noankjail

This is written by a friend who has been connected with the Broadcasting business for many years. I wanted to present this article on my blogsite.

A Registered Republican’s View of the National GOP.
by Dennis Jackson on Monday, January 31, 2011 at 12:42am

It’s almost beyond belief to me that the right-wing is able to dupe tens of millions of well-intentioned veterans, single-issue partisans, gun-hobbyists, flag-wavers (as in “my country love it or leave it”, as if having an differing opinion was un-American), country music fans, the unsophisticated, the undereducated, dogmatic evangelists, bigots, and outright rednecks, into voting for the continued transfer of wealth and power from people in their middle and working class life situation, to conscience-free corporations and the top 1% of wealth-holders.

The ratio of top CEO income to average worker income in 1983 was 50:1. Now it’s 250:1 !! Gee, do you think that’s related to the Reagan “revolution” that remains the ideological underpinning of neocons like Bush and Cheney, Rove, McConnell and Boehner, Gingrich, et al? Eisenhower and Nixon were both more progressive than the newly pragmatic and centrist President Obama, let alone today’s GOP. The right-wing, while often lacking in disclosure and honesty, is, in many respects, winning by use of smoke and mirrors. We must continue to rail against it and point out its absurdity.

And yet the super-rich who control the national GOP agenda from behind the curtain, and the Murdoch/Beck/Limbaugh/Hannity/Palen propaganda hate machine, won’t stop until they have it all in behalf of their greedy selves and the constituents who make them unjustly rich. It’s all too easy to get unsophisticated middle and working class folks to resent and hate other folks whom they fear may be “better than them” because they have a taste for Smithwicks and clean vodka over Budweiser ‘n’ corn whiskey, or latte over Dunkin’ Donuts (though both are great, they resent the latte, and often “things French” in general.)

Or to detest those who take the long view of our health care system, or understand the economy in a way similar to how the world’s greatest economic minds do, and thus understand how our government’s investment in rescuing the banking and automotive sectors is not an “expense” but an investment that was critical to the prevention world economic collapse, and that is now producing a profit for the taxpayers.

Right-wing propaganda is cheap, and it’s dishonest, but it works on the unsophisticated who resent, ridicule, and hate the concept of “nuance.” All these morans (sic) can say is, “Obama wants to make us all Socialists like failed Europe by increasing government and raising taxes. We want freedom and liberty from the government.” But gee, it’s just not that simple.

But ask them what, specifically, they themselves propose to cut, and they come up empty. Ask them, or their unions, or their elected reps if they would like to personally make some sacrifices, and they reply, “Hell no, I worked my butt off for that! It’s in my contract! This is America! I earned it and I ain’t giving it up to a bloated government!”

What they come up with instead, is another attack on progressive thinkers, or the messenger. “It’s that damm lamestream liberal media. You know, the networks owned by Fortunes 500 corps like GE, Comcast, Disney Corp, and Viacom Corp.” Sadly, there is no intellectual or spiritual leader for the GOP. There are no more intellectual conservative thinkers like William F. Buckley. There are no more sensible conservatives like Dwight D. Eisenhower. If there is a logical and legitimate conservative thought process, we never hear it because it would undermine the emotional appeal of deceptive right-wing propaganda that enlists the morons in voting against their own interests.

The middle of this article about the natural advantages that accrue to the right-wing is interesting:

ttp://www.alternet.org/story/149639/what_the_hell_happened_to_keith_olbermann?page=2

So we have two sectors in today’s right-wing. One is based on sincere good intentions, or intolerance, but a failure to grasp the big picture. The other includes many, but far from all (because many, fortunately, have a social conscience), of the the top 1% of the wealthy who are hypocritical and secretly gleeful that the grunts still haven’t caught on to their little scam. Make that, “huge scam.”

Did you hear Harold Ford on MTP this morning (Jan 30, 2011)? He said, “The Republicans are going to have to start acting like adults.” Republican strategist Mike Murphy could make no retort. Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as saying, “If you’re not a liberal at age 20, you have no heart. If you’re not conservative at age 45, you have no brain.”

What’s true, but not said is, “If by age 50 you haven’t developed a mature view of the big picture and a mature conscience, you have no soul.”

Fortunately, a significant percentage of us eventually come to recognize that truth.

