Northport Nostalgia: The Old Man and the Sea

I guess every coastal town has at least one ruddy "Hemingway figure." Northport’s salty dog was Dexter Seymour, a characteristically grumpy old man, the well-known owner of Seymour's Boatyard, and Northport Harbormaster.

Dexter was already an old man when I came to know him. His hair was snow-white, he wore khaki trousers with a matching long sleeve shirt, a khaki baseball cap with an anchor on it and sun glasses. His wardrobe never varied.

Always on top of things, there wasn’t much that went on at Seymour’s Boatyard that Dexter didn’t know about. You could bet on it. When events occurred in and about Northport Harbor, he was there to officiate and direct from the wheelhouse of “Charlotte” the tug boat. Local newspaper articles often included a quote from Dexter Seymour.

Most of the townsfolk knew him as “Mr. Seymour,” but I had the privilege of knowing him as “Gramps” and later as “Boss.”  My best friend, Jamie, was Dexter’s grandson and, mostly, he lived with old “Gramps” and his wife, Carrie. Jamie naturally called the old man “Gramps,” so it followed that I did too.

Now old Gramps wasn’t cutting any slack for us young guys. He always had a stern, dubious look on his face and was dictatorial in his manner. Still, I couldn’t help but notice even at my young age, the subtle kindliness in his gruff admonishment. Behind that facade of YAR, there must have been a compassionate man somewhere.

One morning at 4 a.m. Jamie and I decided to go fishing for stripped bass. I wasn’t much of a fisherman, but it sounded like an exiting thing to do. We would take Jamie’s boat and load all the accessories he kept in the north shed. Preparations for this early morning outing would begin precisely at...4 a.m. Clattering around the boatyard way before sun-up, we grabbed the gas tanks, paddle, cushions, rods, etc. and easily got the attention of Gramps. The yard security lights went on and a booming voice came out of the night: “Who goes there?” Jamie yelled back, “It’s just us, Gramps.” Old Dexter muttered “okay” and the lights went back off. Were we special, or what?

In time, I was old enough to be eligible for employment with “Gramps.” He hired me in the spring of 1962 at age 16 to work as a yard-bird. I would now call him “Boss.” As prerequisite for the position of “grunt,” I would buy my own paint brush, hammer and scraper. I spent most of my time lying on my back under those yachts, scraping the undersides and re-coating them with anti-fouling
bottom paint. It was nasty work and when I was scraping, I inhaled all that toxic paint dust. When I was painting, all the paint dribbled down the brush handle into my hands and arms. Once in a while, we were allowed to take a smoke-break and those cigarettes tasted horrible with all the paint dust that was already in my nose, throat and lungs. Once in a while, we were allowed to sand the topsides of some of the boats. That was a skill that came only in time, after proving proficiency on the undersides.

Occasionally, it was time to launch a boat and that required all hands in the yard. We were called out to "man the ropes" as they cut the carriage loose and allowed the boat to “run the ways” as it rolled down the tracks into the water. The men would continue to pull on the ropes in order to get the boat in deep enough water to float it off the carriage. This last part of the operation usually called for great seamanship and prowess, something that the “Boss” did not see in some of us younger guys. If we did not perform exactly as he thought we should, he would
throw a major fit and his face would get crimson-red, a remarkable contrast to
that white hair of his. Whenever that happened, I thought he was going to have a
blowout on the spot.

Once in a while, if he was in a particularly good mood, he would order me to accompany him on the tugboat "Charlotte" to bring in a boat that was stranded, or from a mooring (for boats that were in require of service). What an honor it was to have been chosen by the boss as his deckhand. Now, Jamie on the other hand was family and sometimes, would be ordered to run the small tugboat “Active” on a minimal salvage job or boat-tow. On those occasions, Jamie would select me as his deckhand. We were happening!

In time, I would be graduating from high school and I felt an obligation to get a
little more serious about my life’s path. I accepted a position at a car dealership in Huntington, Carson & Scudder Rambler-Jeep. The position I accepted was that of “attendant,” more commonly known as “grease-monkey.” I gave my notice to the “Boss” and in my mind, I was advancing myself. In the boss’s mind, I was just a dumb kid (and he wasn't far off the mark). When he accepted my resignation, he said (and I quote), “you are not indispensable, you know.” He was angry that I was leaving and it was the greatest compliment that he ever verbally gave me. I pretty much lost contact with that clan as I moved on with my life...but for a brief time, I worked in that special place on earth and was part of the fabric of Northport that went all the way back to the clipper ship days. Yar!