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A Dream Come True - Hitchin' Across the USA

2/16/2015

My first guitar hero.. Woody Guthrie

I still can’t believe my mom did it. She gave me my first ride from my home in the small town of Bellefonte, Pennsylvania to the nearby Exit on Interstate 80. I had $1.86 in my pocket and was headed for Colorado with nothing but a backpack and unquenchable youthful enthusiasm. Ever since I had read Woody Guthrie’s autobiography, Bound for Glory at the suggestion of my first guitar teacher, Bill Joyce, all I wanted to do was hitchhike and hop freight trains..

Bronson... I bought one of those hats and wore it every day in high school.

The romantic lure of the road had captured my soul and imagination and I reveled in the stories of many of the old blues and folk players who traveled the country and the world. That wasn’t all though. In addition to Woody’s influence was a tv show that I used to watch religiously called “Then Came Bronson”. The show chronicled the life of a lone, mysterious, biker who seemed to have no roots and lived on the road, free as the wind. He had the coolest Harley in the world and the images of Bronson plying the Pacific Coast Highway burned into my brain.

That was also around time that Simon and Garfunkel sang, ” We’ve all gone to look for America”, and the movie “Easy Rider” was a hit on the big screen. I yearned to see the Golden Gate Bridge, Big Sur, the Grand Canyon and the Tetons. (I later rode a motorcycle across country and back passing through the Painted Desert, Monument Valley in Arizona and the Rockies of Colorado, hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon alone twice and stood atop the Grand Teton).

The Grand Teton, Wyoming

My uncle Buck used to tell me stories about the number of states he had seen… 23 in all, he said. I was determined to beat that record and soon did.   With my inherent restless nature, boundless curiosity and search for meaning in life, to quote Robert Johnson, I had “Ramblin’ on my Mind”. The urge has never left me. Hitchhiking and hopping freight trains was my destiny.   My mother’s question to me, still the same to this day, upon receiving one of my calls home is always, “Where are ya, honey?”

But back to the story. After graduating from Penn State, I was in my first year of teaching 5th Grade in an isolated village in the mountainous coal mining region of central PA. I had the summers off and couldn’t wait to get out on the road.   I had heard about a rock climbing school in Colorado called the LEAD Outdoor Academy that was just forming and I wanted to get in on the ground floor as an instructor. I heard that the original staff was getting together for a training session and I was invited to come out for what became a week long job interview in the wilderness. I was thrilled to have the opportunity but had no way to get to Colorado and no money. I had a theory which I tested many times over the years and found to be true. I figured that even in a worst case scenario, one could hitch across the country in three days.   A person could easily go for 3 days without food so in my mind even if something bad happened, I would be alright. Call me foolish but with this in mind, I decided to make the trip.

My destination... the Rocky Mountains outside of Gunnison CO.

There I was, all alone looking west with $1.86 in my pocket and wild with excitement about the adventures that awaited me. I was desperate to find meaning in life and the road was my laboratory. I had recently become interested in spiritual matters and was eager to test my new convictions. I believed in my heart that God would take care of me and with that, the journey began.

Mom knew she couldn’t stop me so she became an accomplice. As mentioned, she gave me my first ride to the Bellefonte exit of Interstate 80, waved goodbye and all of a sudden, there I was, all alone looking down the road with my thumb out singing to myself the words to the theme song from “Then Came Bronson”.

The exact spot on I-80 outside of my hometown of Bellefonte PA where my journey began.

        “Goin’ down that long lonesome highway, bound for the mountains and the plains
         There aint nothin’ here gonna tie me, and I got some friends I’d like to see again
         One of these days I’m gonna settle down, but ’till that day I won’t be hangin’ round
         Goin’ down that long lonesome highway, Gonna live life my way.”

Standing on the side of the road, I looked up to the sky, said a short prayer and within minutes, I got my first ride. After only two exits, we stopped to get gas and I leaned against the car as the driver went inside to pay. I remember looking down with a very narrow focus of attention. I was thinking about the long journey ahead and with tunnel-like vision, I stared at my shoes. At that moment as I looked down, a twenty dollar bill blew across my foot! I bent down, picked it up, looked to the sky, and in my mind repeated what I head heard my Uncle Buck say many times at family gatherings when he was asked to say grace at the table. “Thanks Ace!”

My ride took me all the way to the Pennsylvania - Ohio border. As I got out of the car, it was obvious that a very bad thunderstorm was quickly approaching. The sky was an ominous looking grey with big black thunderclouds just waiting to explode. I again said a prayer and believed as much as I could that God would take care of me.

Within minutes, someone pulled over and I quickly gathered my things and began to run to where the car was waiting just ahead. I jumped in and moments later the thunderstorm erupted with violent fury and there was a downpour harder than any I had ever seen. In the comfort of a Mercedes, I got to know my benefactor and we pressed ahead, safe and dry despite the tempest that raged outside.

You meet some remarkable characters on the road and my new friend was no exception, very dapper with a bright red hair and a very well groomed mustache. He told me he was the inventor of the Pro Max Hair dryer which, at the time, was a new commodity. He regaled me with stories of his adventures and invited me to sail around the world with him.. a tempting thought, but I had plans.   We drove for hours and as we were approaching Toledo, I remembered that I had a friend there who I had met while working at Yellowstone National Park the summer after I had gotten out of College.   I called her and remarkably, we were able to connect.   He dropped me off at her house where I spent a wonderful evening reminiscing about another great adventure a couple years prior. He went to a motel and picked me up the next day, taking me to Chicago.