Notes from the Old Noank Jail

Seahorse Memories

by Ed Johnson

Recently, many of us who have lived in the Noank area were saddened to hear that the Seahorse Restaurant on Marsh Road had gone out of business. Apparently, the most recent owner had run into serious financial difficulties. Some feel that at a future date it may reopen with new ownership, which would please local residents, as it was a favorite hangout for many years.

In his book, SHORT VOYAGES, initially published in 1982 , local author Stephen Jones included a chapter called “Songs of the Seahorse” wherein he wrote “One of the best places to think about the sea during the winter is the Seahorse Restaurant in Noank. In the off-season, hauled boats from the cove just over the hill crowd the low, white stucco building…beside the boats, you have looming across the narrow road the three -story Noank Foundry…Lacking space for such delicate operations as paperwork…the owner uses the relatively quiet and soot-free Seahorse for his office…The air is laced with the smell of burning coal, wood smoke and low tide. The wood smoke comes from the fireplace inside the Seahorse.”

Jones continued “Charlie Doughty, former owner, is now the resident accordion player…bluefish is the house specialty…Charlie and his longtime partner Bruce Wakefield sold the business to two young men, John Hewes and Mark Swencer (not the most recent owners), who appreciate the Seahorse tradition and are running the business as usual…The Mystic Marlin and Tuna Club meets at the Seahorse…the stuffed fish on the walls come in for a certain amount of criticism (as to their actual source, because some are definitely not local specimens)…a number of people will now have gathered to compare the fish on the wall with fish they have personally known (much to the amusement of the onlookers)…to settle the issue, Charlie will finally say, “That fish on the wall there is a STUFFED FISH.” (Laughter ensues)

Jones noted that music in the bar was also a major part of the Seahorse tradition. “Class is also brought to the Seahorse by Charlie’s Wednesday night band, an amalgam of local talent that (normally) includes a cadre of a hot cornet, a tuba played by a man in the wrecking business, and Charlie’s accordion…Master Mariner Adrian Lane would come ashore with his concertina…The band’s style seems to vary between Polish Wedding and New Orleans Riverboat.” Much to the amusement of the clientele, Bruce Wakefield apparently did not share Charlie’s love of accordion music, as someone noted wryly that Bruce was learning to play the accordion and that his favorite song was “If I had a Hammer”….and that if Bruce actually DID have a hammer, he would hammer on his accordion!

The ambiance at the Seahorse was casual and low-key. Although I worked as a salesman at that time, it was better to remove coat, vest and tie to avoid the stigma of being an over-dressed high roller in a three piece suit. I learned that there was a social “rule” to the effect that some of the regular, very casually dressed (and sometimes pungent) locals probably had a net worth well in excess of any high-rollers and that it was probably from catching fish!

In summary, back in the 80’s, the Seahorse had great food, a warm, friendly atmosphere (even if Wednesday nights were a bit raucous) and a very interesting clientele from many walks of life. It was a landmark for many of us after a long day’s work and a great place to have lunch or dinner on a cold day. May it somehow be returned to us in the future, rather than disappear into the shadows

Notes from the Old Noank Jail

For two years, ever since the last Presidential election, GOP leaders in Congress have opposed the Obama health care reform. Now that they are the House majority, they want to vote in an attempt to repeal health care reform.

Yet, when it comes to their own medical coverage, Republicans in Congress are still happy to continue accepting their existing government-sponsored health care program.

Senator Chuck Schumer is now calling on the GOP to give up their government-sponsored health care. This certainly seems fair to me…and long overdue. For that matter, it should include all representatives, regardless of their political affiliation.

May 2006

Comments by Frank Socha to Ed Johnson

Notes from the Old Noank Jail

A few years ago, I submitted an article to a local paper on Frank, who is our Noank Fire District Chairman. I was not satisfied with the final editing of the article and have therefore chosen to put down Frank’s actual comments. They speak for themselves; he makes good sense, and always has.  And most of his remarks apply to our local area, not just Noank. However, at the time I requested these comments from him, I asked him to focus on our village and the people living in it.        Ed Johnson

” We still have a system based on property value, not ability to pay. We therefore need some way to stop penalizing people who choose to remain in their homes for a long time. The fact that the Noank area has become so desirable due to location and favorable comparisons to other areas should not become a de facto penalty to those of us, especially our elders, who make Noank the great village it is (50 years ago, Noank was not considered a desirable location, due to its fishing heritage).

