Captain Ron

by Ron Thweatt - Hermitage Tennessee - USA   Uncle Allen and the New Jersey Shore

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In 1965 my father bought our family our first new car. It was great! The color was beige, with slick plastic seat covers. It had the newest 6 cylinder engine on the market, a slant 6, with 3-speed on the column. It was a Plymouth Valiant. With no AC!

For a radio, we put a little transistor AM-FM on the dash. I even spent some of my grass cutting money on a set of moon hub caps.
Up until that time we always had used cars, like a 1928 Nash that would go through about a quart of oil per trip that was never over 20 miles. Had to be careful with the gas money; after all, it cost 25 cents per gallon, as I remember.

We also had a 1951 Chevy Deluxe, with fuzzy seats and a plywood floor board, as a by product of rust. It also had fender skirts - these made great sleds in the winter.

With the new Valiant in our possession and seeing my father sign his life away for the car loan of $1,850, we came up with the big idea of going on a vacation.

Now I had heard of these trips from kids at school, but I don’t think My father had ever taken a day of vacation in 30 years of stomping out shoe soles while working at Genesco.

He did take a kind of “vacation” to help blow up the South Pacific with the rest of the Marines and Navy. He also took a little trip to Korea to help prevent the “commies” from taking over another country. He had told me the stories of palm trees and white beaches. He had seen most of them from an amphibious landing, of which he made seven, with people shooting at him. Now that I am writing about it, it kind of reminds me of my last trip to Florida - that’s another story.

We made our plans to visit my Uncle in New Jersey. I was told of his war medals - purple hearts, silver stars, etc. And I was going to meet this man for the first time. (Yeah, we have a close family.)

I was told of his war medals - purple hearts, silver stars, etc. And I was going to meet this man for the first time. (click images for larger views)

After a long drive - two full days and one Holiday Inn - we made the trip over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. I was amazed as I looked down at all the water below me and the boats. I had never seen “LIVE” boats before and these were being powered by sails of all colors. I had seen old time sailing ships in school books, but never a sight like this.

After arriving at my uncle’s house and climbing the 2 flights of stairs to his “flat,” as he called it, I was shown to the sun porch that would be my sleeping room for the next five nights. I also heard cars and buses all night long, not to mention gun fire. Remember, this was 1965 and I was staying in the middle of Irvington, NJ, just about 8 blocks from Newark.

My uncle asked me what I would like to do while I was visiting. I remember my reply, “Got any water with beaches around here?”

“Yep, got a little,” was the answer, “and we can take a look tomorrow.”

I also asked to see the Statue of Liberty.

Early the next morning we gathered our thermos of coffee and went down to a little garage behind his house from which he drove out a 1949 Pontiac Woodie. I had never seen anything like this - it had wood on the sides and a rack on the top where there were fishing rods tied down. I remember that it had fuzzy seats like my 51 Chevy without the holes. As we drove, the smoke from his cigarette found its way to the back seat were I was sitting, This was August and and it was hot. We drove for about an hour. I had fallen asleep when I heard this “yankee” voice saying, “ Hey, boy, we’re here.” I opened my eyes to see row after row of fishing boats of all sizes. There were also sailboats. I had no idea there could be that many sailboats in the whole world.

Then he said, “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I asked.

“Well, we have been driving for a while and it’s time to eat some lunch.” As I got out of the car IT hit me – THAT smell, the smell of fish, salt water and diesel fuel. God, I loved that smell. I just stood there and said to myself, “This is where I was born to be.” We entered an old building built on sticks and as we opened the screen door, I saw a rough floor and a long bar. Behind the bar was a stove with big pots on it, with steam coming through. Beside the stove was a window with a pulley and rope. Without asking what we would have, the old man behind the bar shoved a cup of soup at us. Now remember, I was from Nashville and soup in Nashville did not have fish in it, especially fish with shells. We would go to the Stones River to dig muscles but all we would do with these would be feed the inside stuff to the cats back at the house. Then we would make ashtrays out of the shells. We certainly had no thoughts of eating what was inside these shells. I have no idea why we made the ash trays, because none of us smoked.

Then Uncle Allen told the old man behind the bar, “Beer for me, coffee for my brother and a Coke for the kid. Also, give us some steamers.”

I was asking myself,“What could a steamer be?”

The old man started pulling on the rope and up came a basket of shells, he scooped out a batch and threw them in the pot of water. No one spoke - we just sat there drinking beer, coffee and Coke and taking in the smell.

Then I broke the silence by asking a simple question,“What lake is that?” Uncle Allen smiled at the same time he rolled his Lucky Strike cigarette to the corner of his lip and said, “It’s Barnagat Bay - it leads to the Atlantic Ocean.

“THE OCEAN!!! I have always dreamed of seeing the ocean.”

Allen just smiled and said, “Just eat your chowder.”

As I took the first bite it was kind of weird and then the taste along with the smells around us hit me. It was wonderful! As if that was not enough, the old man behind the bar pulled up a basket of hot steamers from the big pot on the stove, poured them in a bucket and slid it to us along with a large dish of melted butter.

