Local Legend Transcends Technology
by Jay Dubya

Jack Donio is not only Hammonton's Fire Chief for fifteen years. The good-
hearted citizen is also a local living legend and a favorite hero of area 
mythology. Move over Jersey Devil. If big Jack Donio happened to be an American 
Indian, he would more-than-likely carry the name Chief Big-Heart. His widespread 
reputation is not only because of his volunteer service to his town. You'll soon 
know why.

All kinds of fascinating tales abound about "Big Jack.' For some inexplicable 
reason I always want to believe these incredible stories, no matter how 
exaggerated their redundancy may sound. Having a literature background, this 
former English teacher enjoys myths and relishes their perpetuation.

One popular tale has Jack Donio on his former Winslow farm surrounded by fifty 
silent and obedient migrant workers. Wthout making any announcement in either 
Spanish or English Jack holds two huge sledgehammers perpendicular to the 
ground. Standing erect, the mammoth man casually twists his wrists upward and 
the dual sledgehammers instantly rise to waist level before his very amazed and 
spellbound audience. Then Big Jack Donio casually drops the dual heavy objects 
to the ground and departs the barn area in a nonchalant gait as the impressed 
and astounded employees chatter.

A garrulous farmer had once me that he had witnessed Big Jack pull into Folsom's 
C&E Cannery with an enormous load of tomatoes stacked in "five-eights' bushel 
baskets.' The back tailgate load was so large that when big Jack stepped down 
from the cab, the truck's front tires immediately rose two inches above the 
asphalt. I don't care if it sounds too sensational to believe. The story 
propagates and verifies the behemoth's remarkable legend, which I too am guilty 
of perpetuating.

I could picture Big Jack arm wrestling King Kong Bundy for hours over whose head 
was balder, and the intense contest would end in a draw because the smoky bar 
they were in had to finally close down for the night. That's the kind of stuff 
my fertile mind imagines whenever I meet and converse with Big Jack Donio.

One particular Saturday night in late July of 2001 my wife Joanne and I and 
friends Mac and Denise Fascetta drove eight miles from Hammonton out to 
Sweetwater Casino for dinner. After enjoying a terrific meal and some 
interesting conversation while seated at a table overlooking the historic 
Mullica River, the four of us had to exit the South Jersey establishment through 
an adjoining dining room. My perceptive eyes immediately observed stocky 
brothers Jack and Joe Donio seated at a table having dinner with wives Eugenia 
and Roseann.

"Uncle John,' Joe enthusiastically greeted, "how the heck are ya' doin'?'

"Great Uncle Joe,' I returned implementing our typically predictable salutation. 
"It's great to see two local farmers out enjoying themselves during the height 
of the summer harvest season.'

"Sir,' Jack said as he nearly disintegrated my right head in a firm handshake, 
"it's always an honor and a privilege to see you,' the affable giant stated 
rising from his seat while all four of our wives chuckled.

I was extremely flattered because the local legend Fire Chief regarded former 
English teacher John Wiessner as an important member of his community. Overcome 
by curiosity and desiring to learn some gossip, I inquired about the validity of 
one of his many adventures.

"Jack,' I deviously began, "is the fantastic story true that you used to take 
two heavy sledgehammers on your Winslow farm and...'

"Forget about that trivia,' the awesome hero politely interrupted with 
authority. "That's history if ya' know what I mean. Here's a new story.'

Big Jack told me that on one recent occasion he had been summoned to a fire. The 
man felt sick, weak and dizzy after arriving at the scene of conflagration. Upon 
exiting his vehicle and stepping towards the blazing warehouse, Big Jack nearly 
collapsed to the ground. The Hammonton Rescue Squad arrived and immediately 
transported afflicted the Fire Chief to Kessler Memorial Hospital. Everyone 
present during the emergency suspected that Big Jack Donio had suffered a heart 
attack.

"Wow!' I exclaimed inside handsomely decorated Sweetwater dining room. 
"Obviously you've survived your ordeal. What happened next?'

Big Jack took a deep breath to heighten my suspense and then he explained that 
the hospital doctors told him his heart had lost its rhythm. It was fluttering 
and beating irregularly and had to be stabilized. ‘The rhythm must have sounded 
like a really bad rap song,' I thought but dared not comment.

"The doctors in the Emergency Room said three things could happen to me,' Jack 
nonchalantly emphasized. "And I'll always remember them.'

"What were they?' I curiously asked. "I'm always interested in learning new 
information.'

"Nothing would happen, I could live, or I could die,' Donio tersely replied 
quite matter-of-factly. "They then said they had to use a ....'

"A defibrillator?' I interrupted as I inserted a direct object into his 
sentence. "The medical device you're referring to is called a defibrillator.'

"Yeah, that's it,' big Jack concurred with my nomenclature, "they wanted to give 
me a powerful electric shock to get my heart workin' right again.'

Jack informed me that the concerned doctors then professionally administered 
several hard electric jolts to his sternum. Donio's huge barrel-shaped-chest did 
not respond to the potent stimulation and his body did not react by heaving up 
from the hospital table like viewers always see on TV hospital shows. "I stayed 
in the hospital for a full week but my damned heart never regained its rhythm,' 
Big Jack stated in a feigned melancholy tone of voice.

"Well, how did you ever get back to normal?' I inquisitively wanted to know as I 
glanced down at the gigantic steak that looked like half a cow lying in the 
center of big Jack's dish.

"I went back to work as a wintertime highway supervisor. I was at a construction 
scene,' Big Jack proceeded to elaborate, "so bein' bored I grabbed a jackhammer 
from a guy and started riveting concrete non-stop for six hours. Then I went 
back to the doctors at the hospital for a checkup, and they were astonished and 
said that my heart problem had miraculously been cured.'

As I drove from the rustic Sweetwater Casino Restaurant back to Hammonton I 
thought about Jack's new tale and about my fantasy of him arm-wrestling King 
Kong Bundy for hours in that splendid imaginary smoky barroom. I then thought 
about the lyrics to a Jim Croce song.

"He's badder than old King Kong, meaner than a junkyard dog.' Then while driving 
south past several blueberry plantations I chuckled at my mind's fantasy. The 
pro' wrestler King Kong Bundy's family owned a South Jersey junkyard and they 
probably have several vicious mongrel dogs protecting the premises. ‘Heaven rest 
Leroy Brown and Jim Croce's souls,' I mused, ‘and long live King Kong Bundy and 
Hammonton's Chief Big-Heart. Now I know why the riveting road-shattering device 
is called a Jack- hammer,' I concluded.

"Keep your eyes on this winding road,' my wife ordered.' How come you're smiling 
and giggling?'

"I don't know!' I prevaricated. "Sometimes I just simply enjoy acting stupid!' 

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