"The Last Angry Man" - Paul Muni (1959)

 "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away". This phrase from Thoreau accurately describes Physician Dr. Samuel Abelman of Brooklyn in the film "The Last Angry Man." It is, in fact, the central theme of this extraordinary film.

Dr. Abelman is the polar opposite of his friend and colleague Dr. Vogel, who writes on Dr. Abelman's Death Certificate under "Cause of Death: Coronary Occlusion/ Fighting Other People's Battles." A truly remarkable film and Paul Muni's last.

S.S. United States

This is a sad story, in more ways than one. In the late 1970's the S.S. United States was towed up the Elizabeth River in Norfolk. It was moored near Craney Island at the Grain Pier. At that time they had planned on making it into a hotel and placing it where Norfolk's Harbor Place is now.

It was a good idea but the money didn't work out. Then it went to Florida; again it was sad to watch it being towed after such a storied career, making her 1952 record Atlantic crossing in 3 days and 10 hrs. at 35 knots. (1.149 statute miles)

Living by the Narrows in Brooklyn I remember seeing her enter and leave New York as a kid. It was a majestic sight. I used to take the subway to mid town Manhattan and tour the liners when they were in port. No charge, you just went up the gangway and they let you roam around. I was about 12 years old at the time.

Her last trip with passengers to New York was when she docked there on September 7th, 1969. Funny this post should appear on September 8th, 2024. 55 years later; an orphan who never got adopted for, or adapted to, another way of life.

The plan now is to sink her as the world's largest artifical reef off Florida, and is probably the most noble of options at this point.

But the final sad, though relatively minor blow is that the article refers to her "purposefully" being sunk. Purposefully means, "In a way that shows determination or resolve." I suppose the author of the article, most likely using spell check, meant to say "purposely" which means "in a deliberate manner". A small difference, granted. But still, one last reminder of how much the world has changed since 1952. We don't even spell right anymore.

The photo above is of her now, in Florida, her once beautiful paint faded and peeling. The next photo is of her at the grain pier up the Elizabeth River in 1983. I want to thank Joe Sea Man for sending it to me today. And the last photo, which seems to be dated from 1954, is of her heading into the channel off Sandy Hook. That photo was taken from a fishing boat out of Sheepshead Bay. I got that photo from the Sheepshead Bay Memories site here on Facebook a few years ago. Sadly, I do not remember who posted it. 

My Fish Story

 My Mom and Dad were not the most encouraging of parents. For instance, at the age of ten I wanted a guitar and got one- but my parents said I would never be any good at it. When I wrote they would tell me that it was good but I would never make a living at it. So it is no wonder that, when I was 12 years old and planned to use my earnings from the delivery of the NY Post to go fishing, I was told that I would catch nothing.

Setting out early that day- at least by my standards- about 10 o’clock in the morning - I headed to Sheepshead Bay which is about 1 mile from where our family’s apartment was on Avenue R and East 14th Street. I had used my weeks earnings to buy a rod , reel and fishing tackle box complete with hooks, sinkers and lures.

I set up at the end of one of the piers along Edmonds Avenue and threaded my line with a hook and a fresh , live, wriggling worm. There was not, in my estimation, a fish in the sea that could resist this attractive piece of bait.

I sat for hours, hoping, indeed praying for a bite. I felt the sudden tug on my line several times and reeled in frantically to claim my prize, I was rewarded with a sucession of an old rubber boot, a large Horseshoe Crab, and other assorted non edible residents of the Bay.

Lunch had come and gone, I feasted that day on a bologna sandwich and a Yoo Hoo-But still no fish on the line. I was already dreading going home empty handed and listening to the “I told you that you wouldn’t catch anything” that I was sure to hear from my parents and the ribbing I would have to take from my older brother.

I was still sitting there with the weight of the world coming down on me at 3 PM as I realized that yet another dream was about to be dashed by the unrelenting forces of reality. At this time of day the fishing boats began to return to their piers, laden with fresh caught Tuna, Flounder, Snapper and the like, all underscoring my failure to catch something edible.

The merchants assembled on the pier to purchase the fresh catch, which they would then take back to the various neighborhood restaurants and fish shops for sale. I was devastated by my failure to make a single catch while all about me the boats were unloading tons of fresh caught beautiful, aromatic fish.