I believe the best way for Groton (and the State of Connecticut) to correct this disparity is some system based on purchase price of the property. In this way those who feel compelled to spend large sums of money to live near the water, whether it is Noank, GLP, West Mystic or parts of Groton City(Jupiter Point, etc) would pay more than those who have lived here a long time and have made many non-monetary contributions to the community. Perhaps a sliding scale based on time lived in a house could be developed. Some type of adjustment would have to be made for property transferred by inheritance. Thus the person who just bought a house on Hadley Court for $720,000 would pay more than a long-time resident, for example, who has been here many years and has made lasting contributions to Noank as a member of the ZBA.

As I have always maintained, we are truly fortunate to live in this area. For example, now that the rest of the world seems to see how great our village is, this should not cause us to have to arbitrarily pay more taxes, ultimately for less service. As example, while our Fire District has maintained and expanded to some degree the level of service to Noank and Mumford Cove, the Town of Groton has been cutting services everywhere in Town. I believe this area has seen a disproportionate decline in town services due to various factors, such as low crime, lack of major commercial areas, low wear and tear on local roads, etc.

Ultimately Noank really is about people. We have a nice village because over many years we have had many wise and involved people help shape our little piece of the world. The credit must go to people like Mort Wright, Walt Palmer, Sam Carson, Don Robinson and too many others to name, who gave selflessly to this area and whose past decisions still impact our life today.

Looking forward, I see living near the water remaining an attractive target for people of means. Unfortunately, over time this will change our area. We still need people who live here to remain involved in the decision process and make wise decisions about our future, and hopefully the future for some of our children.

Jimmy Buffett was asked once to sit in on a forum in Key West to discuss its future and how to deal with its transition from a 70’s honky tonk town of notorious characters to a beachhead for tourists. When asked what he felt would be the best thing to happen for the future of Key West, he responded something like ‘a category 5 hurricane’. Needless to say his answer was not expected. I think he wished Key West to return to what he knew it to be in his early years. Many of us would like our area to do the same. While a hurricane may be an answer, the price is too high. We have done a fair job to safeguard our community…perhaps too good. Those with means looking to buy into a community will continue to head our way. What they may not understand is that you cannot buy what we we have. Those of us who have been here a while have an intangible part of us that is, for example, Noank. It is an attitude and philosophy, not geography. It must be earned… and some may never get it.”

February 2006

“Notes from the Old Noank Jail”

Noank’s Renaissance Man by Ed Johnson

Some years ago, at a gathering of the Noank Historical Society, Ben Rathbun was introduced as “Noank’s Renaissance Man.” At first glance, since Ben has spent much of his life as a commercial fisherman and charter boat operator, the application of such a term might not seem appropriate. Thereby hangs the tale.

In the 1992 American Heritage Dictionary, among other variations, the actual word “renaissance” is used to describe “a rebirth or revival” and the noun “Renaissance man” applies to “a man who has broad intellectual interests and who is accomplished in areas of both the arts and the sciences.”

Captain Benjamin F. Rathbun, Jr., was born in 1928 and grew up in Noank where, as he describes it, “a boy who grew up on the waterfront knew better than to get into a jam where an adult had to rescue him. His Mom would really tan his hide if he pulled such a dumb trick.” Ben’s father was a commercial fisherman and the family lived by the water, where “the waterfront area was the least desirable place in which to live…which is rather ironic when you consider the present situation.”

Ben survived the local schools, including the renowned teacher, Mary Virginia Morgan Goodman, survived the 1938 and 1944 Hurricanes with his family, built his first “boat” from a packing box in 1939, became an avid reader of history, and worked with his father as a commercial fisherman, including swordfish charters, before taking over as skipper of the “Anna R” in 1958.

