These pirates are no Jack Sparrow.

Amazing...over the past weekend the M/T Sirius Star, carrying some 250,000 tons of crude oil was raided by pirates off of the Somali coast of Africa. The ship, over 1,000 feet long, was forced to anchor somewhere along the rugged stretch of shoreline on that lies south of the mouth of the Red Sea. It is said vessel and the 25 crew aboard are being held for $25 million in ransom by the pirates.

Piracy has been rampant for years in this part of the world. The other hot spot for piracy is the Malacca Strait, as ships pass through the archipelago of islands in Indonesia.

According to news reports, $150 million dollars in ransom monies has been handed over to the Somali bandits over the years in order to secure release of merchant ships from their lawless hands. It is estimated that fifteen ships are still being held for ransom with their crews along the Somali coast.

Now, the Sirius Star is becomming a different story. Apparently, some Islamic militants are preparing to take the ship (owned by a Saudi shipping company) by force, as they feel the piracy is a terroristic act against Muslims. Whatever. Imagine what could happen to a fully loaded tanker when one group of terrorists attacks another group of terrorists, using rocket propelled grenades, machine guns, hell even Bic lighters. We can see an oil spill (potentially 84 million gallons) that would make the Exxon Valdez disaster (10.8 million gallons) look like a leaking bottle of Hawaiian Tropic. Someone may want to get involved.

Someone - but who? The Indian Ocean is patrolled by warships of several nations, including U.S., British, Yemen, Indian, Russian, etc. Virtually every country that has a shipping interest in the region has a naval presence out there. There are U.N. patrol craft that look for this kind of activity, but who can step in the middle of this crisis before the unthinkable occurs?

Apparently the Somali pirates are enjoying a somewhat celebrity lifestyle in their country. They are pretty much funding their homeland with ransom money. The "leaders" of this nation aren't doing much in the way of prosecuting because they know what side of their bread the butter is on.

The piracy issue has gotted so serious that major shipping lines, such as Maersk have re-routed some of their fleet to go all the way around the Cape of Good Hope on the southern tip of the continent to prevent possible contact with pirates. This adds another week of steaming time to the voyage, and the price of shipping oil will increase exponentially.

So, what now, Captain Jack?

The Mighty Fitz: A Sad Anniversary.

It was May of 1979. New York Harbor was facing a industry-wide tugboat strike. Due to a disagreement on wages and benefits, the men from AFL-CIO United Marine Division Local 333 were on strike, and the waterfront, and the city in general, was suffering from a shortgae of gasoline, a severe backup of garbage on city streets (gas barges and sanitation scows were no longer moving due to the strike) and the U.S. Coast Guard was called in to try to help move some of the barges to prevent a health crisis.


For Rick and I, it was a good time to get out of the city. We duly visited our relatives in Grand Rapids, Michigan for the summer that year. Prior to departing for the mid-west, we had become aware of a recent shipping disaster that had occurred on the Great Lakes. A large ship named the "Edmund Fitzgerald" had foundered on November 10, 1975, with the loss of her entire complement of 29 men. There had been no distress call made. There were no survivors from that ship who could explain what had happened during a storm of historic violence.

We heard the song "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" from Canadian baladeer Gordon Lightfoot the previous year, and were immediately smitten by the haunting re-telling of the demise of the ship nicknamed "The Mighty Fitz." We listened to the song over and over, and initiated a moment of silence during parts of the song in reverence to the crew lost.

As soon as we arrived in Michigan, we discussed the possibility of heading to the Upper Peninsula (called the "U.P." by locals) of the state in an effort to be near the place where the Fitzgerald went down. We were ecstatic to hear our Uncle Joe and Aunt Gitta agree a most excellent adventure; driving in their VW camper up to Whitefish Point on the shore of Lake Superior. We would be standing a mere 17 miles from the remains of the Fitz!

The Edmund Fitzgerald was launched from the Great Lakes Engineering works in River Rouge, Michigan on June 8, 1958, and at the time, was the largest lake freighter. At 729' in length, she had a deadweight cargo capacity of over 26,000 tons. She was operated by Columbia Transportation Corp., a division of Oglebay Norton, and named after the Chairman of the Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Co.



At the time of the christeneing, Mrs. Fitzgerald, the wife of the namesake, needed three swings to break the bottle of champagne on her bows. The yard workers then faced a long delay because the vessel was stuck on the ways. Finally, when she launched sideways into the river, she damaged an adjacent dock. These developments would have been considered ill omens for superstitious seamen.