Slowly the crowds of buyers left the piers, bound for shops, restaurants and homes where there would be fresh seafood that night. The skipper of the boat nearest me was hosing down the deck and began tossing some things into the Bay, catching my attention.

Meekly, I approached the boat and standing dejectedly with my rod and tackle box in hand, I must have made a lonely and forlorn sight. “Catch anything?” asked the skipper, pausing in his cleanup. “No, no luck today, but tomorrow I’ll try again.” was the only reply I could make. “What ya using fer bait?” asked the man. “Worms” I replied. “Well, Hell’s Bells, no wonder you didn’t get nuthin’- you need some real bait.” With that he tossed me 2 fish, each about as large as my 12 year old hand. “Try these” he said and then returned to his work.

I contemplated trying them as bait when I realized the answer to my predicament was now right in my hands. Sitting on the edge of the pier I put hooks in the mouths of my 2 Behemouths and strung them to a short lead, just like in the movies, or like Opie and Andy on TV. Now I was ready to go home.

As I entered our apartment my Mom said from the kitchen, “Didn’t catch anything, right?” Now I had her, “As a matter of fact I caught two” was my reply. Surprised, she shot back- “ Well , you got lucky that’s all.” But there must have been some surprise that I had anything at all because my Dad arrived home a short time later and took a photo of me holding my prize catch. And then they threw the fish away, because they were probably “dirty” and not to be cooked or eaten.

But if you look closely at the picture , you can see it in my eyes and the smile on my face- I had 2 fish- no matter how I got them – I had them. And for years my parents kept that photo in a frame on the piano and would proudly exclaim “Look at the fish Robert caught in Sheepshead Bay!” I think that’s the part of the story I like best.

A Shared Bridge

This was "my" bridge for decades, 

a place where I would roam,

when things got too confusing, 

and I needed someplace to go. 

 Once a ship was tied up there, 

 (for many years it seems.) 

I used to sneak on her of night times 

and I'd sail her in all of my dreams. 

 This was the bridge that I rode across 

 on my bicycle built for one. 

On my way to the beach, or just fishing, 

this was my bridge alone! 

 Years had passed and I'd moved away

 yet still, this was the bridge that I'd see. 

Yes, this was the bridge that I'd lost until 

you came and gave it back to me!

 For Victoria Kanrek - long overdue. With affection and thanks! 

Photo by Victoria Kanrek

USCG Cutter Cartigan - "The Big Storm" by George Copna

Everybody who has sailed aboard ship for any length of time will have a story to tell about a storm. Some are better than others. But basically, they are all good. They provide an insight, for those who will never experience it, of the wonder, along with the sheer terror, that comes of facing waves larger than the vessel in which you are riding. They serve as reminders that we are all just visiting, and all at the mercy of something, at sometime in our lives. Here is George Copna's latest story of the USCG Cutter Cartigan, during which she encounters some very nasty weather. This story takes place around 1961.

THE BIG STORM by George Copna

Once, while on CAMPAT, we were on the tail end of the patrol looking forward to relief. The weather was warm, the seas calm and we were stopped, just drifting at a certain latitude awaiting relief from the CGC SEBAGO out of Pensacola, FL. I was the RM on duty and I heard them, via CW (Morse code) getting underway enroute to relieve us. I copied their radio traffic which included a weather report to 8th CG District New Orleans, LA. The SEBAGO was reporting winds in excess of 60 mph and seas running 25-30 feet. I thought how lucky we were to be in calm seas as opposed to what they were experiencing.

Let me pause here and say that the SEBAGO was literally twice our size at 255 feet as compared to our 125 feet in length. After being relieved of my watch, I went below and hit the rack. I awoke the next morning to some violent ship movements. All the hatches to the exterior decks were 'dogged down' and nobody was permitted outside on deck. The only way to get to the radio shack was through a hatch in the radio shack deck. I climbed up the ladder to relieve the RM on watch and found that we were in the midst of the weather that the SEBAGO had reported. The duty RM advised me that we had absolutely no communications with anybody. The wind and waves had torn away our whip and wire antennae. The only sounds coming from my earphones was loud static.