From Chicago, I got two long rides to Colorado and was dropped off on Interstare 25 just north of Denver.   I had planned to connect with the an old friend’s brother named Thomas. He lived on a street named Hooker Avenue.

Its ironic that when hitching across country, you can often easily pick up rides that will take you long distances, sometimes traversing many states. It is much harder , however, to navigate a city where you have to make a number of turns. You may wait hours for a ride that will take you a short distance to your next turn thus taking all day to cover a distance of 20 miles or less. Add to that, when I was dropped off, there was another hitcher on the ramp ahead of me. I went over to talk to him and he lamented that he had been standing there for over 8 hours with no luck.   Undaunted, I told him that if he got picked up, to tell the driver to pick me up too.   Following the etiquette of the road, I took a spot down the road from him.   Once more, I looked to the sky and prayed for a ride in this seemingly impossible situation.

Denver CO

As I waited, I reviewed the directions to Thomas’ house. Take I-25 south to I-70 west. Take the second exit to Liberty Ave… go 1/2 mile and its near there. Within minutes, I saw a car pull over and pick up my friend down the road and, as I had hoped, the driver stopped and picked me up too! We drove several miles up the road to the intersection with I-70 and the driver unexpectedly took the exit as he said he needed to get gas. After passing several exits where he could have pulled off, the took the Liberty Street exit.. He then drove a ways up the Street before he found a place to stop. At the gas station I asked for directions to the address I had for Thomas on Hooker street. The house was two blocks away and within fifteen minutes, I was waving to Thomas who was sitting on his front porch.

The beautiful Capitan Mountain Wilderness Area near Roswell, New Mexico.

After a day or so in Denver, I got back on the road for a fairly quick trip to Gunnison, Colorado. Near there, in the beautiful Colorado Rockies, I spent a week with the first staff of the newly formed LEAD Outdoor Academy. Nearly six years later, I realized the dream that I had envisioned on that momentous trip across country and became a mountaineering and rock climbing instructor with LEAD which by then had moved to New Mexico at the edge of the Capitan Mountains Wilderness Area.

When not in the woods where we lived for ten day sessions in tents, winter and summer, we spent our time at a beautiful isolated “lodge”. Located three miles down a nearly impassable dirt road to the mailbox, 25 miles to the small village of Tinnie, New Mexico where there was a gas station and 75 miles to the nearest town where we could buy groceries. We lived s life of wilderness guides and fancied ourselves to be cowboys. Our only contact with the outside world other than mail was a “radio telephone” somewhat akin to a CB Radio. I once broke my leg in a climbing accident and had to be carried out of the woods and was taken to the hospital, 75 miles in the other direction. I spent three very happy years at LEAD, hiking, climbing and cohabiting with eagles, mountain lions and rattlesnakes. It was a great life and subject of many stories to come.

I ended up hitching across the country several times, East and West, North and South, and hopping a freight train from Amarillo, Texas to Flagstaff, Arizona…. Powerful memories which were to effect my life in many ways. All of it started on that day where I stood with $1.86 in my pocket and looking west.

My Homburg

11/3/2014

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There are very few old traditional hat stores left. I’m talking about a place where you can walk in and try on twenty hats and see how you look in them. To be able to choose from a collection of hats carefully curated by a true haberdasher (does anyone even know what that is anymore?) is a true pleasure for anyone interested in style. Slowly the remaining hat stores are disappearing one by one, like independent bookstores I suppose.

One of my favorites, Phat Hats in Hartford CT, has joined the ranks of hat history and is now defunct but before its demise, I got a lesson from a pro in how to choose a hat.

Websters defines Phat as: very attractive or appealing, gratifying, excellent. Phat Hats was a small store in the “hood”. Upon entering, patrons were greeted by an mimense and very friendly black man named Sebastian.. Customers who didn’t know the drill were quickly found trying on hat after hat, each carefully chosen by Sebastian. His unwavering confidence made one feel as if a baby in the arms of a loving mother. The brain chemicals kicked in and you started to relax. You felt safe in the hands of this expert who drew from years of experience. Your own opinion? Disregard it. Sebastian was in charge and on a mission to make you look superb.

His honesty was brutal. He would hand you a hat and then look at you, shaking his head time after time almost in despair. Finally, through a process of elimination and after careful scrutiny, in a loud voice he would confidently declare,”YOU’RE PHAT!” Is difficult to express the joy one feels when one is deemed, finally, to be PHAT. Simply put, it is one of life’s true pleasures and a memorable one indeed.

A similar experience occurred at another of the rare, remaining hat stores, the great Delmonico Hatters in New Haven CT.

Upon entering the small store I was greeted by a tall, extremely thin man with distinctive features. My mind went immediately to the character of Ichabod Crane.. He was balding with longish gray hair and a large crooked nose, a descendant of the Delmonico clan who had established the business in 1908 in the glory days when everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, wore a hat. A great period to be alive for a hat professional.

My first contact... one of the owners at Delmonico's.