Ben helped show a frustrated President Dwight Eisenhower one of the best local fishing areas on the sound. Mr. Eisenhower was traveling with the Secret Service in a nearby boat and was very upset that he had not caught any fish, while he watched Ben’s clients reel them in. “Ike was slouched down with a GOLF hat on his head…I had this wild impulse to… tell him it was no wonder he wasn’t getting any bites with that GOLF hat on his head…but…I didn’t want my wife to have to raise the kids all alone, so I kept my mouth shut.” In any case, with Ben’s guidance, Mr. Eisenhower did finally catch a fish, to the embarrassment of the Secret Service and, one month later, Ben himself caught a full audit by the IRS…”random selection, my foot.”

Sadly, Ben lost his father to cancer in 1959 but decided to continue with the family business. With technical guidance from boatbuilder Robert Whitaker and some private financial assistance from Captain Jack Wilbur, a new wooden “Anna R” was launched in 1960. Ben quotes his late father’s philosophy, saying “Owning a fishing boat gives you the privilege of being wrong and paying through the nose for the error of your ways.” Ben feels that fortunately he had learned much from his father during his early years, “especially when… very few normal teenage males are able to focus their attention…on any area above their belt buckle.”

Ben then introduced an important business restructure in 1960 which involved rescheduling the “normal” Connecticut inshore boat charter all-day 8 to 12 hour tour. Instead, he shifted the operation into two 6 hour trips daily, which created the new long-term potential of twelve satisfied customers per day rather than just six. Ben was the first to do this and although the concept was initially resisted by the rest of the local fleet, the long term advantage of increasing the customer base gradually became the norm for most of the remaining Connecticut full-time charter boats.

Later, Ben decided to concentrate fully on Charter operations and purchased a new fiberglass “Anna R” in 1972, designed for sportfishing. Then, in 1986, he turned over this operation to his son Franklin in order to focus on their 42 foot charter sailboat along with a marine survey business. In 1988, Ben sold the sailboat and was then later forced by health problems (Parkinson’s) to close the survey office in 1993, and officially “retire.” Either that, or his wife Rosalie probably threatened to kill him anyway, if he didn’t take better care of himself.

However, a person with Ben’s energies and determination does not fully “retire” or cease to be productive, nor did health issues deter him from his literary “renaissance.” Apparently, Ben had totally bypassed the normal college curriculum, holding instead what he referred to as a “Ph.D. in Generalities.” He was well known on the marine lecture circuit and became one of the leading local authorities on Lighthouses. Ben became active, and is currently still fully involved, as a member of the Noank Fire District Executive Committee, the local village governing body. He has served as Chairman of NOAA Sea Grant Review Panel, and was part of a Committee of the Department of Agriculture as well as the New England Fisheries Management Council.

More recently, Ben chaired a writing team which produced the 2002 book “Noank, Celebrating a Maritime Heritage,” after previously authoring the 1996 book, “Captains B.F. Rathbun of Noank,” one of the most enjoyable personal histories I have ever read. Amazingly, Ben is also well versed and very comfortable dealing with computers, both at home and at the Noank Fire District, despite being initially educated in the 1930s.

However, it is perhaps Ben’s sense of humor, sharpened by a sense of irony, that I most enjoy. Some of his stories from the Rathbun history, such as the local minister being accidentally “boiled” in the Church Baptistery, or the pranks played on others by one Webb Eldridge, have had me in stitches. As Frank Socha has noted, “The experiences Ben relates…are told with a bias toward ‘telling it like it was’…not dressed up or polished to seem a fitting history… If a phrase were needed to describe Ben’s message, it could be ‘pay attention, you might learn something.'”

At one point a few years ago, when Ben thought that his illness had gotten the best of him, he insisted on having his Wake ahead of time, so he wouldn’t miss a good party. Without a doubt, it was one of the largest and best “block parties” we’ve ever had in Noank. Ironically, this was a few years ago, and Ben is still here with us, just as busy as ever.

He probably doesn’t want to miss breakfast at Carson’s.

Renaissance, indeed.

March 2006

Notes from the Old Noank Jail by Ed Johnson, Noank, CT

Customer Service?

Having lived in this area now for over 25 years, I still marvel at some of the problems that rear their ugly heads as time moves along and as businesses try to cut costs. Maybe this story will ring a bell with some of you.

Possibly I have discovered one version of the 9th Circle of Hell. No, it is not shopping for food in the local “megamarts” (some of you already know I don’t do that very well). Instead, it is being forced to suddenly buy gasoline at a local IN-convenience store. It is the only place open for customers at an hour when I have to make an unexpected trip out of town on family business. Foolish me for not refueling earlier in the day.