So, I spent the next four hours standing in the radio shack door watching the helmsman trying to maintain some semblance of a course while plowing into the seas head on. I watched in awe and some fright as we rode up one wave 25-30' and crash down into the trough with a crash. The next wave would cover us up, sometimes to the flying bridge. It was certainly a wild and somewhat frightening ride, and it was the first time I didn't get seasick in rough weather. I guess I was just too scared to think about it.

At one point, a large wave struck the face of the bridge directly and broke out several windows, showering the bridge watch with water and glass shards. This was truly getting to be a worrisome ride! After getting relieved from my watch, I went to the mess deck for some chow - I actually felt good enough to eat. When I got below to the mess deck, I found the cook fore-lonely seated with the evening meal of oyster stew and biscuits sloshing around his feet. So much for chow, so I just went back to my rack.

I was wakened for my next watch (0001-0400) and found we sere still in the maelstrom so all bridge watch standers were still being routed through the radio shack. I hadn't been signed on long before the sliding door that leads to the bridge flew open. A non-rated seaman watchstander stood there and entered the radio shack, endeavoring to close the door behind him. He looked like he had a mouthful of regurgitated stomach contents (a.k.a. vomitus). His abdomen was spasming and his cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk. I told him I'd shut the door, just get down below, out of the radio shack. He lifted up the electrical matt covering the hatch that led down below - right into officer's country. He finally got the hatch open and literally slid down the ladder, hitting the deck HARD! This sudden stop caused him to lose control of his ability to maintain control of the contents in his mouth and he sprayed the area with its contents. He then had to clean up the stinking mess.

We rode like this for close to another day before the storm subsided and the seas began to calm themselves. If my memory serves me correctly, we had ended up in the 7th CG District waters (we were assigned to the 8th CG District).

We limped home, beat up, torn up, canvas all gone from fore & aft, port & starboard, low on fresh water and food and very tired. We finally made it into our home port two days longer than we were supposed to be out. St. Andrew's Marina never looked so good!!

Aunt Gloria

This is not a picture of Aunt Gloria today. It was taken a few years ago, when she was younger. I’m 60, so she was 15 when I was newly minted and 18 when I first became fully aware of anything. So, my first recollection of her goes only as far back as this photo and the fishing trip to Sheepshead Bay. That was in 1957 when I was 3. I look different, but Gloria still looks and sounds the same to me.

In my mind we took a car; probably stolen; to the Bay. We parked and walked out on one of the piers to fish. My brother wouldn't; or perhaps couldn't; bait his hook. He was almost 2 years older than me and already setting a poor example of the role an older brother should play in the development of his younger sibling. No matter; Aunt Gloria was up to the task of assuming the role of big brother if necessary. She was different than my other Aunts. You always felt safe with Gloria, never threatened. She always had something funny to say; even at funerals. Wait; make that especially at funerals.

Anyway, on this day in Sheepshead Bay, she picked a nice long wiggling bloody worm from a Chinese food container; which is how bait was sold back then; and then swung it before my brother’s face, making him squirm like a worm, and making me laugh like a hyena. Then, after traumatizing him for life, she plunged the hook gleefully into the worm, hitting it mid-section and causing the little fellow to double over. Then she cast the line into the Bay and in short order we hooked a baby carriage, a boot, and finally a huge horse shoe crab. Eventually we did catch some fish; or maybe bought them; to take home.

This is one of my earliest memories of going anywhere without my parents. There would be other outings and adventures. There were Telephone Company ball games; both Gloria and my other Aunt Gladys both worked for Bell; there were days and nights in a bungalow at Breezy Point; movies and just a lot of fun whenever she was around. My Mom was always ill and for 2 summers in the mid 1960’s she and her husband Bobby were like a refuge for me.

So, all my memories of Gloria are all fun memories. And that’s why I don’t really see her as having gotten any older through the years. She’s like her own force of nature. Hell, she won’t even see this until she gets back from the cruise she’s on. She’s always on cruises and has probably logged more miles in the Caribbean than I have in all my travels around the world. She still swims every day, although hopefully that will not be necessary on this cruise.