Irregardless of her less-than-glorious launching, she served her owners well, regularly breaking cargo records for vessels transiting the locks on the Great Lakes by moving well over 1,000,000 tons per season.


During the evening hours of November 10, 1975, 33 years ago to this day, the Fitz was hauling a full load of taconite pellets from Superior, Wisconsin, and was bound for Zug Island, in Detroit. A major storm beset the vessel during the voyage. Winds out of the northwest were clocked at upwards of 75 miles per hour. Widespread damage was being reported throughout the region. The Mackinac Bridge, which connects the lower part of the state to the UP, was closed to traffic. The Fitzgerald steamed on through the evening, followed in her wake by the big self unloading laker "Arthur M. Anderson."


The Masters of the two vessels remained in radio contact during the early evening, as the ships diverted their course to seek shelter in the confines of Whitefish Bay, located on the eastern shore of Lake Superior. Due to the high winds, the Soo Locks had been closed to vessel traffic. It would be a perilous night for any vessel on the lakes, including the mamoth lakers Fitzgerald and Anderson.


The Anderson was struck by a wave that, according to her crew, must have been 35' in height. It passed the ship, and headed off into the direction of the Fitzgerald. Just earlier, the captain of the Fitzgerald, Captain Ernest M. McSorely, reported that the ship had lost two ventilators, and both her radars had been put out of comission. They were listing, and both bilge pumps were running continuously. They were now racing against time to make the shelter of Whitefish Bay.


The Arthur M. Anderson used her own radar to help the Fitz navigate past Caribou Island. At 7:10 PM, Captain McSorely radioed the Anderson to report that, despite her damages, the the vessel was "holding our own."


At approximately 7:20, the blip indicating the presence of the Fitzgerald disappeared from the radar screen on the Anderson, vanished. Nothing was ever heard from the ship again.


That evening the Anderson and several other vessels traversed the area to look for any signs of the vessel or survivors. The laker "William Clay Ford" arrived on scene at two oclock the following morning. Nothing. The flagship of the Columbia Transportation Co. was gone.

Over three years later, two boys from Brooklyn were riding over the Mackinac Bridge on the way to a campsite near Whitefish Point. As the trusty orange VW made the center of the bridge span, Rick and I were amazed at the sight below us. The Arthur M. Anderson was plowing over the slate grey water of the Mackinac Straits. The very same ship we had heard and read so much about on that fateful day. The last vessel to speak to the Fitz was going under the bridge we were on.


The trip was grew even more exciting. We visited the retired steam ship SS "Valley Camp", a 500' laker that was moored alongside the Soo Locks, and beheld the mangled remains of the Fitz's lifeboats. They had been recovered after the sinking, and were on display aboard the museum ship. How tortured they looked, the riveted plates split and buckled, as if the boat was made of tin foil. One of the boats had been torn completely in half! The faded name of the vessel was chilling to read on that sunny warm summer day.


Finally, we made the campsite, and we stood on the sandy shores of the bay, looking out past the pine-studded dunes into the distance. We looked out from Whitefish Point at what must have been a terrible, lonely demise for a hardy crew that was caught in one of the worst recorded storms of Lake Superior. I filled a paper bag with sand from the beach, and we departed.

The vessel was subsequently discovred by a U.S. Navy plane, its remains broken in two on the lake bottom. The forward half rests upright, driven to her loadlines in the mud, and her aft section is upside down. The ship's bell was removed from the ship and was restored, and is on display at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Michigan. It is rung 29 times to commemorate each lost crewman on the anniversary of the wreck.


It was rumored that it was to be Captain McSorley's final voyage, and he was looking forward to retiring to be with his ailing wife.


I believe that none of the crew have ever been found to this day. Legend has it that Lake Superior never releases her dead. Perhaps it is true.


Rest in peace men. Rest in peace.