Step one, I try to gas up directly at the pump with my credit card. No go. The pumps are not operating properly, so I have to go inside to get credit approval first from the attendants. Nothing really prepares me for what comes next.

Step two, I am now standing in a line of ten people who are picking up various food supplies and the man directly in front of me smells badly. The single attendant at the register appears to be moving slowly with his transactions, possibly because he is holding a portable phone to his ear with one hand, apparently conversing with someone and not fully concentrating on the customer’s needs. The fourth person in line finally orders a large sandwich which is really interesting because the attendant only uses his one free hand most of the time to make the sandwich. It is, naturally, a slow process. The high point comes when the attendant tries to hold the telephone against his ear with his shoulder, still talking to someone, while he cuts the sandwich. Whoops. Suddenly, the telephone slips and makes a swan dive into the container of mayonnaise on the counter. More delays.

Step three, time has passed, and my beard has grown longer. I am closer to the register, with only 4 people in front of me. The “one-armed” attendant is still talking on the phone and making small mistakes with each transaction. I now realize that he has the rather blank facial expression of someone with the IQ of french bread, and seems oblivious to the customers. And the person on the phone? His girlfriend.

Step four, the man in front of me is now directly at the counter and I suddenly realize why he smells so badly. It seems he has had a few drinks before his arrival, is feeling argumentative….. and guess what he wants to do?

He wants to play the “Power Ball” lottery…on several different numbers.

A sudden blast of warm air from a space heater gives me the reassurance that the gates of hell are probably opening for me.

Step five is a separate operation which takes approximately six minutes and is actually a contest of wills between Mr. Angrily Intoxicated versus Mr. One-Armed French Bread. There are complications with the former slurring his words while the latter manages to misinterpret almost everything being requested because now the girlfriend is yelling at him on the phone about something. It is not a pretty picture. The intoxicated customer finally leaves, very angry about the attendant’s mistakes which have obviously interfered with his liver reduction time.

Step six goes much faster, as I hand the attendant my credit card, go out to pump my gas, and come back to finish my transaction, eager to depart on my journey.

The line at the counter is even longer this time and Mr. French Bread is still on the phone.

I consider taking a vacation…possibly in Iraq.

And I now gas my car during the day at our local garage when the gauge hits 3/4 of a tank.

Sept. 2006

Notes from the Old Noank Jail by Ed Johnson

Property Tax

As most Groton Town residents are aware, the dreaded Property Tax Revaluation process has begun once again, after a one year postponement by the Town Council. There had been hope by many citizens that some relief or readjustment of the tax process by the state of Connecticut would take effect this past year in the legislature, but alas, this did not happen, even in the eleventh hour. Somebody else’s agenda somehow got the attention, but at least the delay gave many citizens some breathing room.

Although there has been a softening in the residential real estate market nationally, the Northeast has not been as affected, with the exception that some properties are now taking much longer to actually sell. Locally, our homes will most likely be appraised at the same or perhaps a higher level compared with the 2005 figures, so everyone should pay close attention to this activity for the next few months. In addition, the recent “shutters” insurance issue, which received considerable attention, has not yet been mentioned as an active factor with any appraisals.

On a positive note, as a result of last year’s appeal process and the attention focussed on some disparities in comparative value, the tax assessor’s office recently indicated that the delay of one year was helpful in allowing them time to revise market value appraisals. There may also still be some shoreline areas involving comparative value which require more scrutiny.

An informal citizen’s study committee has been meeting periodically to review possible areas of disparity, primarily focusing on commercial versus residential properties. In my case, I sampled the Groton area, including our own home, and used a property list based on the 2005 Revaluation figures. We had been told that our house itself was not that valuable, but that the actual land itself was worth more than the house, as confirmed by the 2001 information on the Groton Town website. I therefore utilized only the land property value figures from the 2005 list, discounting the buildings.

I ended up with twelve sample residential land values located in close proximity with eight commercial land values, computed to a comparative value of one acre. All of these indicated a lower assessed value for the commercial land versus the residential samples and some of the differences were dramatic. We reported our findings to the Town.

