Dale

The legend of Quarry Heights Woods
By Skruff
1955
Quarry Heights woods lay between the towns of North Castle, White Plains, and Harrison. The surrounding area reeked with wealth. Once in the not too distant past much of the land around what the local teenagers called "QHW" had been farms, and looking at the lush green color of the leaves on the small trees, one could tell the earth was still "farmable" although the property was now considered too valuable as cut-up little lots. QHW was the last really large piece of property privately owned in Westchester County. It was between two thousand and three thousand acres, and it looked even larger because it backed on to the New York City Reservoir water shed property.

Back during the revolutionary war, Colonial soldiers had retreated across this land after their defeat in White Plains. Later, runaway slaves were hidden here in covered underground pits, a stop on the Underground Railroad. The woods was dense, but was also crisscrossed with narrow dirt lanes, not more than paths really. The lanes were littered with car carcasses

Teenagers from wealthy families, bored, pure white, children who should have been on the golf course, or swimming at the Quarry Heights pool used the woods to hide their stolen cars. This had been going on for some years when Dale' family first moved to the big stone house on Gilbert Place.

Dale's new house sat high on a hill, overlooking old White Plains. This was before 287 the "Cross Westchester Expressway" was constructed. This was before the lights, before the noise, when White Plains still had crickets, and you could still look up and see stars.

Some people tell of "love at first sight" They are usually referring to human relationships. It was different with Dale, The first time he saw QHW he fell madly and hopelessly in love with it. He loved walking through the woods and smelling mulching forest. He loved to bring a sandwich and a coke, and climb way up in a remaining ancient Oak tree, and watch the woods live.

Dale hated the old car carcasses, and after a time, Dale began to hate the spoiled despoilers who brought them into the woods.

Dale thought of many different ways to stop the trashing of "his" woods, but each time he realized that his solution was only short term, and sooner or later other teenagers would return with more stolen cars, and the woods would eventually die.

In 1960, Dale's family reported him missing. They said their son had been depressed and they also told the officers; "He spends a lot of time up in that Woods off Buckout Road.
The police searched for Dale, but like the authorities a hundred years earlier, searching for darker skinned runaways, they were unsuccessful after some years Dale's family accepted the "fact" that Dale was dead. The area was steeped in sadness for them, and in 1966, they moved to Michigan. More years past.

1975


It was the height of the Disco craze. Robert was leaving the Hot-Spot on Post Road. He was feeling a little high, and he really didn't want to take the long walk up to this home on North Street. He decided to steal a car. He thought; "hell, I'll just use it, maybe even fill it with gas, and leave it where someone can find it." "No harm, no foul" he found a 73 Torino in short order, popped the ignition, and took off in the general direction of North Street. The combination of not knowing this car, and the several "joints" he had smoked at the "hot Spot" made his driving erratic enough to attract the attention of a White Plains Police Officer. When Robert saw the flashing lights in the rearview mirror, he made a quick decision. The decision lacked judgment, and only made Robert's situation worse, but it was made, and Robert hit the gas.

Down Post Road with the police car right on his tail, the car skidded sideways at the end of the road in front of Alexander's, and slid onto Westchester Avenue, he flew down to the Ken-West Service station, and through their parking lot, past the Post Bowling Alley, and up South Kensico Avenue. Robert thought of turning down Brockway, and entering Silver Lake. Once across the Harrison line, he might have a better chance of shaking his Pursuer, but the thought process was too slow, and the speed was too fast, by the time the made the decision it was too late to turn. There were three cars at the light where Kensico intersected with Lake Street, this was another chance to make the move into Harrison, but as Robert passed the cars at the intersection, a bus began to turn the corner, and Robert was forced to jump the curb, and go through a BP station. The opposite exit to this station was on North Kensico, Robert pulled the wheel hard to the left, and the Torino hit something. Robert didn't slow down. Across the thruway on the Hall Avenue Bridge, and he was out-of-town. The lights of the police car had fallen back, as the terrified Robert drove up Hall Avenue the speedometer needle close to the 80 mark. The flashing lights in the rearview receded, and when Robert's car slid around the 90 degree turn in front of the Dolan house, he knew he had but one place to hide.

Robert had spent all his 19 years in White Plains. He had heard all the stories. He knew all the rumors that protected the woods where he was headed, but the choice was clear. Jail or the risk that some of these "campfire tales" were true. Robert was a skeptic, so when he saw the entrance to the QHW he pulled the wheel hard right.

The intertwined steel tow cable was old and rusted. It was firmly anchored to the trees at the entrance to QHW. The Torino hit the cable at windshield height, and Robert never felt his head part from the rest of his body.

The Police car flew by on Buckout Road In the dark, one couldn't see the tire tracks where the Torino entered the old dirt road. When Officer Viggers got to the end of Buckout, where it intersected with Route 120, he knew his quarry had escaped. He turned off the flashing lights, and returned to White Plains.

The next day, the entrance to QHW appeared undisturbed. The ruts the Torino left had been filled, and a layer of dry golden leaves glistened in the morning dew. The only difference a keen observer might have noticed was the new tow cable stretched between the two trees framing the entrance to Quarry Heights woods.

Two years later when a woman walking her dog found the remains of Robert's severed head, the "Axe man" story got a new life.

Dale reading the newspaper, high in his Oak, took a bite of his roast beef sandwich, and laughed