The Crew:
Ernest M. McSorley, 63, Captain, Toledo Ohio John H. McCarthy, 62, Mate, Bay Village, Ohio James A. Pratt, 44, second mate, Lakewood, Ohio Michael E. Armagost, 37, third mate, Iron River, Wisconsin Thomas Bentsen, 23, oiler, St. Joseph, Michigan Thomas D. Borgeson, 4l, maintenance man, Duluth, Minnesota John D. Simmons, 60, wheelsman, Ashland, Wisconsin Eugene W. O'Brien, 50, wheelsman, Toledo, Ohio John J. Poviatch, 59, wheelsman, Bradenton, Florida Ranson E. Cundy, 53, watchman, Superior, Wisconsin William J. Spengler, 59, watchman, Toledo, Ohio Karl A. Peckol, 20, watchman, Ashtabula, Ohio Mark A. Thomas, 2l, deck hand, Richmond Heights, Ohio Paul M. Rippa, 22, deck hand, Ashtabula, Ohio Bruce L. Hudson, 22, deck hand, North Olmsted, Ohio David E. Weiss, 22, cadet, Agoura, California Robert C. Rafferty, 62, steward, Toledo, Ohio Allen G. Kalmon, 43, second cook, Washburn, Wisconsin Frederick J. Beetcher, 56, porter, Superior, Wisconsin Nolan F. Church, 55, porter, Silver Bay, Minnesota George Holl, 60, chief engineer, Cabot, Pennsylvania Edward F. Bindon, 47, first assistant engineer, Fairport Harbor, Ohio Thomas E. Edwards, 50, second assistant engineer, Oregon, Ohio Russell G. Haskell, 40, second assistant engineer, Millbury, Ohio Oliver J. Champeau, 4l, third assistant engineer, Milwaukee, Wisconsin Blaine H. Wilhelm, 52, oiler, Moguah, Wisconsin Ralph G. Walton, 58, oiler, Fremont, Ohio Joseph W. Mazes, 59, special maintenance man, Ashland, Wisconsin Gordon F. MacLellan, 30, wiper, Clearwater, Florida

Sheepshead Bay; Part One. Big boats and big dreams. (and maybe a fish or two)

During my childhood, my brother Rick and I took early notice of the fishing boat fleet in Sheepshead Bay. I don't recall the first time we became aware of the colorful, eclectic flotilla of watercraft, but, I sure can recall the day my mother let us go on our first fishing trip on the head boat "Bounty."

In fishing lingo, head boats are also called open or party boats and allow public boardings of passengers that walk up before sailing, as opposed to charter boats, where a certain group of passengers hires the boat out for themselves. Sheepshead Bay is a nicely protected natural harbor situated at the eastern end of Coney Island, just next to Jamaica Bay. The large piers (I believe there are nine in number) have seen a number of changes over the years. Interestingly, a number of old-time party boat names have been passed down from generation to generation, starting back in the first half of the 20th century.

The night before our first trip, Rick and I cleaned and triple-checked our fishing rods; each of us had a Penn Beachmaster conventional reel with patented star-drag, coupled to a stout deep sea boat pole. Rick's reel was filled with Stren 30 lb. monofilament, mine with 20 lb. Jeros Tackle brand mono. In the weeks preceding the trip, we read each and every fishing report in the sports section of the Daily News, and consulted the magazine Long Island Fisherman as if it were some salty gospel.

That night, my mother brewed peppermint tea and sweetened it with honey and we filled our Thermos bottles. She also made fried chicken and carefeully wrapped it in aluminum foil. Satisfied with our preparations, we set our alarm clock late that evening, content in the knowledge that we were ready for anything.

The next morning, on July 18, 1977, our good family friend Jim came down early and picked us up. We chattered endlessly about the voyage we were soon to embark upon. The dawn broke early and the warm sun immediately reassured us that we had selected a day of perfect weather. As we rode in Jim's trusty white Pontiac, we asked Jim every question we could think up about fishing, as he was an avid fisherman, and he regailed us with stories of deep sea fishing and cathing a mess of porgies and sea bass.

It was still early when we got to the pier. We had not yet selected a boat, but we had time for a snack, so we went to the Dunkin' Donuts which was located at the head of the bay next to the Stella Maris tackle store. We ate donuts and orange juice, and then set out for the piers.

Now, walking down Emmons Avenue for the first time at 6:30 in the morning on a mid-summer day is an interesting experience. Crusty looking men in Helly Hansen slicker pants and plaid shirts shouted at anyone that walked near the boats. Whether they were looking for a boat to board, as we were, or if they were going to work in an office somewhere, they were all beckoned to take a trip on their boat. Each boat mate tried to out-shout the other, and the competition was fierce but good natured. Each crew touted their own vessel to be the "first boat out to the grounds," or else they advertised the fact that they had the latest in fishfinding electronics. The men clamored like talkers at a Coney Island side show.

