By Roy Closson
3/17/94
Several years ago, I saw a forgettable movie starring Burt Reynolds and Sally Fields. There was one scene, near the beginning of the movie, when Sally asked Burt, “What do you do with your life.?” Burt’s answer, “Show-off.” Brilliant! What a perfectly honest answer! All men spend part of their lives showing-off. Most won’t always admit it.
Okay, listen up. This is a story about showing-off. Before I start, I must define a few expressions I will be using:
SHOWING-OFF: Outrageous behavior enacted for the soul purpose of directing attention upon oneself.
GUY: Any male human more than six months old.
GIRL: Any female human more than six months old.
First, you must understand that showing-off is mostly a “guy” thing. Oh, girls try but they just don’t know how to do it.
Secondly, when a show-off is perfectly executed, it is a thing of beauty. It requires a sense of perfect timing and execution. The purpose of the show-off must be very carefully planned. Are you looking for the result to bring laughter? Embarrassment? A feeling of pride in the other person? It is endless. I personally prefer the show-off that makes the recipient, usually a girl, annoyed, aggravated, spiteful and in a mood to get even. Over the years I have perfected this art form. In this category, there are none better than I.
With those thoughts in mind, let me get on with my story.
Let me set the scene.
It is a beautiful early spring day in 1946. I am 17 years old and working for my father hauling barges of pulpwood from the islands in Penobscot Bay to the paper mill in Bucksport. I am aboard the “Scotty”, a small but powerful little towboat. My cousin, Buddy McKenzie, is my crew.
We have a barge of pulpwood in tow and we have just completed the long haul up the river with the tide and against the spring freshet. The combination of these two conditions brings the water in the river to a boiling rage filled with unpredictable eddy currents.
The Hancock-Waldo bridge is behind us, beautiful Fort Knox is to our left and ahead and to the right is the gigantic paper mill complex. The mill, as usual, is belching up its smoke, steam and rotten egg stench. In front of the mill, to the right, is a very large mill pond. The purpose of the mill pond is to store the pulpwood that has been brought in from the sea. Surrounding the mill pond, on the river side, are groups of piles made into stanchions. The stanchions are distributed around the mill pond about every 100 feet or so. Then, boom logs, chained end to end, are fed from stanchion to stanchion, thus, keeping the wood inside the mill pond. In front of the mill to the left is a very long pier that is often used as a dock for the large freighters that carry the mill’s paper to places throughout the world.
Forgive me for all the explanation but, hey, if you want to understand my story you have to know the territory.
We are getting to the good part.
I look ahead and see my girfriend, Polly, standing with my father on the pier. Things are definitely looking up.
As they say, “First things first”. I have to dock the barge alongside the boom logs and between the stanchions.
Not an easy task. At the worst possible moment the eddy currents can push the barge away from the boom or I could misjudge and hit one the stanchions, hard, or.... Well, actually, Uncle Merle and my father don’t seem to have much trouble docking their barges, but.... I don’t want to talk about this part any more.
The strategy is as follows: Let Buddy go back to the barge in a row boat, then I will go upstream almost all the way to the pier, then head directly toward the stanchions and boom. When I get very close to the boom, head back down river, keeping the boat at full power, hoping the centrifugal force will swing the barge up next to the boom. Then, Buddy will secure the barge to the boom and we would be home free.
So we did it.
O. K., girls, I want a show of hands. How many think something went wrong during the docking?? Be honest now.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. All went perfectly. The best docking I ever made. With Polly watching I was mighty pleased with myself.
How many thought it was showing-off? Wrong again. You girls still don’t understand. This was not “outrageous behavior for the blah, blah ..., etc, etc.” Get it together. Pay attention. Work well done is not showing-off.
But, it did help set the scene for what would happen next.
Polly seemed to be beaming with pride at my accomplishment. This made my shoulders move a little farther back, my tummy to tuck in and my chest to stick out. So I said to myself, “Mister, it is SHOW-OFF TIME!!
I have explained (I doubt if you girls remember, or if you remember, will understand) that showing-off takes careful planning for a thing of beauty is to emerge.
Here is my plan. As I am now alone in the boat, I will execute a very, very fancy docking of the tug boat at the pier in front of Polly and Dad. I will get all the credit.