Striking an imposing figure, I assumed he was the equivalent of Phat Hats’ Sebastian. I was wrong. I realized the error when a thin, , distinguished looking black man approached me from the back of the store. His quiet demeanor exuded self assurance, dignity and supreme style. The waters seemed to part as he came near and addressed me. “Hello, my name is Marcus. How can I help you?” I had felt the feeling before. The security and comfort of being in my mothers arms as a child. I instinctively knew that he had only my best interests at heart and that I was going to walk out of there looking FABULOUS !!!

After exchanging pleasantries, the process began in earnest. Slowly and deliberately, Marcus handed me hat after hat. I didn’t need to look in the mirror (though I did). One by one, Marcus scrutinized me with an almost sad expression, each time slowly shaking his head from side to side.

"No.... Here… try this one….. (Long pause). No. “

Even a supremely confident person has to be effected by this necessary but humbling ordeal.. All done with great care and love, however. Some of the hats I liked but wisely deferred to Marcus’ experience and sense of style.

Marcus then handed me a Homburg, sometimes called “The Godfather” as Marlon Brando had worn the style in the movie of the same name. I had always wanted a Homburg, a striking hat worn famously by bluesman John Lee Hooker. It screamed attitude. No wimp was going to be seen wearing a Homburg. Sadly, I had tried on many Homburgs over the years and just didn’t think they looked good on me. This particular model was a white straw hat. I had never seen a straw Homburg and was intrigued.

Marcus stared and stared , cocking his head, stepping back, looking from different angles and finally he said confidently, “That’s it!!” I was surprised and foolishly questioned him, expressing my reservations from all the times I had tried on Homburgs before. He simply smiled from such a self assured place that my insecurities about this all important decision melted away.

For only the second time in my life and more than ever before, I knew for a fact that I was most assuredly PHAT.

I walked out of the store wearing my new Homburg and I swear to God, the moment my foot hit the street, a passerby looked at me and enthusiastically almost shouted, “NICE HAT!!”. I thanked him but the thought crossed my mind that he was a paid employee placed outside the store for just that purpose. What was to follow proved me wrong and vindicated Marcus, the King of Style, once more.

The front steps... Delmonico's

As a full time musician, the next day I embarked on a short tour, playing in New York and with several stops throughout the state of Pennsylvania.. I was completely astonished as I walked down the street in New York City the next day and heard someone yell across the street, “Hey man, nice hat!!”. Later, on the subway, a guy passed by me and said, “ Wow, that’s a great hat!” Anyone who has been in New York City knows that this simply doesn’t happen in the Big Apple.

I was feeling good when my hat and I rolled into my hometown of Bellefonte in Central PA. It was 11am and I was onstage setting up to perform a concert at the Bellefonte Arts and Crafts Festival when my mother approached the stage and seeing me for the first time, looked at me intensely and said,

“I DON’T like the hat!”.

The comment shook me a little. It was my mother after all and a slight wave of self consciousness crept in. Not the sort of thing that is welcome when trying to pull off a Homburg. At the end of the tour as i walked in the door of my house, my wife took one look at me and forcefully declared,”I DON’T LIKE THE HAT!”

The world liked my hat but the two women closest to me both strongly agreed that this hat was not for me. My wife in particular demonstrated the keen ability to drive the point home. I was undaunted however and though battered, was serene in the knowledge that this hat had been specifically chosen for me and given the supreme blessing by the great Marcus, knower of all thing pertaining to hats.

View from the CT Hospice, Branford CT.

About once a week, I have the great privilege of performing at the CT Hospice, a wonderful facility located on the shoreline overlooking the waters of Long Island Sound in Branford CT. I wander the hallways and, if it seems appropriate, enter people’s rooms, sit for awhile and play for patients, family and friends who have gathered to spend precious days and hours together in the final moments of life on earth.

It is often a profound and moving experience to be a small part of their lives at this special time. Sometimes the mood is light with laughter and singing, sometimes somber and reverent, sometimes sad, especially so if family members , for whatever reason, are not present.

So, shortly after the incidents described above , I was at the Hospice and walked into a lady’s room who was by all accounts unresponsive. I played softly for her at bedside knowing that sometimes people are conscious and able to hear but so weak that they can’t respond. It was a very special time and I felt a connection though there was no outward sign of any awareness of my presence.

All of a sudden, as I played, I saw a nearly indistinguishable movement of her eyes as if she was trying to open them. With what seemed like all the strength she could muster in her severely weakened state, her eyes began to flutter and then to open ever so slightly as she looked at me in one of her last moments of awareness in this world.

Then a remarkable thing happened. It seemed like she was trying to speak.

With such great effort, she started to make almost imperceptible sounds, barely audible.. I leaned closer to try to hear thinking, "Oh my God,, I’m going to hear what may be this woman’s last words."

The gravity of the moment hung in the air and time stood still. As she struggled with her last ounce of strength, faltering on each of the fragile sounds she was trying to make and in the tiniest of voices, I heard her exclaim with all the conviction in her heart , “Like the hat !”

Marcus (left) and the crew from Delmonico Hatters.