The Assessor’s office has explained that commercial and residential valuations are not done in the same manner and that there are multiple methods for evaluating commercial properties owing to the more complicating factors affecting a business. In addition, valuation of the buildings themselves could offset the lower valuations of the land itself, thus creating a balance. Nevertheless, with the current trend in shifting tax burdens from commercial to residential, it behooves everyone to pay close attention to the issue and utilize the Town website in order to research comparative property valuations in our own immediate areas. In this manner, citizens have more facts on hand if choosing to appeal the initial 2006 valuation made by the appraisers.

Here are some additional “active survival” suggestions for those of you inclined to be “creative.”

a) In previous years, knowing that the appraisers would be coming around, we got into the habit of hanging laundry inside the house, spread around liberally, and even hung some in the front yard. This way, we created that “lived in” look. Coming to the door in a nighty was a nice touch when my wife did it, although when I tried, the appraisers quickly left for another appointment.

b) Old cars, preferably rusty with the hood up and at least one wheel off, can do wonders to create that “low key” neighborhood appearance. If asked, state that the cars are “works in progress.” A slight gasoline smell adds a realistic touch and an open bait barrel nearby will speed up the survey process considerably.

c) Don’t paint your house at all, especially the exterior; Just let it crack and fade. Meanwhile, form a local neighborhood association dedicated to creating an “ethereal” ambiance for all the nearby houses.

d) Don’t forget to have at least two broken window panes in prominent areas, covered with multicolor duct tape, for that “temporary maintenance” look. And don’t touch any spider webs…they’re perfect just the way they are.

e) A backyard filled with dirty old boat hulls, rusty engines and uncut grass will be a finishing touch, but don’t forget to let the appraisers see that half inch of flood water in the basement left over from the last rainstorm.

Anyway, you get the idea. Good luck….

November 2006

Notes from the Old Noank Jail

At the Water’s Edge by Ed Johnson

As we are now in the Thanksgiving season, it is appropriate to look around us and be thankful for what we have…at the moment. Walking down to a nearby beach late at night, looking up at a clear sky and feeling the crisp, cold air somehow gives me a feeling of “eternity” and that nothing I am seeing will ever change…and that somehow I will always be a part of it.

I’m snapped back to reality when reading comments in a school magazine, written by noted author and photographer Peter Beard. Much of his work has focused on Africa, specifically Kenya and the elephant population, for more than 35 years. Today, Beard describes how the Kenya he knew went from lush paradise to dusty, diseased landscape within one short lifetime. When he first visited the country (during the sixties), Beard met a vibrant culture of 5 million people. But with the decimation of the forests and the slaughter of elephants came a burgeoning population that swelled to 30 million. “I left an Africa overpopulated, riddled with corruption… We are not interested in the causes, just the band-aids. We are not interested in the problems, as there is no sustainable yield.”

I take comfort that Africa is far away, until I sit in our local Firehouse having dinner with some “old timers” who came from families that grew up on our waterfront years ago. One man suggests that the average normal ocean waterline (allowing for tides) has risen 6 inches along the Mystic River since the 1938 hurricane and that the melting ice caps are the primary reason. We joke that the Town Tax Assessor’s office would still refuse to give us a lower appraisal for living in such an “endangered area.” Another man remarks that there was a time when his ancestors were able to walk on the Mystic River winter ice from Noank to Ram Island between 1850 and 1900, but that the increased warmer winter temperatures would now make such a journey “extremely wet.”

Today there are many horror stories written and televised concerning the negative impact of mankind on the environment. We are to the point of being constantly barraged by reports of pollution, global warming, global dimming, melting ice caps and man-made cloud formations. More recently we read of statistics concerning the population increase in the United States, beginning with 100 Million people in 1918 and now at 300 Million people in 2006. The key ingredients appear to be the result of couples having more children and the immigration of more people, legal or otherwise. We now even read that we cannot properly sustain our life systems if this population continues to increase and we continue to abuse our own natural resources. Indeed, “eternity” is no longer a reality…we are now time limited. But is anyone really paying attention?

Perhaps it is not too late for us to reverse our self destructive trends. In a recent sermon, Dr. Paul Hayes of the Noank Baptist Church writes,” The climate of our times requires us to recognize the damage that is being done to our planet earth before the consequences are irreversible…and we have only our own shortsighted selfishness to blame for it.”

