The Wahoo's Tale or Why Nelson Bit The Wahoo

He didn't mean to do it,

The Wahoo didn't care.

He flopped at Nelson's feet

Saying “BITE ME IF YOU DARE!”

Nelson thought; “Why Me?”

I have no fight with you

The Wahoo flipped its tail

as if to say “I DARE YOU!”

Nelson grabbed the Wahoo quickly,

took two bites from its tail,

and released it just as quickly

Wahoo tail is stale.

They had met on the field of honor;

Loblolly Beach, Anegada, high noon

Nelson was ready, expectant

But the Wahoo bit his toe too soon!

The next time that they met

Bozo was at the wheel.

Bo, Jake and Tom were ready

Jake's leader; stainless steel.

The Wahoo hit the lure

with power that was raw, intense

Jake set hook, regardless

for the fish there was no defense.

The Wahoo broke the lure in half.

Its teeth broken yet pride intact,

But Nelson gaffed it smoothly

dragging fish inboard, a sack.

It beat the deck all bloody

Refusing to submit

Nelson laughed with derision

It was the Wahoo's time to quit.

We ate the pompous Wahoo

on February Nine,

2016 – Anegada

Victory tasted fine!

Dedicated To Bozo & Nelson on Princess I from:

Tom Crowley (Tom, Jake & Bo)

catamaran “SUNDOWNER”

2/19/16 - Anegada

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/

Snow Day! 1966

"I remember..."  

Ahhhh. what a great way to start a poem, short story, or a post dinner time with wine/beer and friends.  The fact that I am older and the older memories come easier than the ones from last week make these stories more interesting (for me at least!)  Here's one that may start a chain on the Big Board during these first snowy days of Winter 2015-16:

Back in high school, Springfield High School, Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, (year? - 1966) when we were at that perfect age of 17-18, we couldn't wait for the snow to cancel school.  Especially on a Friday!  FOUR of us would get into Bob Fazzzina's VW bug and drive over to a certain package store where we would easily bribe a certain favorite adult to buy us beer.  With a full case of Budweiser or Schmidts we would then go out and patrol for drivers stuck in the snow.  When we found them we would all jump out of the car and bodily lift or push them and their car out of the drift or snowbank.  There were several different results:

1. They would open their window and thank us profusely, sometimes with cash,
2. They would stop the car, get out and thank us,
3. They would spin their wheels, covering us with snow and slush and just drive off!

Hoping for the first option, we would then go buy more beer and continue our good samaritan adventures. All of this took place in small towns just North of Philadelphia like Flourtown, Oreland, Erdenheim, Wyndmoor, and Chestnut Hill (these were the big tippers)

When Bob's VW got stuck, the four of us could easily lift it up and push it forward.  Remember the bumpers?  Perfect handles!

If we couldn't find anyone, two guys would hang on to the rear bumpers and Bob would take off and drag us around until someone fell off.  Great times to remember!

Tom C - Lincolnville Beach, Maine - 12/30/15

 (time to go out and snow-blow the driveway...soon)

"Gloria"_a true story - Hunger in Maine is real

Gloria

Her cart was empty

No food this week

Hannafords lights were  on

She was one of the meek.

Swallowing pride

Tasted bitter, again

Nothing else in her stomach

Help may come, but when?

She had just one number

To call if she needed

Alex answered the first time

Cries for help always heeded.

“I need food” she mumbled

“OK, tell me where”

“Hannaford’s, Camden”

“I’m in Searsport. Stay there”

“Wait, the Food Pantry is near

Can you get there soon?”

“I can walk and I will

Meet you there by the moon”

When they got there

They saw she had just a cart.

Homeless in Camden?

It broke Tatum’s heart.

Alex and Tatum took Gloria

And her cart

To the Food Pantry near

To give her a start.

Hospitality House said

“Bring Gloria here,

We can help her a lot

She has nothing to fear”

They took Gloria in

The Pantry stocked her with food

Alex and Tatum

Felt pretty good.

The next day the phone rang

“Gloria’s gone”

Alex was shocked

What could have gone wrong?

He left her with food

They took her to a hotel

“She was fine when we left her

I think all went well.”

Gloria left her small cart behind

She walked off that same evening

Last words:

“Everything’s fine”

Maine is a place

Where everywhere is home

We are proud of that view

We take care of our own.

