Читать книгу Dutch Clarke - The Early Years - Brian Ratty - Страница 9

From old pictures, I could tell I’d grown up to look and be built much like my father. The difference was that he was taller and thinner than me, as I was 6’1” and weighed 175 pounds. He seemed to have had a strong, muscular body, the same as mine. Uncle Roy said that I had my mother's blue eyes, small ears, nose, and cleft chin. From her pictures, she was a very beautiful lady. I wished I had known them both; there were so many questions I would have asked.

When it came to brains, however, I didn't get my father’s. Grandfather liked to say that I was academically challenged, and he was right. Every year, school was a struggle for me as I found only a few subjects interesting. I didn't blame my teachers for this because for the most part I was just not interested in a formal education. I did excel in science, geography, art, and athletics. But math, English, Latin, and history were another story. As it turned out, I had not become the scholar dear, old Grandfather had expected or the athlete that I wanted to be. Cynical with it all, I squeaked through senior year at boarding school as a C student and then attended a private college for almost two years, where I failed many courses. By then, I had a chip on my shoulder and knew it. I was just kind of drifting. Any wind could have blown me in any direction. In the early spring of 1940, I decided, over the strong objections of Grandfather and Uncle Roy, to drop out of school and return to the only thing I enjoyed: fishing in Alaska.

Sending a telegram to Captain Skip, I told him I was coming back and gave him my arrival date. I figured that if he didn't have a job for me, I’d find a berth on another fishing boat. Flying, for the first time, from New York to Denver and then Denver to Seattle, I made the journey in only 30 hours.

When I tried to purchase a plane ticket for Ketchikan, I was told that all the flights were full and that there was a five-day wait for a seat. When I inquired as to the reason, the lady at the ticket counter told me that it had been like that for the past six months, but that she had no idea why the delays were so long. Because of this, I decided to book passage on one of the ferryboats. While it would take three days of sailing, it was much better than waiting five-days for a seat on the airplane.

When I stepped off the boat, I found a much different Ketchikan than when I had left, nine months earlier. The streets were full of people, most of them wearing army uniforms. There were MPs (Military Police) on almost every street corner and hundreds of other “out of place” faces. Preoccupied with thoughts of the Pacific Lady, I hurried to the boat basin. My eyes quickly skimmed the docks to see if the Pacific Lady was still in port.

Sure enough, there she was. Captain Skip had given her a new paint job, a white superstructure that contrasted nicely with the clean, bright green trim. She even had new rigging and gear on her afterdeck.

Captain Skip sat in the wheelhouse, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in his weathered hands. He greeted me warmly and, as he filled a chipped mug for me of the steaming brew, Skip brought me up to speed on the changes in Ketchikan. He told me that the Army was building a number of fortifications up and down the Alaskan coastline and that Ketchikan had almost doubled in size over the last six months.

From his descriptions, I didn't understand why the Army was in Alaska. I knew that some people were talking about a possible war in Europe, but why Alaska, such a long way from Europe? He went on to tell me that the locals hated having the military around and that there had been many fights in town, with the fishermen fighting the soldiers, the soldiers fighting the loggers, and the miners fighting everyone else. At this we both laughed. Clearly, the wild little fishing town of Ketchikan had gotten even wilder.

Captain Skip had waited for my arrival. One of his crew, Lucky, a good old guy with one hell of a temper, was in the hospital after being stabbed by a miner in a barroom brawl. One of his other crew-members, a man whom I had not met, had returned to the lower forty-eight to join the Navy. We would be fishing short two crew-members, a lot more work for all… but our shares in the profits would be more, too. The good news was that the price the packers were paying for fish had almost doubled over the past year. Stowing my gear in a forward compartment, I was eager to trade the port for the sea once again.

We fished almost non-stop from March on, with our average trip lasting anywhere from four days to a week. We’d then return to Ketchikan to sell our catch, purchase supplies, do maintenance on the boat, gas up, and return to the sea. Fishing had been excellent, and we were all making more money than we ever dreamed. While in port, we played hard, spending our money from café to saloon, saloon to café. But Captain Skip issued firm orders that the crew and I were to avoid any confrontations. Not that any of us were afraid of the townspeople. We felt that if we could master the sea, we damn sure could take care of ourselves in any port. We were rough, we were tough, we were fit... and that “chip” on my shoulder had never been so big. If it had not been for the respect I felt for Skip and his orders, I don’t know what might have happened.

The Pacific Lady made the boat basin on July 12. We’d been out for just under a week, and our iced storage hulls were packed with pink salmon. At well over 15,000 pounds, this was about the maximum we could carry. As we tied up the boat at the packer’s dock, a boy met us and said that there was a telegraph for me in the harbormaster’s office.

Hurrying up the dock and the gangways, I reached the office and read Uncle Roy’s simple message:

DATE: JULY 5, 1940

DUTCH CLARKE III

C/O PACIFIC LADY FISHING BOAT

KETCHIKAN, ALASKA

DUTCH SR. DIED JULY 4. FUNERAL ON JULY 9. COME HOME AT ONCE. FAMILY BUSINESS MUST BE RESOLVED.

ROY

Only moments earlier, my life had been fulfilled and happy. Now, a simple yellow piece of paper made me feel uncertain and lost again. Grandfather had only been 72 and had seemed to be in good health; he should have lived forever. While I didn't shed a tear over Grandfather's passing, there was once again a hole in my life, a hole that would have to be filled.

Returning to the boat, I shared the news with Skip and the crew. I didn’t want to leave the boat, for many reasons. Still, deep down, I knew I had to go, if for no other reason than to face Uncle Roy and that "Family Business" stuff.

Luckily, I got a seat on the next day’s flight to Seattle, with connections to Denver and then to New York. Captain Skip, his wife Louise, and the rest of the crew saw me off at the airport, warm and understanding. As I was shaking hands with Skip, he soberly said, "I'll save your berth, mate. You can ship with me any time. Just let me know if I can be of any help."

As the small plane flew out over the now-bustling hamlet, I wondered if I would ever see Ketchikan, the Pacific Lady and her crew again. With over $5,000 in my pockets and facing an unknown future, I vowed I would return. So help me God, I would return.