So, this is my big Happy Birthday to Gloria, who is young at heart and still my favorite Aunt; in spite of the fact that her getting older has aged me…

For a link to the story of Bobby and Gloria's Halloween cruise in 2009 hit this link;

http://robertwilliamsofbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2009/11/fork-and-spoon.html

"Storm at Sea - Aboard USCG Cutter Carrigan" by George Copna

The US Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan used to sit moored to the wooden bridge which sits at the end of Ocean Avenue and crosses Sheepshead Bay. A few years ago I wrote about it here and have run subsequently run several stories by some of her crew members who saw that post. This one is from April 2011 and was written by George Copna for Rooftop Reviews. 

Everybody who has sailed aboard ship for any length of time will have a story to tell about a storm. Some are better than others. But basically, they are all good. They provide an insight, for those who will never experience it, of the wonder, along with the sheer terror, that comes of facing waves larger than the vessel in which you are riding. They serve as reminders that we are all just visiting, and all at the mercy of something, at some time in our lives. Here is George Copna's latest story of the USCG Cutter Cartigan, during which she encounters some very nasty weather. This story takes place around 1961.

THE BIG STORM by George Copna

Once, while on CAMPAT, we were on the tail end of the patrol looking forward to relief. The weather was warm, the seas calm and we were stopped, just drifting at a certain latitude awaiting relief from the CGC SEBAGO out of Pensacola, FL. I was the RM on duty and I heard them, via CW (Morse code) getting underway enroute to relieve us. I copied their radio traffic which included a weather report to 8th CG District New Orleans, LA. The SEBAGO was reporting winds in excess of 60 mph and seas running 25-30 feet. I thought how lucky we were to be in calm seas as opposed to what they were experiencing.

Let me pause here and say that the SEBAGO was literally twice our size at 255 feet as compared to our 125 feet in length. After being relieved of my watch, I went below and hit the rack. I awoke the next morning to some violent ship movements. All the hatches to the exterior decks were 'dogged down' and nobody was permitted outside on deck. The only way to get to the radio shack was through a hatch in the radio shack deck. I climbed up the ladder to relieve the RM on watch and found that we were in the midst of the weather that the SEBAGO had reported. The duty RM advised me that we had absolutely no communications with anybody. The wind and waves had torn away our whip and wire antennae. The only sounds coming from my earphones was loud static.

So, I spent the next four hours standing in the radio shack door watching the helmsman trying to maintain some semblance of a course while plowing into the seas head on. I watched in awe and some fright as we rode up one wave 25-30' and crash down into the trough with a crash. The next wave would cover us up, sometimes to the flying bridge. It was certainly a wild and somewhat frightening ride, and it was the first time I didn't get seasick in rough weather. I guess I was just too scared to think about it.

At one point, a large wave struck the face of the bridge directly and broke out several windows, showering the bridge watch with water and glass shards. This was truly getting to be a worrisome ride! After getting relieved from my watch, I went to the mess deck for some chow - I actually felt good enough to eat. When I got below to the mess deck, I found the cook fore-lonely seated with the evening meal of oyster stew and biscuits sloshing around his feet. So much for chow, so I just went back to my rack.

I was wakened for my next watch (0001-0400) and found we sere still in the maelstrom so all bridge watch standers were still being routed through the radio shack. I hadn't been signed on long before the sliding door that leads to the bridge flew open. A non-rated seaman watchstander stood there and entered the radio shack, endeavoring to close the door behind him. He looked like he had a mouthful of regurgitated stomach contents (a.k.a. vomitus). His abdomen was spasming and his cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk. I told him I'd shut the door, just get down below, out of the radio shack. He lifted up the electrical matt covering the hatch that led down below - right into officer's country. He finally got the hatch open and literally slid down the ladder, hitting the deck HARD! This sudden stop caused him to lose control of his ability to maintain control of the contents in his mouth and he sprayed the area with its contents. He then had to clean up the stinking mess.

We rode like this for close to another day before the storm subsided and the seas began to calm themselves. If my memory serves me correctly, we had ended up in the 7th CG District waters (we were assigned to the 8th CG District).

We limped home, beat up, torn up, canvas all gone from fore & aft, port & starboard, low on fresh water and food and very tired. We finally made it into our home port two days longer than we were supposed to be out. St. Andrew's Marina never looked so good!!

"Places I've Known and People I've Been" - R. Williams (1981 thru 2013)

This tattered little 5” x 7” book was purchased in La Jolla, California in December of 1981. It even says so on the inside cover. I was visiting a cousin in San Diego and we drove to La Jolla for no particular reason that I can recall.  But, sometime that day we went into this little shop- I still remember it being on the side of the road and across the street from a cliff.

