“My Dad's Boat”

The distance between 23 Boutwell Street and 71 Hampton Circle is less than 15 miles along Route 3A south of Boston. But if you were a kid in Dorchester and leaving for the summer to your family cottage in Hull it might as well have been a thousand miles.

 

The year was 1955 and my Dad was leaving

his friends back in the city for another

relatively lonely summer. His older brother 

Tom had recently graduated from Boston

Technical High School and his sister Rita was

on her summer break from Regis College. 

They had little in common with their little

brother Richard.
 

Most fourteen year olds spent their summers

playing sports all day and listening to the

Red Sox games on the warm summer 

nights. Jackie Jensen, Jimmy Piersall and Ted

Williams roamed the outfield for the home

team. Tragedy would occur in June when a local Red Sox hero from Lynn, Harry Agganis, would succumb at the start of the summer falling gravely ill with pneumonia. My father did not take much interest in sports. At age fourteen, he was more drawn to things/matters that had a mechanical flair to them. And somehow, that summer, he built his own motorboat.
 

Where did my father get the idea to build the boat? Had he read a Mark Twain novel depicting Huck Finn's adventures along the Mississippi River while a student at St. Ann's School? Did he come across an article in Popular Mechanics magazine over the winter? Did he consult his father, my grandfather, who had studied at Wentworth Institute School of Mechanics in 1925?
 

The Hull cottage sat on a hill with the property’s backyard literally touching the salt water. There were islands, rivers, rocks and trails to discover. My Dad learned about tides, nautical terms and weather. The summer of 1955 would produce three major hurricanes in New England including Hurricanes Connie and Diane.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He knew everything would look differently from the water. He had a yearning to be free. Free from loneliness. He had something to prove to himself. Exotic places like "World's End", "Hull Gut" and "Gunrock" waited to be explored. There were other towns in sailing distance such as Cohasset, Scituate and Hingham. A dozen years later he would make Hingham his home and raise a family on the other side of World's End - for forty years. But first, a boat had to be built.

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The boat. The boat was no bigger than a sports car. A white vshaped hull supported a red deck with clean body-lines. A small black and grey outboard motor powered my father to adventure. A round steering wheel rested on the port side. There was a passenger seat perfect for inviting a new friend. The back storage area had room for a gas can, supplies, a map and sandwiches. The boat would be stored under the porch for the winter.
 

I envision my father quietly planning the production of his boat. Neatly setting up his tools and hardware behind the cottage. One tool he always carried was "patience". He had told few if any of his plan. As he toiled with his project, sweat would bead up on his forehead and run down his nose. A white handkerchief would quickly come out of his pocket to wipe the sweat. I imagine an old radio played in the background, surely his new favorite - Chuck Berry. "Maybelline" had been recorded on May 21 and would soar in the charts during the summer of 1955. Elvis Presley also entered the music scene but my Dad preferred Chuck Berry.
 

The work of building the boat was performed in an organized manner and with "alacrity". Alacrity is a concept that was instilled in my sisters and me growing up. Alacrity is defined as approaching a task with cheerful willingness and eagerness. Maybe this was his first experience with alacrity? Time was of the essence as the summer approached.
 

My Dad oversaw all aspects of building his boat from start to finish. He was the procurement buyer, engineer, shop foreman, quality control supervisor and demanding end user/ client. Much satisfaction was derived from using his hands creating a seaworthy vessel built with pride and craftsmanship. This exercise incorporated many of the disciplines that led to the success of his company, Dyna-Fab, years later.

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I wonder, did this inspire him to study mechanical engineering at the University of Massachusetts and Northeastern University?
And did this effort ultimately give him the confidence to start his own business in March of 1968?
 

This was quite an accomplishment for a boy of 14 years old. I am certain that my grandfather felt the significance of the last line of my father's favorite poem - "If" by Rudyard Kipling. 

 

"Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
 

Tragically, his father would die in a terrible accident three short years later. He would not get to see his son set lofty goals incorporating hard work, build a business, raise a family and befriend many. However, he was able to witness his son's achievement which was a window into to the future for his son as he was becoming 'a Man'!

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When we were young my father came home one Saturday with a series of four paintings that each featured a boat in them. He told us that these personally meant a lot and he went on to describe each briefly. It turns out that these were four paintings by Thomas Cole entitled "The Voyage of Life". Painted in 1842, the originals hang today in The National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C.
 

The paintings represent an allegory of the four stages of human life: Childhood, Youth, Manhood and Old Age. The paintings follow the life of a voyager in a boat on a river. The river is the River of Life. In each painting an angel is present, whether the voyager is aware or not. My Dad built his boat during his Youth stage.

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The art work was hung in a staggered fashion on the living room wall to the side of the bay window in our Hingham home. The bay window looked out to the boats in Hingham Harbor, the bay islands and of course World's End. They remained until December of 2006 when the Hingham house was sold. As we packed up boxes headed for storage in the basement in Chatham, I wondered what my Dad felt when he removed "The Voyage of Life" paintings from the wall, facing his own mortality?
 

My first memory on a boat with my Dad was a Saturday early morning drive to Plymouth. I was probably 7 or 8. We went together on a whale watching boat called Captain John. A few years later, my first fishing expedition started when we rented a little motorboat from Keogh's in Hingham. We motored out towards Hull Gut and with a drop line I caught a skate and my first fish - a flounder. The flounder we took home and filleted on a sheet of plywood in the garage. With extra Heinz tartar sauce, it was delicious!
 

The same hard work, discipline and attention to detail would be evident over the course of his life. Such projects as the cabana by the pool in Hingham. He built the cabana by himself and it had every element of a house from framing, electricity, plumbing, roofing to finish carpentry. My father oversaw many construction projects at home or at Dyna-Fab where he directed the architects and understood the processes. This work ethic also revealed itself in interest and ability to restore antique cars, including the convertible 1960 Cadillac.

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My Dad would build decks, outdoor showers and was ready to fix whatever challenge that needed attention. Years later in Marco Island, my father would often sit outside in the lanai. With a tall glass of water or a cold beer to the right of his favorite chair reading the newspaper or a good book. My mother, in the kitchen possibly marinating pork tenderloins for later on the grill. The view spectacular. A view of the 16th green of the Island Country Club with eagles sometimes flying above, the canal with an occasional dolphin or manatee splashing and his 24 foot Hurricane boat below at the dock, a few feet away.
 

                                                                                     

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