cleaned out that old beater in record time.

My curiosity turned to fear as their actions revealed sinister and criminal intentions.  We watched in horror as they removed the license plates in plain sight of all the interstate traffic whizzing past.  Then, they began smashing the windshield, windows, mirrors, and headlights with tire irons.  Their actions were beyond belief.  We were pulling a trailer loaded with a sizeable D6 bulldozer, so a fast getaway was not an option.  We were helpless.  Also, the women and children had already made themselves comfortable in the back of the pickup.

Thankfully, for Dennis' sake, thoughts and looks can't wound.  Don't get me wrong, I believe the Bible encourages us all to be "Good Samaritans" and to help the wounded by the wayside.  In this case, however, I was convinced they weren't the wounded; they were robbers!

When the men finished their destructive frenzy, they jumped on board, and we pulled back on the freeway with absolutely no idea what these hoods expected or where our end might be.  I’m sure the passing motorists were intrigued.  I mean, we were a sight for sore eyes.  We looked like a modern-day version of the Joad family from the “Grapes of Wrath."  It was July 1984.  Crammed into the cab of our airless 1969 service truck were my husband, me, our two small children, and our teenage foster daughter.  And the seven characters were situated in the truck bed behind us.

With my teeth clenched and an icy but low voice, not wanting our uninvited guests to hear me, I asked my husband, "Now, what are you going to do?"  He said, “I don’t know," words which were quite unnerving, especially from a man who was always solving problems.

Several miles down the road, we came to a toll booth.  The attendant took the money and asked Dennis if the people in the back of our truck bed were the same ones beating the “X*^”>?#@%X” out of their car a few miles back.  Dennis sheepishly nodded his head.  The men were within earshot, and he dared not say anything.  People who travel with wire cutters, hammers, tire irons, etc. likely have guns and knives as well, and we were in no position to defend ourselves.  So, he paid the toll and slowly began to pull through the toll gate.

Then, literally within seconds, seemingly out of nowhere, and from every direction came five or six squad cars with lights flashing and sirens screaming.  We were surrounded.  Police officers began jumping out of their squad cars with guns drawn and pointed toward our “male” riders.  They were yelling for them to get down off the truck bed.  Once off the truck, they made them raise their hands, spread their legs, and began frisking them.  Dennis opened the truck door to get out, but one of the officers screamed at him to get back in the truck and stay there.  And stay there we did, for what seemed like an eternity.  We watched in horror as the officers removed handguns and switchblades.  Then, the frightful encounter became a total embarrassment.  Stenciled on our side doors was "Northern Equipment Service LTD. Phillips WI" for all the world to see these ruffians spread eagle over our hood.  I felt like yelling to the passing motorist, "We are not the crooks."  Instead, I muttered angrily at my husband, and it wasn't "sweet nothings."

Finally, at my coaxing, Dennis asked one of the officers if he could talk to him.  After getting permission, Dennis walked over to one of the patrol cars.  Dennis explained our plight to him.  They believed our involvement in this situation was innocent and made the women and children get off the truck.  They permitted us to leave the scene only after reprimanding Dennis for subjecting his family to such danger.  We felt terrible for the three young children.  As they unloaded their gear, the children cried and begged Dennis not to leave them.  That was heartbreaking.  Even after all these years, I pray for those precious little ones.

We left the scene never to discover who these people were or what they were up to.  Had passing motorists not alerted the toll booth attendant and police, we might be pushing up daisies today.  However, I would like to note they did not have any shovels in their arsenal, and I doubt they would have had the ambition to bury us anyway.  They most likely would have just shot us and left our bones scattered, who knows where.

I wish I could say the rest of our trip home was uneventful, but the Dennis Onchuck family and EVENTS seem to go hand in hand.  After leaving the scene, we drove for a few hours, but it was so hot and humid, and everyone was so tired and crabby that we decided to stop in Waupaca for the night.

The next day began great, but by midafternoon everything changed.  When many men travel, it is "from this point to that point and nothing in between."  Not Dennis.  Always the lover of "big equipment," he contends no trip is ever complete unless he stops and drives through all farm and heavy equipment lots along the way.  This trip was no exception; unfortunately, he drove through one lot too many . He spotted some "yellow iron" that he wanted to check out, and after sizing it up, he drove through an adjacent car lot to get back onto the highway.  It was a narrow strip, and Dennis was carefully maneuvering his way through when I looked out my window, misjudged our distance from a culvert, and yelled, "watch out."  He, thinking he would hit something, jerked the wheel to the left, "Uh oh"…not good.  He had smashed the front end of a brand new Oldsmobile.  Oh boy; this time I received the "unholy look" and the less than "kind" remarks. Thankfully, Dennis doesn't swear, so I got off easier than many women would have.

For the second time in two days, we found ourselves conversing with the highway patrol.  The owner estimated damages to the tune of $700.00.  Ouch!  After we filled out the paperwork, the patrolman left the scene.  It was getting late in the day, so the business owner closed up shop, and all five of us piled back into the truck cab.  But, when Dennis turned the key, nothing happened - dead battery.

There were no homes or open businesses nearby, and this was years before cell phones.  So, we became the motley crew standing on the side of the road with our truck hood raised, hoping and praying that some "good Samaritan" would stop and rescue us.  We looked less threatening than the characters we had stopped to help the day before but discovered quickly that "good Samaritans" were in short supply.  Few motorists are willing to stop to help, which, after events we had experienced the day before, we could understand why.  Finally, though, a man stopped and gave us a jump, and we were on our way.

We were tired and hungry by this time, but Dennis was afraid to stop.  Poor little Andy was whining, "Papa, I 'hungy,' let’s stop at a 'restwant.'”  Dennis, trying to be funny, said, "We will; we'll stop at the Onchuck Restaurant."  That didn't go over very well with the kids or me.  Finally, as we neared home, Dennis did relent and stopped for us to eat but not before he saw a neighbor in a café parking lot and knew we would be able to get a jump from him.  Finally, "Home Sweet Home."

Reflecting on this incident from 40 years ago, I am reminded that no occurrence ever surprises our LORD.  Our lives often intersect with "ruffians," and we won't know until “eternity” why some people are spared from disaster and not others.  Despite my warnings, Dennis still stops to help stranded motorists.  Some things will never change!  That's what sets him apart from many others.  Dennis – the Good Samaritan.

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