A new blank book is something which knows no limits. The empty pages represent all possibilities. From poetry to an epic novel; nothing seems like an unreasonable expectation at the time. Conversely, it also represents a defining moment; as in “what am I actually going to put on these pages?” Well, after 34 years; and with only 6 blank pages left; I can finally tell you. 

The book opens up to the end page which states where I bought it, when and who I was with. Then the facing page has a couple of rubber stamps on it- a camel and a quarter moon. The moon is smiling; the camel is not. Both of these stamps also appear in my old expired passport. At the time I stamped it the passport was valid. I never had any problems about it except in Egypt.

Next is the title page, which gives you 2 choices; apparently I was torn between them. The first one is simply “Poems I’ve Heard” with an asterisk leading to a note explaining that I have always heard poetry inside of me. Getting it down on paper quickly, before it’s gone, is the trick. It also explains that there are many more poems than appear in this little book. These are just the ones which I chose to keep.

Apparently I began to fill this book almost immediately; the first entry was made in Baltimore. It’s from 2^nd grade and called “Autumn”. It’s very short-

“One day a leaf went down a hill,

And it was very still.

The leaf was colorful,

and life was so wonderful.”

It’s dated October 1962 and I can’t help but wonder about the little boy who wrote of life being wonderful in the past tense. Attached on the back of the page is a very similar poem written by my daughter when she was in 2^nd grade.

There are several poems from my teens. One is called “Odyssey” and has lines about the “cold vacuum of space” and “the monotony of stars.” It’s dated March 1970.

“Cold October Parks” was written to my Mom about the futility of trying to understand one another. It was written in Sheepshead Bay and dated October 1972.

I’m sitting- in the cold

October Park-

Just sitting- writing a poem

About how beautiful

Everything can be.

Isn’t it a joke-

(you) telling me.

I’m sitting- in the cold

December dark-

Just sitting-writing a poem

About how ugly

Everything can be.

Isn’t this a joke-

(me) telling you.

There are poems written at sea, at home, in the car, just about everywhere. There are even scraps of paper in there with the original scrawled verses on bags that once held fried chicken.

There are a couple of rhymes which I have pasted in the book. Things which I ran across and wanted to keep. The first is about a frog-

“What a wonderful bird the frog  are!

When he stand he sit almost.

When he hop he fly almost. He ain’t got no sense hardly.

He ain’t got no tail hardly either.

And when he sit, he sit upon what

He ain’t got almost.”

And there is also a copy of “When Did You Leave Heaven” as well as “I Had a Little Tea Party”.

“I had a little tea party

This afternoon at three.

3 guests in all

‘twas very small.

Just I, myself and me.

Myself ate up yhe sandwiches,

While I drank up the tea.

And it was I who ate the pie

And passed the cake to me!”

It’s a cool little book; very dear to me; since it has a lot of me in it.

Someday I hope that my grandkids will look at it and get to know me better. That’s not why I bought it - but that’s what it turned out to be.

Guest Columnist: George Copna "Aboard the Cartigan in Panama City- 1962"

The following is another story from the long career of the USCG Cutter Cartigan, formerly moored in Brooklyn's Sheepshead Bay. George Copna, who was a Radioman 2nd Class aboard the Cartigan, has been providing me with some stories and photos of the ship which I am only too happy to post here. This is the latest from Mr. Copna, the illustration is one he previously sent, and which I could not make fit into the last post. It is actually an artist's portrayal of the so-called "buck and a quarter's", a class of cutters so named for their tonnage, which was 125 tons displacement. It is also one of Mr. Copna's favorites illustrations. Here is his story;

Panama City, not to be confused with Panama City Beach, in the 1960's was a "hopping" tourist town. There were, and still are, two major marinas in the city. One was in the downtown area and the other was in the St. Andrew's area, which is where we moored, starboard side to!

During the summer months there was always a good deal of foot traffic on the marina, especially when a large ship was underway in the area. It so happened one summer day that we were coming in to moor after a day of drills. The Captain allowed the XO to conn the ship and bring her in to moor. I should mention at this point that the 'Cartigan' seemed to have a re-enforced bow and was once used to break ice up north in a river for a period of time. As usual, we were drawing a crowd of tourists and they were gathered about 25 yards from the end of the dock.

