Sitting On The Dock - Part One 1968

(I wish my first command had looked this good!)

It was November, 1968 and I was in St. Thomas USVI and after a few weeks sleeping on the deck of the Tontine II, a 76 foot John Alden schooner, drinking cheap Heinekens at Fearless Freds while my laundry rolled along behind the bar, I was ready for a change of scenery. This big Australian sitting next to me was telling me his plans to sail to South America with his wife and hinting that I should join them. Sounded good to me and better than staying on land for even one more day.

We drained our beers, checked the laundry, and then walked over to his boat to meet his wife and check it out. Hmmmmm. Not much of a boat. 26 foot long and it looks homemade. I took a few pictures later but now I can't find them. Too bad. She was ugly but she was going to be my first “command”.

I met the wife. What can I say? Honestly, she was a beast. Short, fat, curly black hair, frumpy in an irritating aunt-type way. Bad teeth, poorly capped and a suspicious, probing and disapproving look. However, she liked me and we sat down in the cramped cockpit to discuss their plans and how I might fit in. Our knees touched and despite my homeless/boatless status, I was embarassed to even be aboard this thing.

The Australian (I have forgotten his name now but he called me “Kid”) pulled out some lukewarm beers and we started the negotiations. They wanted me to be the Captain and teach them to sail as we cruised down the islands to South America. No problem there. How much were they going to pay me?

“Well, actually Kid, we sort of thought you could kick in $5 bucks a day for food and we could see how things go from there..” .(this attractive offer was delivered in a strangely familiar, Cary Grant type accent that cracks me up even today)

“What??!!” No way. I need money more than I need a job so forget it!”

“Now wait a minute Kid, me and the missus need your help just to get started and you're stuck here in Yacht Haven and told me you wanted to get on down island. Right?...So this way you can join us, help us out, get some sea-time and jump off at any island down the chain like Tortola, Anguilla, St. Marten or even wait until we reach Antigua. What do you say?”

What COULD I say? It WAS 1968, I had just flunked out of Penn State and lost my 2-S deferment status and would soon be re-classed “1-A” and have to go back to the states to serve somewhere. Probably the Navy but that was somewhere out there in future-land. This was NOW.

“OK. Lets do it. When do you want to get going?”

“Thats the way, Kid! Lets drink to a new adventure!”

I had no idea, nor could ever imagine, that just a few weeks from that day, after being stranded on the customs dock in Road Town (Sitting on The Dock – Part 2) , I would be trying to sail a 12 foot dinghy, with all my gear stuffed under a green canvas tent, from Road Town, Tortola back to Charlotte Amalie, St Thomas to find another boat!

To be continued….stopped here at 6:38 am on Sunday, January 17, 2016. Almost 48 years later. Bummer, I am so freaking old that I can't believe it! By February 5^th I will be back in Tortola, with my faithful. Long-suffering, still beautiful wife, Nelle, and her brother Jake, his wife Valerie, and their two amazing kids; Mae & Bo. We will bareboat a 47 foot Leopard catamaran and, once again, sail the BVI. The adventures continue!

Tom Crowley, Man of Action!

Growing Up Widener

Frederick Aloysius Crowley, professional jockey, 1912 - 1959
Frederick Thomas Crowley, Sr.,1924-1978
Frederick Thomas Crowley, Jr., 1948- (writer)

On many late summer, Saturday mornings we would ride our bikes to the end of my street, West Mill Road in Flourtown, Pennsylvania, stop at Stenton Avenue, look right to the bridge over Wissahickon Creek and beyond to the huge barns where the hay was stored, then left to the horse barns where jockeys were exercising their horses inside on the indoor track, then, straight ahead to the sweeping lawns, majestic trees, and long, curving driveway to the Widener estate. Ahhhhh, what shall we do today? Fish in the creek? Sneak into the hay barns and jump on the hay? Drive over to see the horses and see how close we can get before the head trainer comes out and chases us away? No. today we will try to sneak into the Widener's guest house! We knew that this meant hiding our bikes and hiking through the woods in a long sweep around the main house and come up to the guest house from the other side so as not to be seen by the many gardeners and caretakers working on the estate grounds.

Not a bad way to start the day in 1958. I had no idea then that my life, past, present and future would link me to or draw me back to the Widener's farm and property. I did not know then that my grandfather, Frederick Aloysius Crowley had been a jockey and rode for Mr. Widener when he was only 15 years old. I did not know that in May, 1964, at the age of 15, I would deliberately crash a Cadillac into a tree on the Widener estate, totaling it, and then walk the 1.5 miles home down West Mill Road to climb a tree and sneak back into my bedroom.

Despite my stray from normalcy at such a young age, I loved the Widener estate for many reasons; Hope, inspiration, dreams, love of the outdoors and most of all, the freedom it gave me to roam vast acres of land, undetected by day or night, to escape what was going on at my house where I had three sisters, a tired, worn-out, and overwhelmed mother, and an alcoholic abusive father.

As I would build my life through the 1960's through 2005, I would always keep the image of the Widener estate in my mind as a safe, wonderful, comfortable image of success that I would try to emulate. In the most important ways, I have succeeded. I have a wife who has stood by me for over 40 years, two wonderful children, who are married with children, my five grandchildren, and am retired in Maine where I have been headed since 1958 when we would come to Camden for a summer visit as tourists and later, with my father, as a sailor.

Notes for reference:

I have researched the Widener who owned the property while I was trespassing there. He was George Dunton Widener, Jr. His father, GDW, Sr. was lost on the Titanic. GDW, Jr. died in 1971, the same year I got out of the US Navy and married Nelle Carta Garofalo.

The Widener properties are now called “Erdenheim Farm” and have been restired to host weddings and other functions. The horse barn is even bigger than I remembered and they now raise, among other animals, horses and cattle: Belted Galloways, a breed I see every day in Camden, Maine.

http://whitemarshfoundation.org/about/sample-page/

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=96352177

http://erdenheimfarm.com/about-us/