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The Remarkable Tale of the Beautiful Morning Watch

10/2/2014

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By the time I finished college at Penn State, I had become a dedicated adventurer and outdoorsman.. My interests included caving, rock climbing, skiing, whitewater kayaking and I had flirted with taking up hang gliding though I never pursued it. I was a young buck with endless curiosity and a penchant for taking chances. If there was an adventure to be had, I wanted to have it and I, perhaps foolishly, seemed to have no fear. I was, for that period at least, immortal. Having grown up in the mountains of Pennsylvania, I had little knowledge or experience with the sea save for occasional family vacations to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and Cape Cod. I could imagine being out on the ocean and being at the mercy of the wind and waves far from any possibility of help. The thought of it produced in me a powerful feeling of vulnerability and the sea was one thing I was afraid of.

About that time, as I was about to graduate from college, I saw an advertisement for the Hurricane Island Outward Bound School off the coast of Maine. The ad pictured a young person about my age standing on top of a mountain peak with his back to the camera, arms outstretched and gazing toward the heavens. The picture spoke to me and the yearning I felt in my soul as I searched for spiritual relevance and meaning in my life.

Below the picture was a quote from Henry David Thoreau,

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

That was it. I was hooked and I was determined to accept the challenge and face my fears head on. Thus I learned to sail and planted the seed for a lifelong affinity for the sea and its mysteries.

After, Outward Bound, I ended up out West for many years, living in Phoenix, Colorado, Kansas, and the mountains of New Mexico. As happy as I was to experience the great, expansive wonders of the west, my mind and heart were drawn back to the sea and I knew that one day I would return to Maine and follow my dreams as a sailor..

Frenchman's Bay, Bar Harbor Maine with Acadia National Park and Cadillac Mountain in the background.

I got my first sailing job in Bar Harbor, Maine as First Mate aboard a day sailing schooner named Bay Lady ll. I later moved to Portland where I lived in a loft in the heart of the old waterfront District called the Old Port. By then, I had become familiar with boats and had an image in my mind of a dream boat that one day I would like to own.

To me the prettiest boat on the water was a wooden, traditionally rigged Friendship Sloop. Originally built in Friendship Maine and used by lobsterrmen these sloops featured elegant lines with a long bowsprit, two headsails and a large gaff rigged main with its boom hanging far aft of the stern. I decided i wanted to start looking for a boat and as I searched, I held the image of the graceful Friendship Sloop foremost in my mind.

Traditionally rigged Friendship Sloop.

One night I was introduced to a Yacht broker and as we talked, I expressed my interest in owning a wooden boat. He said, “ How about a Friendship?” I was excited at even the thought of it and when he said that he had one for sale, I could barely contain myself. I set an appointment to come to see the boat and was filled with anticipation.

The boat was everything I had dreamed of. Beautiful lines with forest green hull and bright red trim. She needed some work but I was ready for that and couldn’t wait to pour my heart and soul into her. As it turned out, the boat had been donated to the Hurricane Island Outward Bound School and was being sold by them as a fundraiser. The broker gave me the paperwork and she had quite a pedigree. The former owner had been Donald Starr, a prominent Boston attorney who kept her in Vineyard Haven harbor on Martha’s Vineyard.

I had always though that if I ever got a boat, I would name her Morning Star.

As I perused the paperwork on the boat, I remarked to a friend who had accompanied me how great it was that the boat was named Morning Watch, pretty close to the name I had imagined and another sign that the boat was for me.. She insisted that the boat was actually named Morning Star but I showed her the paperwork to the contrary. Still she insisted adamantly. I disregarded her, thinking she had to be mistaken according to the documents. I made plans to visit the boat again the next day and was astonished at what I discovered. Someone had made an elaborate carving as a nameplate for the transom and apparently had removed it as a keepsake. You could see where it had been mounted and that it had been painted around.. To my astonishment, right there in front of my eyes under where the nameplate had been were the words Morning Star.

This was the beginning of a lovely ten year relationship with the sea that was a significant part of my life.

But wait.... there's more.....

When I got the boat, the broker gave me a related batch of paperwork including a copy of an article about the vessel by John Rousmaniere that had appeared in Sail Magazine. John Rousmaniere was a famous nautical author who had written several important books including Annapoplis Book of Seamanship and Fastnet Force 10. Serious sailors know the former as a basic handbook of sailing skills that is one of the Bibles of sailing. The latter chronicles the transatlantic Fastnet race in 1932 which was historic due to a Force 10 gale that occurred during the race.

John Rousmaniere

At the time I read the article for the first time, it was my first exposure to John Rousmaniere and his work.. The article was an analysis of the change in the rigging of Morning Watch. She was built in Beals Island, Maine by a man named Bernard Backman who was famous for building wooden lobster boats. One of the reasons I always loved the Friendship (named for the design's origins in the tiny village of Friendship, Maine) was due the the dramatic look of the traditional rig. With her low freeboard and beautiful lines, she cut a striking figure on the horizon and always drew attention . In the article, Rousmaniere analyzed the change of the rig to a yawl configuration which featured a smaller main and the addition of a small mizzen aft of the helm. This was a controversial move as it disturbed the lines of the traditional rig and likely would lead to scorn among purists. Rousmaniere argued that the change was a good one, eliminating the heavy weather helm typical of the class and providing more stability and control under various conditions. He found the new rig to be quite workable and even suggested that if the old fisherman who famously used this type of boat for lobstering would have thought of it first , they would have adopted it instantly as more favorable to the single handing of a working fishing boat.

