San Francisco's Little Boat that Could

Introduction

In 1942, when I was a young lad of fourteen, World War II was raging in Europe and across the Pacific. To support its troops and to defend its land, the United States decided to build a road through Canada and into the Territory of Alaska. Our family moved to Juneau, Alaska, so that my dad could join the war effort by helping build the Alcan Highway.

I loved Alaska. From the docks, I could see across the channel to Douglas Island, where bears were big and dangerous, deer and grouse were plentiful, and bald eagles filled the sky. It was a wonderful place to hunt and explore.

Even though southeastern Alaska’s summer days were long, the sun did not shine much due to a constant cloud layer that would come in and hide the upper half of the islands in the area. It seemed like the sun was only visible about one day each month.

When we could see the sun, Alaska was beautiful! (It was such a rare event that I thought they should close the schools and let the kids enjoy the great outdoors!) After school, when most other kids played ball, I would be down at the docks, watching the fishing boats come in and the fishermen unload their day's catch of silver and king salmon.

One gorgeous, bright day I was sitting on the dock, as seagulls flew overhead, calling excitedly to each other. The smell of fish and creosote filled the air. I heard the arrival of the fishing boats, and the fishermen yelling and laughing. I saw the crystal-clear blue sky and water. I was in heaven.

As the boats pulled up to the dock, a fisherman would tie the boat to a piling, and a cannery worker would lower a large fish box connected to a strong rope. The fisherman would jump down into the fish hold, where the fish were kept on ice. He used a broom handle with a sharp bent nail in one end to carefully snag the fish by the head, so as not to damage the meat. He threw them into the box. When it was full, a cannery worker would haul up the fish box, weigh the fish, and lower the box again, until the hold was empty of fish. The fisherman would then climb up the rickety iron ladder that was attached to the barnacle laden piling. The fish buyer would pay the fisherman, who then climbed back down, started the engine, untied his boat, and headed for the boat docks. Then the next boat in line would pull up to repeat the process.

What a great way to make a living, I thought.

One special day a fisherman yelled, “Hey, kid! Catch!” and threw me a large salmon. I thanked him, wrapped the fish in a newspaper, and took it home to my mom for a tasty dinner.

The fishing boats were painted white and had a bright blue, green, or red trim. They were well cared for because the fishermen knew if they took good care of their boats, the boats would take good care of the fishermen.

Well, I fell in love with those little vessels, and promised myself that someday I would become a commercial fisherman and have a Monterey fishing boat.

Forty years passed and I still did not have my fishing boat! While sitting in my old blue van, I started talking to God. I said, "Boss, I’ve been wanting one of these boats for such a long time, I’m sure you are tired of hearing me ask. You say, 'If you want something, just ask for it and you shall receive.' Well, something is wrong here! Do I have my boat? No!! Well, let’s forget the whole thing. It’s obvious you don’t want me to have one.” In my heart, however, I knew this was the right time for me to have my boat.

Three days later, I was driving around Terminal Island in Southern California. Along the side of the road was a high cement wall. Something told me to stop and climb the wall. I looked over the wall and there was my boat, tied to a buoy!!

I drove to the marina office and talked the old caretaker into taking me out for a closer look. “Oh, sonny, you don’t want that boat,” he said. “She’s in terrible condition. She sank to her deck line in that last storm, and it would cost you more to fix her than what she’s worth."