Dr. Hayes then goes on to give a specific, successful example of reclaiming the environment. “I grew up in Maine and vividly recall the images and smells of the raw sewage and chemical pollution downstream from many of the paper mills. Three main rivers were notorious for their pollution in the 1950s and 1960s…with brown water, grimy foam and debris. Fortunately, enough people had common sense to address the problems, educate the population, add filtration systems, reduce toxins and river pollution, with the result that Atlantic Salmon fishing has recently returned to the Penobscot River. In other words, Nature has a chance to reclaim that which is otherwise lost, and is God’s redemptive mercy for this world.”

Is there hope? Are we smart enough to save our own species, along with the others on this earth, for ultimate survival? And is it realistic for us to expect the people of this earth to stop having so many, many children, many of whom will end up driving so many, many cars? Surely, such a simple solution should not be too much to ask of any society with reasonable group intelligence. Of course not. And of course our governments want to protect us and do what is right for the greater good.

There, I feel better already, walking down to the beach. It’s a clear, cool night and once again I have that reassuring sense of “eternity.”

Of course, I do always feel more secure after my medication starts to kick in.

December 2006 Updated January 1, 2011

Notes from the Old Noank Jail

My Sailing Adventures

by Ed Johnson

When my wife and I bought our Noank house in 1971, we had dreams of having a boat, sailing all around Fisher’s Island Sound, doing overnights at Block Island and in general becoming weekend adventurers. We had journeyed with other experienced sailors when we were younger, so naturally there would be no problem for us to take up sailing again.

Our first acquisition was a used 14′ Sunfish…basically an overgrown surfboard with a triangular sail plus a small foot well which made it easier to shift my large rear end from side to side. It also had a rudder which was difficult to operate if not latched down properly, requiring frequent attention. My maiden vacation voyage in the Noank anchorage area began on a bright, sunny weekday with very light wind, no tidal movement and no other boats moving in the channel.

I maneuvered close among the boats moored in the anchorage, as I had seen other sailors do, priding myself on how easily I controlled my course in the light air. Suddenly, POOF, a wind gust caught me off guard, spinning my boat so it was now aimed directly at a lovely wooden 30 foot sailboat resting peacefully on a mooring. I released the main sheet to let sail out, but my boat didn’t slow down. Worse, the rudder wouldn’t respond and to my horror, I looked back and saw that it had become unlatched and was rising out of the water whenever I moved the tiller.

CRUNCH. My bow hit the sailboat square amidships, putting a deep hole through a plank just above the waterline. Unfortunately, the other boat owner had been taking a nap below, with his head no more than a foot away from the point of impact. He came topsides very fast and very angry, loudly called me unpleasant names, made inappropriate reference to my mother, remarked on my intelligence and sailing abilities, and then quickly motored to Orion Ford’s dock for assistance.

To make a long story short, we arranged for the very talented Paul Deschenes of Noank to replace the broken plank so properly that it was as if the accident had never happened. However, my sailing reputation took a serious hit because some neighborhood teenagers heard of the incident and…hooting with laughter…now referred to our boat as “Ramfish.” One of them actually presented me with a large, leather belt with carved inscriptions reading “Skipper of Ramfish” along with a clever little cartoon showing my boat smashed into the other boat, my rudder raised up, $$$ signs floating in the air, me holding my head in my hands, embarrassed, with the other boat owner shaking his fist and screaming at me.

Not surprisingly, Ramfish was quickly sold, defective rudder included. We then sailed as guests with friends for quite a while (avoiding the helm, of course) and later partnered with another couple in purchasing a wooden 12′ Beetlecat sailboat. We felt safe sailing with our friends but learned quickly that (a) the wind frequently dies down during late afternoons in direct proportion to (b) the amount of wine being consumed versus (c) the distance to the nearest bathrooms on shore (no, there are no bathrooms on a Beetlecat). We therefore purchased a small outboard motor for emergencies and I felt more secure after that. In fact, I really liked the idea of being prepared for the unexpected on the high seas and proceeded to stock the boat accordingly.