We walked past a number of piers, just reading the names of the bows of the boats, looking for one that stood out for one reason or another. The boats' names are legion among the fishermen of Brooklyn: Betty W ll, Tampa Vl, Rainbow, Hi-Hook, Parable, Rocket, Chief, America, Pilot ll, Sea Wolf...the list went on. The boats were assorted shapes and sizes, some old WWll era conversions from subchasers and other small patrol craft, others were more modern steel cruisers that looked like they were made more for speed than catching fish. Each boat looked inviting. Then we came upon the 85' boat "Bounty." The mate sized us up for a minute, waved us over with a folded up paper bag, then made his pitch about free tackle and bait, free rod rental, restrooms (what, some boats DIDN'T have toilets, we wondered?), etc., etc. The boat looked rugged and ready, and next thing we knew we were stepping across her rail.

We immediately found a good-looking spot about mid way down along her port side, right next to the cabin, and set up our rods. We knew by the nod of the boat as she lay at the pier in the light waves coming from across the bay, that she was the best boat of the fleet. There was no doubt that we were in for the adventure we would not soon forget.

The sea calls!

The best part of living in Coney Island was the easy access to the water. Gravesend Bay to the north, the Narrows to the west, the open Atlantic to the south and Sheepshead Bay to the east. Surrounded by water. My mother's apartment looked out onto the ocean from 13 floors above the ground. It didn't take long for my brothers and I to find a deep interest in the ocean.

The most exciting thing I recall seeing afloat was not the great ocean liners like the QE ll or the Staatendam, but the steam powered floating derrick "Century." The crane was built in the early 1960's for Raymond International, successor to the venerable Meritt Chapman & Scott Corporation. The crane boasted a lifting capacity of 600 tons, and boy, did it look the part!

The first time I remember seeing it was while playing a game of punchball on the beach one summer. It came into view from around Norton Point, and I stood frozen by the sight. Steam trailing out of the stacks, huge boom lofted into the air, enormous block and tackle at the ready. The tug towing the rig was the "Timothy McAllister." The Timothy regularly towed the derrick to her assignments when I was young. It was love at first sight. Huge equipment moving slowly amid the droves of pleasure boats and sailboats that suddenly seemed to be of no consequence. Here was something worth looking into.

It was then that I knew what path I'd take.

In 1978 my mother took us to the Statue of Liberty. I finally got to see the harbor tugboats up close. From the pier on Liberty Island I could see the McAllister yard, on the shore of where Liberty State Park now is (before McAllister was kicked out to Staten Island). I remember seeing the tug "McAllister Bros." tying up at a pier next to an old covered barge with the words "McAllister Feeder Service." I was in heaven.

Amtrak Rolling In The Dough!!!

Whoa! It seems that President Bush has finally folded under a two-party assault. Major loss of points here. He has authorized a whopping $13 billion subsidy for Amtrak, in order to step up the maintenence and repair of existing rail infrastructure for Amtrak.

I am sure other industries would like to enjoy that kind of treatment. The taxpayers will be pouring $2.5 billion each year over a five year period to keep Amtrak rolling. Amtrak was one of the jumbo rail organizations (along with Conrail) that sprung up in the 1970's after the complete financial collapse of the nation's railroads along the northeastern seaboard. Conrail was said to be one of the few government managed units that actually made a profit. I believe the Postal service is the other entity that stays in the black.

Conrail was divested by the government in a much more understandable fashion. Instead of pumping it full of money, the government sold the Conrail system to two commercial concerns; CSX and Norfolk Southern.

Amtrak, for some reason, has not been sold off and continues to suckle on the taxpayer teat. The government should get out of the railroad business, and let Amtrak be taken over by one of the existing rail carriers.

After the ridiculous $700 billion financial bailout of the mis-managed financial sector, now we are ready to send an additional $13 billion to Amtrak. Our continued support of such losers makes no sense.

Shame on you George W.

New Hudson River Tunnel: Coming At Last?

Breaking news reveals that New Jersey Transit has just approved final funding for the design of the ARC (Access to the Region's Core) tunnel project. This project will finally realize the construction of two new train tunnels to serve New York's Penn Station at 34th Street.