I lived in the 3rd floor loft above the tree on the left in the very heart of Portland's Old Port.

At the time when all this was happening with the boat, I was living in Portland Maine in a loft in the very heart of the old waterfront district called the Old Port. The area was just being discovered by developers who later would begin the process of gentrification making it unaffordable to most. In those days it was still a little gritty and raw. I was working as a carpenter and every day we would gather at the bosses house and get our assignments for the day. I had admired many times the beautiful mural he had on his wall depiction a beautiful white schooner docked in a very picturesque setting . I gazed many time at the mural, fantasizing about the long awaited adventures I would be having on my boat.. Later I found out that the beautiful schooner I had been gazing at was none other than the Brilliant, the very boat I would be working on as mate only months later.

Brilliant was used as a sail training vessel at the Mystic Seaport Museum in Connecticut and, remarkably for a wooden boat built in 1932, was being actively sailed. We used to go out for 7-10 days at a time in southern New England waters with a crew of 10 mostly inexperienced sailors, some rank novices.. The Captain and I depended on the crew to help sail the boat and all hands were actively engaged. Many of our voyages were made with an all teenage crew as part of the Seaport's sail education program.

Schooner Brilliant with Captain George Moffett instructing a newly minted teenage crew.

Being at sea together is the perfect venue for storytelling . Our captain, George Moffett, described the experience as long hours of boredom punctuated with moments of sheer terror. Thus, we had many hours to fill and were often joined by characters who rose to the challenge and helped to make our trips interesting and entertaining.

Jim Rousmaniere, bottom center, pictured with John F. Kennedy and the Harvard Sailing Team.

On one voyage, we were accompanied by a very distinguished gentleman named Jim Rousmaniere, by chance, the father of the aforementioned John Rousmaniere. Jim was a fascinating man who worked in the development department at Harvard University at the time and who regaled us with many anecdotes from his life. My favorite was his tale about how President John F. Kennedy had been his roommate in college at Harvard. He told us about being a guest at the wedding of John Kennedy and Jacqueiline Bouvier at her family's beautiful mansion overlooking Narragansett Bay in Newport and about taking his family to visit the White house by special invitation on many occasions. I marveled at his recollections of his interesting experiences and listened eagerly.

I had been telling Jim stories abut my boat and the connection wit his son John, the article and so forth, but had not put all the pieces together. He made me promise that as we motored up the Mystic River at the end of the week that I would point out my boat at its mooring at the mouth of the river. As we approached the mooring field, I was excited that the time had come to proudly point out the beautiful Morning Watch. As the boat came into view I saw Jim’s face light up.

He said,” That’s your boat? That’s YOUR boat? I replied delightedly that yes, that was my beloved boat that I had been telling him about all week. He kept saying, shaking his head, ”I can’t believe that’s your boat. I can't believe THAT'S your boat”. I kept telling him yes, yes. Finally, he revealed why he had been so incredulous at this marvelous convergence of events.

He said, " My favorite picture in the whole world which is hanging on the wall of my living room at home is of MY SON SAILING ON YOUR BOAT !"

As I listened in amazement, he related the story of how his son, John Rousmaniere, the famous author of the Annapolis Book of Seamanship and many other esteemed nautical resources, had learned how to sail on MY boat. The Rousmanieres were friends with a prominent lawyer from Boston named Donald Starr who bought a wooden friendship sloop and named it Morning Starr. The boat was moored in Vineyard Haven on the Island of Martha’s Vineyard and Donald Starr taught young John Rousmaniere how to sail on the boat that he eventually donated to the Hurricane Island Outward Bound School who changed the name to Morning Watch and later sold it to me as a fundraiser !!

Later that year, I was out sailing on a beautiful day on Fisher’s Island Sound and another boat sailing by hailed us. I wasn’t surprised as my boat under full sail was a real eye-catcher and frequently got waves and compliments. Someone from the other boat yelled over, “What happened to the staysail club?”. The staysail club was a small wooden boom attached to one of the forward sails which enabled the sail to move unattended from one side of the boat to the other during a tack which made the boat easier to sail single handed. I liked the challenge and action of handling all the sails manually so had removed it early on. But how would this guy have known about that?

He yelled over one more time, “It’s John Rousmaniere. I used to sail on her when I was young!”

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A Day to Remember - My Greatest Sea Story

8/5/2014

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Life has taken various twists and turns as I have endeavored to follow disparate interests and meld them into some kind of coherent narrative with only limited success. I think the problem has been that I am incurably curious and am fascinated by so many things that I have always had a hard time deciding which competing interest to pursue at any given time. Thus, my existence seems to have broken down into somewhat mutually exclusive sections in an effort to bring some order to the chaos. My strategy was to dive head first into the pursuit of a particular passion, drinking it in, thus endeavoring to experience it fully, before being inexorably pulled in another seemingly contradictory direction. I was doggedly determined to fit it all in despite the awkward fit of some of the puzzle pieces.

One of my “lifetimes" I spent as a professional sailor.