Then, on one occasion, after some arm twisting performed by so called friends, I actually raced the Beetlecat, accompanied by another fellow who came on board at the last minute because there was no room on any other competing boats. He didn’t inspect my boat at all because we were in a hurry and, right away, our goals became very different. He wanted to win at all costs whereas I was focused on just surviving the races and not hitting other boats (once had been enough). After we came in dead last with me at the helm, I turned it over to “Captain Bligh” and let him take charge. Then I simply cowered as far forward as I could, close to the wine supply, praying for a big thunderstorm to end the second race early, but to no avail.

After almost ramming a competitor, Captain Bligh managed to bring us in dead last again, very frustrated and puzzled by the fact that our boat seemed to move slower than the competition, which he initially blamed on my rather large size. But later, at the Yacht Club Award ceremonies, after a closer inspection of the forward section of our boat by the race committee, we were awarded a special prize for “having the most equipment on board.” This consisted of 2 boat anchors, 2 picnic coolers, 4 life jackets, 4 paddles, 2 CB radios, 2 bail buckets, 1 bailing pump, a folding porta-potti, 2 spare gasoline containers, 2 oil cans, 1 tool kit, 2 raincoats and one 3 HP long shaft outboard motor.

Time has passed. My wife and I now possess kayaks which rest comfortably on sawhorses in the back yard. We usually manage to take them out on the water at least once every year.

June 2007

Notes from the Old Noank Jail by Ed Johnson

Aunt Clara, Revisited

Years ago, “old timers” may remember articles in the COMPASS and the DAY written by one Beatrice Andrews of Noank. She wrote about her children growing up, her husband’s love of gadgets and his brother’s double decker London Bus that arrived for a “brief visit” and ended up parked in their driveway for over 5 years because of “mechanical difficulties.” Sadly, Bea passed away some years later but the stories she wrote still linger in our memories. One of these concerned a lady many of us knew who had developed an unusual flair for the “culinary arts” and is referred to here as “Aunt Clara.” Her husband (and frequent culinary victim) shall be named “Uncle Wilbur.”

As the story goes, both Clara and Wilbur loved the ocean and Wilbur was already a competent sailor. On their honeymoon aboard their new catboat back in the ’30’s, they were hungry for lunch and managed to “obtain” lobsters from the ocean (are we all familiar with the now frowned upon custom of pulling up someone else’s traps and exchanging a bottle of wine for the lobsters?). Naturally, Clara wanted to impress Wilbur with her abilities as a chef, so she proceeded below decks to boil his lobster while Wilbur stayed at the helm. With great pride, Clara emerged on deck and said, “Here you are, dearie,” presenting Wilbur with his plate of boiled lobster, as he beamed with anticipation.

However, to Wilbur’s dismay, only the rear section of the lobster had been properly boiled. The front section was still quite lively and had other plans as the creature proceeded to scuttle off the plate and drop to the deck of the boat. It turned out that the only cooking vessel Clara had found was a small, upright coffee pot.

Clara was also fond of entertaining guests on short notice, sometimes with blissful disregard for any lack of food or refreshment in her home. She enjoyed talking with people and felt good conversation was the more important aspect…food was secondary. Wilbur had become slightly numb by the time my wife and I were invited to have our wedding shower at their home in 1969. Clara made us open all the presents at the party, including three cheese fondue sets in a row (“oh, how nice, another fondue set”). After the party, everyone was supposed to leave (Wilbur had closed the bar) so Clara and Wilbur could enjoy their steak dinner in peace. Clara would have none of it and she insisted that four of us stay and have dinner with them. “Oh, goody,” growled Wilbur, “dinner for six with food for two,” but no one could refuse Clara.

We all tried to ignore the fact that there wasn’t enough food for everyone, which was difficult, because Wilbur would occasionally interject with caustic remarks.
“Clara, where is my steak?” “Look under the potato, dearie.” “Where’s the potato?” Or, ” Ed, you still look like you’re pretty hungry. Here, have another pea.”

Perhaps the most notable Clara culinary creation occurred when, again on short notice, she invited a group of people for impromptu hors d’oeuvres at her home one evening. She ducked into the kitchen, opened the nearest can from the pantry, spread the contents on some crackers and whisked the hors d’oeuvres around the room. The guests nibbled away with delight until, unfortunately, one of them discovered the empty can of catfood on the kitchen counter.

The party ended abruptly, but the memory of Aunt Clara lives on.