I was RM2 at the time and my special sea detail billet was as sound powered phone talker on the bridge so I had a ring side seat for what was to come. Apparently, the XO brought the ship in a little too fast and at too steep of an angle and she got away from him. We soundly impacted the end of the concrete marina, the bow riding four to five feet up high, severing a large water line and creating a large geyser of water and chunks of concrete. This in turn sent the observers scurrying for cover, for which there was none, and the captain into shock. The XO maintained his cool, backed her down and tried it again, this time successfully. The bridge gang all had to muffle our collective laughter because it was indeed a sight to see. The only damage done was to the marina facility and the XO's pride. The saga continues!

I hope you like this, because it is true to the best of my memory and it is published in a book about the Coast Guard here in Panama City.

I saw this ship almost daily in Brooklyn for several years. I actually used to go out of my way to see her, never thinking that I would one day be corresponding with one of the many men who sailed her. My conclussion? Sometimes things just work out that way...

Guest Columnist: "Aboard the USCG Cutter Cartigan" by George Copna

Of all the stories and stuff I write about, none has generated such affection and comment, as the posts concerning the old USCG Cutter Cartigan, which sat in Sheepshead Bay for many years when I was growing up in Brooklyn,N.Y.

The following is a story of life aboard the vessel on patrol in the Gulf of Mexico. The photo is of the author in 1966 or '67. I haven't changed a word, just cut and pasted the story straight from the e-mail by Mr. George Dobos,who served aboard her and has promised some more stories, which I will be only too happy to print here.

Hello Robert.

I have attached several fotos that I hope you enjoy. The painting of the two "buck n' a quarters" I got from a calendar somewhere. It is one of my favorite pictures. The bridge was all polished up for inspection. The young skinny guy sitting in the radio shack is yours truly circa 1966 or '67. The last one is the Cartigan taken off the St. Andrew's Marina in 1967 before she got her "racing stripe." The time that I was in, 1964 - 1968 was a bad time for the Coast Guard. All the cutters were aging or had aged already. The larger cutters, 311' & 327', were WWII or before commissions and some were actually old Navy vessels that the Guard got from them. These were very lean years. The modernization of the fleet began in late 1967/68 with the building of 210 ft cutters. As radiomen, we used morse code for commucations over 95% of the time. The main transmitter in the radio shack (the black box next to me in the foto) was an Army model 1944 that had vacuum tubes as big as a football. When it went out, we went to the shipyard here in Panama City and bought one just like it off of an old Liberty Ship that they were going to cut up for scrap. As a side line, Panama City's shipyard made Liberty ships during the war and they came back full circle to be cut up.

My duties as a Radioman differed depending on my rank at the time. As a RM3, during any maneuvering drills, i.e. general quarters, man overboard, etc., my station was working the engine order telegraph. When I made RM2, my billet was sound powered talker on the bridge relaying all communications to and from the bridge to all stations on the ship. There were only three RM's on the ship. Having given you a little background, here comes the first sea story.

We were on Campeche Patrol in the southern Gulf of Mexico. Our CW call sign went from NRLF to NUZY (or in English, CGC Cartigan to Campeche Patrol Vessel). The seas were flat calm, not a ripple or a wave to be seen and it was hot. Did I mention that the airconditioner only worked in the winter time? Anyway, we came across this very large tree branch shaped like a slingshot. It was clearly a menace to navigation. After much deliberation, the Captain decided that we would maneuver into the crotch of the tree, hook a line to it and manually chop it up! He sent the lowest rated seaman down onto the log with an axe. After a couple of whacks, and nothing was happening, he opted to send the XO down to see if he could do any better. The XO had irritated him because while he was trying to get this log cut up, the XO was fishing off the fantail for dolphin. Anyway, on the first swing, the XO cut his safety line and almost fell into the water. Time for a new plan. The Captain contacted District HQ in New Orleans and got permission to destroy the heinous object using our 40mm, 1944 Army single barrel deck gun.