Through a remarkable set of circumstances, I was able to procure, as a relatively novice sailor, one of the greatest sailing jobs ever as the First Mate aboard the Schooner Brilliant at the Mystic Seaport Museum. This position I held for two years in the early 90’s. The boat was a Sparkman and Stevens designed 70 ft. schooner and was unusual in many ways. Built during the depression by P. T. Barnum’s brother, she had a teak hull as well as the traditional teak decks. Since everyone was out of work at the time, top craftsmen were employed and only the best materials were used in her construction. She was a beauty. And fast?? We won every classic wooden boat race we entered and were the pride of the fleet, turning heads on our weekly trips to Block Island, Newport, Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard and other amazing harbors in Southern New England.

During these years in the winter, I would seek sailing positions in warmer climes, and as such, I found a berth on the 153 ft. Pride of Baltimore ll, a sleek and fast Privateer, the kind of vessel used during the American Revolution to strike at British Naval ships and then outrun them to escape retaliation. Pride 1 had gone down at sea in the Bermuda Triangle with several crew members lost inspiring the City of Baltimore to rally to construct a new vessel with the same lines but incorporating modern safety features. On only the second voyage of Pride ll, we set sail from Baltimore in the cold of December with ice hanging from the rigging bound for the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, Bermuda, the Eastern Carribean, Venezuela, Puerto Rico, and the Bahamas before returning back home. About a four month voyage in all. I could tell many stories from the passage including weathering a gale in St. Georges Harbor, Bermuda on Christmas Eve as well as encountering another gale at night off the treacherous shifting shoals off Cape Hatteras, known as the graveyard of the Atlantic. But I digress.

Part of the journey was spent in beautiful Marigot Bay, St. Lucia, an especially picturesque harbor. Just to the south were the Pitons, two giant pillars of rock towering hundreds of feet over the beach below. They served as icons, pictured prominently in post cards depicting the island’s incredible beauty. One day we sailed to the Pitons and anchored off the beach, taking the dinghy ashore to catch a glimpse of the legendary Buppa the elephant. Buppa had been brought to the island years ago and could be seen happily running out from the thick palms and jungle-like vegetation when she spotted a visiting yacht, hoping to be fed her favorite delicacy… grapefruit. We gladly obliged, delighting in the whole bizarre experience.

On the last day of our time on the island, our vessel was hailed on the the ship’s radio. As it turned out, there were two other tall ships in the area just off the coast. One, the Pelican, (top right) was a large Barkentine with square sails which had been functioning as a “Head Boat”, taking tourists from the main town of Castrees out for day sails to the Pitons and back. She was a steel hulled vessel built originally in France as an Arctic fishing trawler. Pelican had an unusual rig based on a design employed by the Barbary Pirates that made her more maneuverable than the typical square rigged vessels of the day. The other was the majestic Astrid, (bottom right) Built in 1918 in the Netherlands as a lugger, she was later transferred to Swedish ownership, renamed Astrid and sailed on the Baltic Sea until 1975. She then sailed under a Lebanese flag and was allegedly used for drug smuggling. After being found burnt out on the coast of England in the early 1980s, she was overhauled and used as a sailing training vessel.

We happened to be raising anchor when we got the call and were about to embark on the next leg of our journey to Venezuela. We were invited out for a sail and, up for the challenge, we set a course taking us to the vicinity of the tall-ships who were already under sail near each other and were biding their time until we could catch up.

The sight of these two amazing ships on the horizon built our expectation and excitement for what was to come.. Its one thing to see one of these great vessels at a dock or even in the distance at sea. To be sailing within tens of feet of these massive hulls while being immersed in the power of the wind and waves is another experience entirely.

The Pride is a traditionally rigged vessel and it took most of the crew to accomplish things like raising a sail or hoisting the anchor.. We considered ourselves the lucky ones when we were tapped to climb aloft underway to attend to one of the ship’s many topsails. (right) The adventurous voyage had truly been a taste of heaven for me and it was about to get even better..

There we were, sailing along at a brisk pace in the blustery 25 knots of wind that blows consistently in that part of the Caribbean, literally right next to these two behemoth beauties. I was in my favorite spot, the foredeck, helping to deal with the large and heavy canvas sails. Several of us climbed out on the 30ft bowsprit (left) to unfurl a large jib and as much concentration as it took to navigate the foot ropes, I was unable to take my eyes off the two huge vessels only yards away.

At one point, the captain ordered the jib to be raised and as we labored to hoist the heavy sail, the wind filled it in and we surged powerfully forward. With surprising speed, showing her colors as a Privateer, we began to dramatically pull ahead. As we did, the Captain called for a volley of cannon fire from the two authentic cannons that we had aboard.

The mate cried, “Fire in the Hole!!!”…. and then a resounding BA BOOM !!!!

Again, “Fire in the Hole!!!! …… BA BOOOM !!!

The cannon fire echoed as the shots across the bow reverberated off the nearby Pitons. Then after trimming the sails for maximum efficiency, we rocketed forward with remarkable speed and set our course for South America. As the Astrid and Pelican slowly receded in the distance, we all reflected, still in awe of what we had just experienced.

So many times I have told that story and every time introduced it with the words, “ Of all the great stories of my time at sea…. this is my Greatest Sea Story.”