To get the full effect of what happened, I must explain how the Scotty operated. Just to the right of the wheel (steering wheel) a throttle handle had been attached to the bulkhead. The boat operator could easily reach it. Pulling the handle back increased the speed of the engine. Pushing it forward would slow the engine down. Close to the operator’s feet, there was a fore/aft slot in the deck. Protruding through the slot was a rod. When the rod was in the center of the slot, the transmission was in neutral. When the rod was kicked forward, the transmission was in the forward gear and when the rod was kicked back from the center position, the transmission was in the reverse gear. Got it, guys? Girls, you may have to re-read this paragraph several times.
Now, on a normal docking, the boat is eased up to the pier at idle speed. Short bursts of speed, controlled by the throttle and the gear shift on the deck make it easy. Not very exciting to watch. Definitely not showing-off.
According to plan, I am going to approach the pier at absolutely full speed. At the very last moment, I am going to angle toward the pier, momentarily drop the engine back to idle, kick the gear shift on the deck to the reverse position and pull the throttle back to top speed. This should cause the boat to come to a full stop one eight of an inch from touching the pier. Then, I will smartly step out of the cabin and toss a line to Dad. When Dad turns to make the line secure, I will bow to Polly. She will be very impressed. I can hardly wait.
Here we go!! Are you ready? Oh, there is one thing I forgot to tell you. Unknowing to me, all but one of the bolts in the coupling that attached the propeller shaft to the engine had come loose!!! And, the last one will come loose the first time I shift the engine to reverse. Woe is me. Guys, I am now getting to the sad part.
So I pulled that throttle back as far as it would go and headed for the pier. That old boat was shaking and the engine was roaring. It felt good. You know, guys, it was that great feeling we get when a well executed show-off is unfolding according to plan. I could see Dad’s eyes bulging. Polly looked a little nervous. Not to worry! Ol’ Clossy is in complete control! Now, came the magic moment. I pushed the throttle forward. The engine idled. So far, so good. NOW, I kicked the transmission to the reverse gear and yanked that throttle handle fully toward me. The last bolt came out of the coupling, the engine raced to a high pitched scream, the boat crashed against the pilings on the pier with such force that, even though it was low tide, the port side of the boat seemed to want to climb half-way up to where Dad and Polly were standing. Life can be tough.
Finally, after wildly rocking back and forth, the boat settled quietly in the water. Actually, there was no serious damage to the pier or the boat. I was not feeling exactly one-hundred percent.
Girls, I’d like to think that none of you are smiling. I hope you aren’t thinking, “He asked for it.” If you are, YOU STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND. It was simply a performance gone awry. I’ll bet you didn’t smile when you heard about a Las Vegas stage collapsing on Ann Margaret a few years ago. It is the same type of thing!
But I digress.
Dad, like most of us, had his own set of mannerisms. When he was very, very upset he would extend a little bit of his tongue between his teeth and bite it. Guess what he was doing? Polly had moved back a couple of steps from the edge of the pier and was kind of looking around, but never at me.
By now I am moving away from the pier and floating down a swiftly running Penobscot River with no power. I didn’t know what had happened. I thought that maybe the transmission had blown up or I had lost a propeller. Well, in truth, my father and a mechanic instantly knew what had happened. So what? Must I know everything!
Well, let me wrap up this story. My Dad got in a second boat and towed me into the pier. By the time he had caught up with me I had drifted down stream almost to the bridge. Things had not gone well. How could I have known? Life is one risk after the other.
On the way home to Ellsworth, in our new Kiaser, I had plenty of time to think about the incident. My thoughts were not interrupted because nobody was talking. What had gone wrong? How could have I capitalized on the moment if I had known the bolts were loose? I fantasized. I my daydream, I know that the bolts are coming loose. I dock the boat very carefully. Before I turn off the engine, I cup my hand to my ear. I make believe I hear a peculiar sound below the hatch covering the coupling. I remove the hatch and raise both arms in surprise. “Look Dad ...Polly, The bolts are loose!! I have just saved a catastrophe!” I am a hero. Dad turns to speak to someone. I bow to Polly.
In your dreams, Roy. Oh well, life goes on.
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