My father said, “I ain’t going to eat that!”

And as I switched seats with him, the first taste of fresh steamers and butter hit. I thought again, 'I could live in a place like this.'
The morning was followed up by more beer and cokes and then a big cheese burger.

Uncle Allen said, “Eat up, boy, we’ve got to catch the boat in about an hour.”

“What boat?”

“We are going fishing for blue fish.”

“Where?” I asked?

“The Atlantic Ocean.”

We boarded the boat and took our places. Then, as the boat pulled away, the shack we had spent the past 2 hours in got smaller and smaller.

We cleared the point and my uncle said, “There it is, boy.”

As I looked over the front of the boat, there was no land in sight, only water and a smell that I loved. As the boat rolled and continued forward, we found our boat was crossing a line of sailing boats of all kinds. My uncle told me it was a regatta Never heard that word before.

We fished all day - did not catch anything but sea robins, as they called them. They looked like a catfish with wings to me.

We fished all day - did not catch anything but sea robins, as they called them. They looked like a catfish with wings to me.

On our way back home, we took a different road because of the traffic. This road took us by a row of buildings with boats sitting on drums and boats in all stages of construction.

My Uncle must have read my mind, as he pulled into the drive way of one of the buildings and shouted at a worker, “Can the kid look around?”

“Yep, just don’t let him get hurt.”

My dad stayed in the car - he had all the boats he needed to be around for a while.

We entered a shed and my uncle called an older man by his first name and the reply came back, “Al, who’s the kid?” We shook hands and I was to see close up and up first hand my first sail boat under construction. I asked what it was and I was told a Barnagat Bay Cat Boat. Why is it called a “Cat Boat”? The older man told me that it was for “catting” around the bay. Made sense to me.

I hate that my brain can remember sounds and smells - sometimes it drives me nuts. That vacation was a long time ago, but every vacation since then has taken me back to the water and boats. So many times that when my wife would say, “ Sticks!” the kids would just say, “There goes the rest of the day.”

Then we started looking for sticks with white tops - I found that these would usually lead to looking at cat boats and then sloops.
I never thought while on that vacation I would ever own a sail boat. I also had no idea what my uncle did for a living. I only knew that it seemed like every one in “The City” knew his name. I also never saw him pay for a meal or beer. He would tell me stories of lines I should not cross, tell me of his younger days as a bare fist fighter and he had the photos to prove it.

When he passed away and my father and I went to make the arrangements, we were told everything was taken care of. Lots of guys in big black cars pulled up and men were kissing each other on both cheeks… again we were from Nasvhille and men did not kiss men back then. Who was my Uncle? All I know is that he took me to the ocean the first time. When he died he left me his purple hearts, blue fish fishing rod, two guns, two fishing nets, 3 pocket watches and a box of fishing hooks and lures.

Most of All he left me with the longing for steamers, fresh pasteries and the everlasting longing to be around boats and the Ocean.If I could ask him any question, I think that it would be, “Who was that old man building the boat?”

This same old man came to the service, shook my hand and told me, “Al loved you and hoped you would find your way back to the water.” I did find my way back all because of a little fishing trip or did the water find ME?

I was 39 when he passed and had owned several sailboats. I also found out what he did for a living, but I was told by way of a note in a simple small green box.

“The contents of this box is from my past life”, The note also had this written in his hand writing “Serve your country, keep up with what time it is, shoot straight, spend time with your friends, drink cold beer, but most of all Just Live.”

I also found out what he did for a living, but I was told by way of a note in a simple small green box.

Who was this man? Just My Uncle, who lived in New Jersey and gave me the Gift of the Water and a dream to hold on to. I Followed his suggestion and treasure what he gave me. I have lived never got to serve my country because of my Polio. I did get a great job and paid LOTS of taxes. I guess that is kind of serving in a way. I can shoot straight although I think he ment to always tell the truth even if it makes you look bad. I love being with my friends and drinking cold beer. 'Red Dog is the Beer of Choice'

Of all these the most difficult has been the last - just live. That part is hard. I will have to say being around boats and boat people has made it easer, but as time goes by I do regret not spending more time sailing.

I used to ask my boating friends, "why do you not spend more time on your boat?"

The answer was almost always, “TOOOOO much work to do”

I would reply, "Time to find a different kind of work."

Then they would say most of he time “Not the Job the Boat”.

I would then ask, "Do you own the boat or does it own You?"

They would look at me shrug their shoulders and reply, “Got to get back to work.”

Thanks Al, see you at the Harbor. Have a bucket of steamers ready.

Capt Ron

Written while anchored off the coast of Kiss-A-Me in the Un-Cork-A-Island Chain. Note: Next Island I am going to is Leave-A-Me-A-Lone, its my Wife's favorite Island.

More articles by Captain Ron:

• Captain Charlie Self
• The Magic Happens
• Boats and Stuff
• A Little Boat on a Big Lake

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