But wait… there’s more…

One year later, the following winter, I was looking for another sailing job. I picked up a copy of Wooden Boat Magazine.. Brilliant and the Pride had both been featured in its pages and it was a favorite read every month. I turned to the classifieds in the back and noticed and ad for a position as First Mate aboard a private schooner out of the Bahamas. I was a little apprehensive as I had heard stories about crew aboard private yachts being treated as servants by wealthy owners.. I had lots of questions when I made my very first call in my attempt to find a berth for the season.

I was able to get ahold of the captain and found that the boat was docked on the island of Bonair off the coast of Venezuela. My interest was piqued as I heard more of the details. The boat was another classic, a 70ft. wooden shallow draft schooner with centerboard. Very unique and designed by the famous John Alden to navigate the shallow waters found in the Bahamas where she had been for the last ten years. We would be delivering her to San Diego and thus would be traversing the Panama Canal and visiting some of the worlds most exotic ports along the way.

I was still wondering about the owner and was told he was a musician. Hmmmm….. Good so far. I took a chance and asked the captain his name. Who knows? The sailing community is a surprisingly small one and owners of the classic boats and sailors often know one another . He replied, “David Crosby”. (right) It didn’t hit me at first. My mind started putting the puzzle together. David Crosby? Yes! THE David Crosby of Crosby Stills and Nash. Wow! What an adventure I was about to have and I couldn’t wait for it to begin !!

I flew down to Venezuela to meet the Mayan (left) and through the course of the trip, as predicted, we visited some very wonderful spots. Cartegena, Columbia, the San Juan Islands of Panama, lots of exotic ports in Costa Rica featuring wild parrots and monkeys. We hit most of the destinations on the west coast of Mexico including Mazatlan, Acapulco, Puerta Valarta, Cabo San Lucas and others. Sadly, I didn’t get to spend time with Crosby until we got to San Diego. He was supposed to have met us on an idyllic island off the coast of Costa Rica and was to have stayed for a month (wow, that would’ve been fun!) He was injured in a motorcycle accident, however, and was laid up in a wheelchair for six weeks and couldn’t make the trip.

Now for the small world story of all time……

There we were.. the three crew.. a Panamanian named Ozzie, a pirate-like character named Cliff and myself. We were sitting around a table having a couple beers at the Panama Canal Yacht Club. The term yacht club was a stretch. It was a run down stucco structure with an open air tiki bar type feel. There was barbed wire around the perimeter separating it from the city of Colon, Panama and the word was not to venture outside of the fence. Despite this, we went into town one day and everywhere we went,we saw big bullet holes in the walls, evidence of the US Invasion that captured Manuel Noriega a year before. We spent a week there over Christmas that year as we waited in line to transit the Canal.

One particularly hot day (hotter than all the other hot days in Panama) we went to the bar to get out of the sun and have a cold drink. Several other yachtsmen from around the world had the same idea so before long, beers were flowing and so were the stories. Someone had an idea. We would go around the table and each of us would tell what we considered to be our greatest sea story.. As eager as I was to hear the others tales, I couldn’t wait for my turn. I was certain that mine would be the greatest of the great sea stories. When my turn came, I told with relish, as I had done before so many times, the saga related above. My Greatest Sea Story. With great enthusiasm, I built up to the climax where the cannons fired.. “Fire in the hole!!” BA BOOM!!! BA BOOM !!! I relived again the excitement of sailing away from the two great vessels into the horizon on that incredible day. I was sure that my story was the best and literally the Greatest Sea Story.

The torch was passed to the Englishman to my left. An older fellow with quintessential seaman’s grey hair and white beard. He looked at me in astonishment. He exclaimed that his story had already been told. Puzzled, we asked what he was talking about. He said that the story he had intended to tell and had been about to begin was the same story I had told. Still no one understood until he explained that on the great day of sailing with the tall ships off St. Lucia that I had described, he had been the captain of the Astrid!!! He too had also always rated the account of that very day as his Greatest Sea Story !

I have told this tale many a time and am still amazed at the how the stars had aligned to make this happen. The incidents were one year apart and the timing was impeccable. I just happened to get the job on Crosby’s boat, happened to be in Panama at that exact moment and happened to go the the yacht club on that particular day. We happened to meet, happened to sit at the same table and of all things happened to decide to tell our greatest sea story. If any of these details had been absent for either of us, this amazing confluence of events never would’ve taken place.

I never heard from him again but suspect that somewhere in the world there is an Englishman telling of the day that his Greatest Sea Story became his Greatest Small World Story as it had for me.

Epilogue:

In a tragic turn of events, the magnificent Astrid met her demise as she went aground off the coast of Ireland in 2013. The 95-year-old vessel suffered engine failure and was blown on to rocks at the mouth of Oysterhaven bay, near Kinsale in County Cork. All 30 on board were saved in a dramatic and complex rescue operation.

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Perks and Corks tonight with Special Guests

6/21/2013

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Playing at one of my alltime favorite haunts.. Perks and Corks in Westerly with the great Blunt White (banker by day, bluesman by night) on harp.. Special guests include Bob "the Wizard of the Blues" McCarthy on 5 string bass and one string Diddley Bow.. Also, good friend Jeff Crewe will be coming by and performing on the incredible "instrument" pictured on the left which he calls the Blues Contraption. Not to be missed.. Pics from the night posted here soon. Rock on !!

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Spring/summer 2011 News....