But Gloria slipped

Through a small crack in time

Now we worry about

Who else we left behind…

The only solution

Is biblical and true:

Take care of each other

The other could be you.

Tom Crowley – 12/18/15

Based on the true experience of three people who met by chance and were forever changed. 

My plan is to turn this into a one-act play to be performed by students at our local high school

in the Fall of 2016 to raise awareness and funds to help fight hunger in Maine.

Key Number 45

I found a key in my drawer.  It was attached to a green plastic keytag thing with a clear window on a key chain. The tag read "45"...That's all. There were 7 or 8 other keys there too.  KRYPTONITE, MASTER, YAKIMA, EXCEL, but I knew what they were all for.  But what about Key # 45?

Where did it belong? What does it unlock?  It says STEEL PRO on it. Naturally I GOOGLED "STEEL PRO" and got something strange and scary:

Steel-Pro is a custom manufacturer of ASME pressure vessels, biopharmaceutical equipment, modular skids, vacuum chambers, storage tanks and other custom designed equipment and stainless steel applications. Industries served include biopharmaceutical, semiconductor, alternative energy, power generation, and other industrial applications.

Steel-Pro’s clients consist of well-established and industry leading firms that require exceptional precision and quality engineered components delivered on time and at competitive prices.

WTF?  I do not remember having anything like this!  Vacuum chambers, storage tanks, ASME pressure vessels, ?  These applications were foreign to me, too.  I know, I will ask my wife, Lucy, she remembers everything.

"Lucy!  what is this key number 45 with STEEL PRO on it for?"
Silence.
"Lucy?"
Nothing. Where is she now?  I guess I will go and find her.

Locking the basement door, for safety first, I went upstairs to our bedroom, calling out her name as I climbed the stairs;
"Lucy!!! Where are you?

Nothing. total silence. Then, a muffled sound like something under water,  then, a scratching sound and a whimper.  WTF?

I went into the bedroom. Bed was made, clothes put away. Silent order.  No light shone through frosted windowpanes, covered with dark pull-down shades.  I looked towards the closet.  Padlock was in place, combination lock intact.  Quiet inside when I pressed my ear to the door.  As I moved away from the closet I noticed something in the corner of my eye. Blood on the door where I had pressed my ear.  Strange.  I looked for the mirror that always hung in the hallway, leading to the other bedrooms, all empty this time of year.  No mirror.  I touched my left ear and pulled my hand away to look at it. Nothing. Then the right ear. Blood. Dried flakes and fresh blood too.

"LUCY!!  Where the fuck are you! I am bleeding! "
Nothing at all. No answer.

I found a small hand mirror in the bathroom. Old fake gold handle, regular mirror on one side, magnified on the other side.  I held it up to my face using the magnified side as I always did because it makes me bigger.  It makes everything bigger.  I liked that.  I looked at my huge right ear and saw the blood dripping out onto my vest and bare shoulder.  Cool.  I looked like a tough MMF fighter just out of the cage!  Awesome.  Where is that fucking Lucy?  She HAS to see this.

to be continued...end here at 8:54 am on Wednesday 12/16/15

The Best Man

The Best Man

My son, Tom, called me while I was in New Orleans back in 2005.  I had lost my job in Boston and fly down there to help my brother with his business.  It was a few months after Katrina hit and the town was a mess.  I worked as a carpenter, floor sander, painter, then as an insurance adjuster.  It was hot, dirty, disgusting work and at night we would sit out on the sidewalk at a bar on Magazine Street, waving flies off our food as Humvees full of National Guardsmen drove by, fully armed, to look for looters.

Then, my son called me and asked me to be his best man at his wedding and if I could drive up to Atlanta for his bachelor party. I was blown away and drove up there in a rented car trying not to cry for the joy and pride of it all.

My own father once said to me, in all seriousness, yet with a smug laugh and a sneer, just after my son, Tommy, was born;

“You couldn’t be father to a cat”

He was wrong. I was and am a good father and I have a great son to prove it.

FTC – remembering in 2015

(I have been blessed with a fantastic daughter, Elizabeth, and now have FIVE grandchildren (Lochlan and Aria from Tommy and Melody, and Leo, Sammy, and Peter from Biz and Andy) to play with. They call me Gaga and Grandaa. awesome)