A Sag Harbor Bayman
My father was born here in Sag Harbor in a home on Liberty Street in 1913. He was one of seven. His parents both immigrated from Lithuania near the turn of the century and somehow, they decided to settle here. He was the son of a fisherman and though he held a variety of jobs throughout his lifetime-I think he would most relate or attach himself to that vocation. He knew the winds and the tides and what was biting when, the best fishing, clamming, crabbing spots, how to haul sein, how to tie nets, how to make lead sinkers, and how to dream big dreams. He died while I was in college-a huge shock-always a reminder to me-to make sure you let people know how you feel. No second chances there.
A Bayman, he died with his boots on-the first day of scallop season-seven and a half bushel of that salty gold in his boat - as good a way to go as any I would say. I realized early on that he taught me how to be strong and my mother taught me how to be soft- and somehow, I think I am a combination of them both. I have been without a father since I was 21 and then my mom had to take on both roles- she was no stranger to hard work.
Dad was a ‘hurry up, let’s go’ kind of guy. I remember driving to Florida with him and my mother-kids 4, 5, and 6 in the back seat of an old station wagon. No reservations just a very long ride-destination unknown. I believe it was the first year Disney World had opened. He was quick to get in line and hurry us all along. I now call it the ‘Country Bear Jamboree’ syndrome-get in before everybody else does, grab your seat, hurry, hurry, grab and sit.’ Somehow that pace and frantic ‘get there first’ syndrome is something I have had to battle throughout life. It often had a way of taking the intended joy out of any activity.
He had an old wooden fishing boat that docked for some years in Montauk-no radar or navigation-I’m not even sure if there was a radio on board. He’d wake me up long before the crack of dawn to hurry down Old Montauk’s roller coaster road in his timeworn Bronco-listening to the National Anthem and the minister’s morning message on WLNG. We’d load the boat as the sun began to climb and we’d motor miles out to some fishing spot in the middle of the rolling ocean. We’d spend half the day pulling porgies or some other fish into the boat. When the sun was high in the sky we’d putter back into the harbor and bring our catch to the shipping house. I think it was his favorite way to try and earn a living.
Our yard was filled with vegetable gardens and he had an amazing way with plants - he fertilized with fish carcasses and cow manure-and was able to make just about anything grow. He was a family man in the best way he knew how and he had a quiet pride in watching each of us grow. Dad was part of the Old Sag Harbor-the untamed, natural, wild Sag Harbor- the fishing, gardening and breathing in the freshness of life Sag Harbor. In many ways he was a part of its grit, its glory and its history. I often wonder if he would still recognize this place that he once loved. Much has changed, but there are moments that I can still feel his presence here, especially when I look out onto the ever stirring and restless sea.
Wishing you all a day to celebrate and remember!