It's estimated that the existing tunnels (nearing their 100th anniversary - thank you Pennsylvania Railroad!) will handle 44 million passengers traveling between New Jersey and New York this year. The new tunnels (estimated project cost of $7.6 billion - yes billion) are going to effectively double the capacity of New Jersey Transit, and allow for a large increase in single-seat, no transfer needed, commute between the neighboring states. How sweet it is!

Construction is supposed to begin sometime next year, with the tunnels coming on line in 2017. Boy, when I was a child, I thought we'd surely be living on the moon in the year 2017! Not yet; we're still digging away under the riverbed.

Finally, the city's dreams of having heightened utilization of its mass transit infrastructure will come to pass. If I'm not mistaken, this is the biggest capital improvement in New York City since what, the Verazanno Bridge in 1964? Ridiculous "progress" history for the greatest city in the world.

And no, the Waterfalls don't count as a capital project.

So long, waterfalls!

Love 'em or hate 'em, their outta here! Since early July, anyone walking, driving or floating around the New York waterfront saw the bewildering visage of a clutter of scaffolding perched on the water's edge, while a torrent of water flowed down from the top. the Waterfalls On New York was a public art display utilizing four man made waterfalls pumping water from the East River.

Okay, so they worked 5 out of 7 days a week, and when viewed on a windy day, they looked like someone's overflowing bathtub. They were kind of neat to see at night, and, supposedly, they generated some $150 million in revenue for the city, by spurring tourism, hot dog sales, coffee purchases, etc., etc. One big plus is that you didn't see people walking around wearing annoying foam "waterfall" hats, akin to those seen coming off of the Liberty Island ferry.


For a while, they caused quite a commotion. As an excursion boat captain, I got to hear numerous opinions on them. Most frequently, there were "oohs" and "aahhs" when people marveled at them from a distance. However, upon bringing the people up close to these structures, most started shrugging and asking the person next to them, "Is that all there is to them?" A favorite question by one part spectator was, (and you better believe this) "Are these waterfalls man-made?"

I guess one person's waterfall is another person's construction scaffold. But it's okay. Sometimes I think any attention to the waterfront can lead to good things.

So today I saw a crane being nudged up alongside the Governor's Island waterfall tower, as they begin dismantling the structures. Hardly a day was wasted, as they wrapped up their display this past Monday.

Now it appears that attention is being diverted to the planned creation of "Brooklyn Bridge Park," which is to convert piers 7-11 along the waterfront of Brooklyn Heights, to a public recreation area and greenway. But tonight it's too late to weigh in on what I feel is the latest move in strangling what could be a viable industrial waterfront. I'm saving up my steam for the next post, so stick around!

Coney Island - a stream of conscience

I have a deep, inseparable and genuine love for Coney Island. I was born in Coney Island Hospital during the city's g(l)ory days of 1968. My family first lived on Canal Avenue just outside of Sea Gate at Coney's western end. We then moved to an apartment building (nee projects) on Mermaid Avenue. Finally, we settled in O'Dwyer Gardens on Surf Avenue and 33rd Street in 1976. My mother still lives there.

I moved out of Brooklyn in the early 1990's to make a living at sea. But I always returned when I could. I still return. How can you not when you've shared a past with such a historic community.

These days I hear people talking (foaming) about their walk-up in Chelsea, or their brownstone in Brooklyn Heights or wherever. Sometimes I think about my childhood...throwing snowballs at each other in a half-lit deserted playground behind P.S. 188 in the early winter dusk...walking from 33rd Street all the way to Sheepshead Bay along the boardwalk to try to get a job on one of the Bay's head boats...Buying the prized pink "Spaldeen" (for you Facebook-generationers out there, go look up Spaldeen on your Wilkipedia) from Jack's discount store on the corner of Stillwell and Mermaid. Nah, you can keep your nuveau (did I spell that right?) hip diggs in Williamsburg (place was an industrial dump when I was a kid, fun to explore, but a dump). I'll never want to trade anyone for my years in C.I.

Good afternoon...

Everyone is invited in here for a cup of joe, a day-old copy of the Daily News, and a place to sit by the pot belly stove.

I am interested to hear your coments on all things pertaining to the waterfront of New York Harbor. Subjects such as the "Waterfalls on New York", the Ikea development in Erie Basin, Red Hook, the development of waterfront Williamsburg are all worth talking about. Whatever side of the fence you happen to be on, let me know what you are thinking.