12,972. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,114

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,114

(darkness at the edge of noon?)

The fishing-crew boat was,

for many years, called The

Sea Pigeon. Before they tarted

the marina section up, it was

a cool party-boat for day-long,

early start, ocean fishing. There

were two distinct generations of

the old boat that I remember, and

then it burned, to the hull, I

guess it's called, and was replaced

with a newer, sleeker ship, and

with a close-but-different name.

The old boat was cool. My father

now and then would take it, and

of course that meant that once or

twice I got dragged along too.

It was a unique day out among a

group of strange guys, some old,

some not. But everyone was a

bit fidgety, always, and probably

even eccentric in their oddball

fishing ways  -  bait, and hooks,

and approach. Tangled lines would

get some guys all pissed off. Others

would just chuckle. Nutty tackle boxes 
and pet lures, with a story to go with
each.  Variations of procedure and
approach, always. I never knew much
about fish, but when I'd watch
those guys reel in and pull up
a fighting blue, some fluke or
flounder  -  whatever   -  the fish
always seemed more like a raw
life-force, a nerve ending, fighting
to stay alive, as if all their peace
and wonder within the ocean walls
was not meant to miserably die by
a form of suffocation with a hook
in their mouth on the floor of some
otherwise ratty boat. It always
seemed a blind shame to me how 
those guys went about their work.
How it went... It was 1950's

stuff still, maybe 1960 also, so

there were all sorts of smokes,

cigarettes and cigars, jokes about

ladies and wives, tall tales about

things like the guy who lost an

arm to a fish that proved too tough

for him to reel in; crap like that.

Even when I was 10 I knew BS

when I heard it. The other funny

thing was, thinking back, how

primitive the food scene was.

There was nothing like today's

bundles of fast-foods, or sacks of

MacMuffins and burgers and all.

That was still unheard of, and most

guys  -  us too  -  made due with

junk from home: hard-boiled eggs,

baloney sandwiches, salami, a can

of soda, or beer from a styrofoam

cooler. Today's people would die

from that stuff, or they'd want

granola sprinkles on their quinoa

mashed turnip-seed muffins.

-

The old boat, diesel I guess it was,

but I don't know, shook a lot on the

acceleration out of port. That was

the coolest part for me; I used to

love just being on the water in a

shaky old tub, shuddering out past

the land-curves along the harbor

and watching the slated-city diminish

in the nice, morning air. It was a bit

exciting : salt-air, ripply water, here

and there another morning boat

running along, sea gulls and pigeons,

and there was even always a neat

fire-boat around, patrolling. The

yacht club had about 30 sailboats

and other craft just anchored and

bobbing away on the waters. The

owners, members of the Raritan

Yacht Club  -  which was actually

pretty swank then; I don't know

anything about it now  -  would

get ferried out to their boats on a

small, escort sot of club-motorboat.

I guess there was always some fire

danger. Storm-danger seemed

more like it to me  -  every so often

some monster storm or hurricane

remnant or something would slam

harshly into the Amboy coastal area,

amid high-water and raging storm

flow, and flooding, and lots of boats

then would get all tangled up, or

overturned, or just plain mangled.

Then it all would look like a ghost

town after a bomb went off.

-

I was never much one for fighting 

back, rather just went with the flow 

 -  or I thought so anyway. Others 

said I was quite NOT that  -  to see 

what I could observe and understand.

Like the Sea Pigeon  -  it was usually

populated by working-class guys,

sort of the type who maybe could

have been any of my friends' father(s)

or even my own uncles or such. They'd

each probably had a week of toil and

work behind them. They's stare out

the to rest of the open sea, mumbling

maybe about something. Some talking

one-to-another in a low and secretive way.

Explanations of deal or opportunities.

I never knew what they made of things,

really. Upon leaving the harbor, and all

that Perth Amboy stuff up on the higher

land, they never seemed to look back

nor did they evince any evidences of

some respectful knowledge of the place,

and history, and legacy, or of things

that had once gone on. There was

nothing there to tell them, unlike now

when  -  over the last 20 years  -  some

faded, and here weather-beaten, signs

and info-plaques went up telling of

things: the old slave market, the

embarkation points, the Civil War

City Hall and the people and events

that happened there; Underground

Railroad stuff, a few hangings in the

town square there, some early and

grand munitions explosions, and even

the 1600's there  -  first and ancient;

Episcopalian, with a charter from 

some King or something, and two 

hundred or so really old burials. Stuff

a person really ought to know or be

aware of. The church itself has some

chips and nicks in its rear outer walls,

from when the town was bombarded

from that very harbor below, by British

frigates just offshore, in the pre-Revolutionary

and real colonial days. Again, strife, and

turmoil. But now, nothing, not even an

awareness. The old Proprietary House,

wherein Benjamin Franklin had to have

his own son arrested  -  for being a Royal

Governor of the crown, when all this was

East Jersey Proprietorship and he was in

charge and refusing to switch sides. 'Dad'

of course, being on the other side, old Ben

had his own kid arrested and hauled off.

Times were tough back  then, and the

waters and harbors, AND Perth Amboy

too, were pretty important. Dead bodies

in lots of places  -  from skirmishes and

ambush shootings, Injuns and soldiers

of various sorts all within the nearby

wooded lands and lanes, and, of more

import, the waterways and the harbor,

filled with mysterious craft of all differing

allegiances and tasks. Sea Pigeon indeed!

It was surely a much different place!

-

I'm not sure if any, or how many,

of those guys cared about any of that,

or even knew. Around 1960, you need

to understand, outside of the gimmicky

stuff for tourists, there was little of

any historic awareness of anything.

Instead all was 'new, and 'bold'

and 'dashing'  -  all part of America's

mad and crazy forward push towards

consuming and growth and nasty

development of lands and valleys and

places. Malls, rows and rows of the

new ideas; strip-malls, stores in a

line, Freezies and Frosties everywhere,

magical things and Astro Rings! I'm

not sure what kind of darkness that

was, but I'm also not sure that it ever

really lifted, and it's only getting

darker, and by the historic minute!