We issued a notice to mariners as to what we were doing and then went to General Quarters. After backing off a safe distance, the order to fire was given. Slow fire. After coming nowhere near the target, the Captain ordered rapid fire. As the gun fired, the ship recoiled to the port and started rolling to the starboard, the gunners firing the entire time. Here's where it gets interesting. As they were firing, they were walking the shells back towards the ship and instead of hitting the target, they were coming closer to hitting ourselves. Needless to say, the Capt. ordered a cease fire because we weren't doing any good. We ended up taking a broom stick, putting a lifevest light on it and tacking it to the log. We chartered its path and issued another Notice to Mariners and let it go on its way.

More stories to follow later.
George

Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan Revisited

On January 20th, 2010 I posted a little piece about the old US Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan, which used to sit, when I was a kid back in the 1960's, in Sheepshead Bay, which is in Brooklyn where I grew up.

It was a beautiful ship to me, and, as I wrote in that post, no small influence in my going to sea several years later. I got 3 comments on the piece, on the blog, but have also continued to receive e-mails from people who have had a connection with the ship in one way or another. This comment was posted to the blog yesterday eveing and I thought I'd share the unusual story, as well as the link to the photos taken by Mr. Petersen, which show the ship being removed from the Bay. And Mr. Petersen is right, that old girl gave them one hell of a fight. Thanks for being there with your camera and sharing these photos with us.

Robert Petersen has left a new comment on your post "Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan WSC-132":

"Hi, A few years ago, I was employed by CUNY at Kingsborough Community College. I recall how one very foggy morning I heard the loud chugging and saw the large dark silhouette of some type of crane barge. Little did I know that this barge was charged with removing the Cartigan.

I was so grateful to have my camera that day because the most peculiar thing happened. The Cartigan put up one hell of a fight.

Hanging by the spread slings from this crane barge, the Cartigan was being taken against her will around the tip of the College to where the school's beach was located. I thought they were a little too close for comfort and wasn't too shocked when the next day a second crane barge showed up to help the get unstuck. Believe it or not, this barge got stuck as well.

Eventually, a third barge showed up and was finally able to free the other two barges. Yup, the Cartigan sure put up a fight."

If you would like to see the rest of these remarkable photos taken by Mr. Petersen, try this link;

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=1625214418&aid=95792

Coast Guard Cutter Cartigan WSC-132

This ship used to sit moored to the wooden foot bridge opposite Lundy's in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. I used to fish from that bridge as a kid. When I was a teenager there was nothing more exotic for me than to walk the less than one mile from my family's apartment on Avenue R to look at it.

When I was 18 I wrote a poem sitting at the opposite end of the Bay and looking at her. You might say we had a relationship with one another. She was always there for me, and she could always count on me to visit her. She was old and in need of a paint job. Her length was only 125 foot long and she displaced a mere 232 tons - but to me she was the Queen Mary and represented the entire world which lay beyond the horizon.

I had been told that she was a World War One vessel that had been designed for Coastal Defense. It was sad to learn that this was not true. But the real story is just as good.

Built by American Brown in Camden, New Jersey, her keel was laid in 1926 and she was at sea by the spring of 1927. Her total cost was $76,000. Her primary duty was as a Revenue Cutter- she chased down and boarded the rum runners which were plying the coast then in defiance of the Volstead Act. Legs Diamond lived a few short blocks away in Manhattan Beach. I only mention this because alot of bootleggers were buying some of the older cutters and intercepting their rival gangs shipments of illegal liquor only 12 miles from the Bay. A bit of irony.

After capturing a rum runner in 1930 she was transferred to Norfolk, Virginia. In 1932 she went to Harbor Beach, Michigan where she would remain for 10 years. In 1942 she was transferred to Connecticut where she did light ice breaking duty. In 1943 she was sent back to Brooklyn to patrol the coast, looking for German U-boats that were sinking ships as close as 10 miles off Coney Island and Atlantic City, New Jersey.

Decommissioned in 1969 and sold in 1972 for $26,129 she remained at her moorings, where she sank in 2003. In 2004 she was raised and sold for scrap.

Fond memories for me of a ship that influenced my decision to join the Navy and then later the Merchant Marines. Sometimes inspiration can come from the most unexpected of places- in this case a battered old ship "welded" to its' pier propelled me on a journey that took me around the world 3 times in an attempt to find out just who I was. By the way, I'm still looking...

No messages or lessons here- just a small tribute to something that was such a great influence in my life.