6/4/2011

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Hangin' at a Starbucks in Burlington VT and catching up on my promotion stuff. Love this town.. so much great music and great vibe with the venues and audiences. Am playing a couple local venues including the famous Nectars (Phish's home joint) during the Discover Jazz Festival here... Beautiful crisp Vermont weather, lots of people and music... Sweet. Highlights this Spring have been a tour in Quebec and long weekend playin in St. Croix. Just got the word I'll be opening for John Hammond at an outdoor concert in Rowayton on Sun Aug. 21. Also got tapped to perform at the prestigious and legendary Alonso's picnic in September in Baltimore and sponsored by the great Baltimore Blues Society. This is a real honor for me and will be planning a mid-Atlantic tour around the date... Last weekend, had the pleasure of being an MC at an outdoor stage at the Comcast Center in Hartford for the great B.O.M.B Fest. What an awesome time working with young, talented acts of various genres. Am working more with Bring Our Music Back and am on the bill at a show at Bridge St. Live in Collinsville on Sept. 2 with some up and coming young acts. More later.....

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Playing in the NEW YORK CITY Subway

3/13/2011

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Best day in the New York City Subway. This video was taken by Paolo Paci who found me in the subway at 42nd under Times Square playing my cigar box guitar. I recognized him because he has filmed me ithPaolo is a tour guide and takes videos of street performers that he encounters in his travels all over the world. He calls his You Tube site T. A. O. The Anonymous Orchestra. I meet interesting people like him all the time in the subway which is the main reason I love to do it. I am often photographed or filmed by people who sometimes stop to listen and talk then vanish into who knows where. On this day, i did an earlier gig from 8-10am in Grand Central Station in the big hallway known as the Graybar Passage leading to Lexington Ave. I often play on the lower level in Grand Central where all the CT Commuters come in from Metro North Railroad along the CT Shoreline. Another favorite spot is Union Square and I once played in Harlem in the subway near the Apollo Theatre on the day Obama was Inaugurated. That was fun. Was playin' in the subway on the day that plane went down in the Hudson River and also have met or seen up close several celebrities. My favorite was bumping into (literally) actor/comedian Martin Short who I have always loved. I do a monthly gig at the Delta Grill at 9th Ave. and 48th St. in Hell's Kitchen just west of Times Square for their Sunday Brunch which brings me into the city. I usually stay overnight and try to catch a show at one of my favorite clubs like Banjo Jim's in the East Village or the Jalopy Theatre in Brooklyn and then two 3 hr. gigs somewhere in the subway the next day. I am on the roster of Music Under New York which is run by the MTA. To get in the program I had to submit my cd and from that was chosen to do a five minute audition in front of 25 judges competing against 75 other acts in the Grand Concourse of Grand Central Terminal. That was another fun day. There is a call-in every two weeks where you reserve your spots and get a permit sent in the mail. They give you an official banner with your name on it that you hang when you play so the cops pretty much let you alone. Been doin' it for about 3 yrs. now and lovin' every minute. Lots more New York stories for future posts.

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One of Dan's Guitars - Gibson ES-125

1/3/2011

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I'm going to try and start blogging more. This will be my first introduction to one of the guitars I play at shows. I'll add a back story later and some pictures of my personal model. Here is a brief description from wiki about the guitar.

"Introduced in 1941 as the successor to the ES-100, the ES-125 was an entry-level archtop electric guitar. It had one P-90 single-coil pickup in the neck position, and a volume control and tone control. The pre-war model, discontinued in 1942, had a smaller 14.5" body. When reintroduced in 1946 it had the larger 16.25" wide body that the ES-150 had. The unbound rosewood fingerboard initially sported pearl trapezoid inlays; later, it would have dot inlays.

In the mid-1950's, the ES-125T was introduced, which was an entry-level thinline archtop electric guitar based on the original ES-125. It would later add options for double P-90 pickups and a sharp cutaway similar to the ES-175. Both the thinline and the regular models would be discontinued by the 1970s."

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Dan Stevens Opens for Los Lonely Boys

10/17/2010

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Los Lonely Boys

A special acoustic show!Special Guest: Dan Stevens

Their monster hit "Heaven" won a Grammy Award for Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocals in 2005. This Texican trio has achieved multi-platimun record sales, widespread acclaim from critics and adoration from fans worldwide. They will be touring in support of their current EP 1969, and also in anticipation of their next full-length studio album.

For more info>>>

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Bombfest 2010

2/10/2010

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I’ll be making an appearance at this years B.O.M.B.Fest on Sunday, May 30 at 7pm at the Durham Fairgrounds in Durham CT. Check it out... Four stages featuring many national acts, paired with local and regional up and coming talent for a cause... 12,000 people expected. Check out this great non-profit organization who is an up and coming player in the movement to “Bring Our Music Back”. Details at www.bombfest.com

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A Dream Come True - Hitchin' Across the USA

My Homburg

The Remarkable Tale of the Beautiful Morning Watch

A Day to Remember - My Greatest Sea Story

Perks and Corks tonight with Special Guests

Spring/summer 2011 News....

Playing in the NEW YORK CITY Subway

One of Dan's Guitars - Gibson ES-125

Dan Stevens Opens for Los Lonely Boys

Bombfest 2010

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