They come every morning to sit on the bench down at Casper's, weather permitting and still alive permitting. The old sea captains, the authorities, the have a sea story to tell about anything, the have an opinion on everything. To kill time between nothing to do and nowhere to go, at Casper's Marina on the bench every morning. Weather permitting and still alive permitting. The old sea captains. To watch the deep water. To watch the wind and the clouds and the tide. To watch the fine yachts passing on the Inland Waterway. To watch us young fishermen docking for fuel at the beginning or at the middle or at the end of our catching day. And to remember. Mostly to remember. And what they cannot remember, they invent. The old sea captains, very busy at this idle work on the bench every morning. Whittling red cedar logs into perfumed toothpicks. Spitting brown tobacco gravy on slick stained asphalt. Sitting hunched against canes. Tying proper sea knots in scrap line. Yarning about when our Holligan Navy whipped the Sunshine Boys in the Pacific, back then. Ah, that was a time. The best time there ever was. The old sea captains. Killing time between nothing to do and nowhere to go. Remembering the slanted squalls, the crashing storms, the engine breakdowns, the boat running agrounds, the close calls, all those who have gone on before. Remembering the good seasons. Remembering the bad seasons. Exactly like today's seasons, except their seasons were forty-five years ago. Still, the more things change, the more things stay the same. But we don't go at the right time, and we don't come in at the right time. We don't boat handle right. We don't gear deploy right. We don't think right. We just don't fish right. We just don't do anything right. Because they were fishermen, and we are not fishermen. Because they were true salty, and we are candy asses. Because their boats were sturdy, and our boats are wormy. Because they were tough men steady going, and we regularly whine and lean on the oars. Because they knew, we don't. Because they did, we won't. The old sea captains. The authorities, the tormenters, the good friends. The have a sea story to tell about anything. The have an opinion on everything. Whittling, tying, spitting, tormenting, yarning, there hunched against canes. Watching. Inventing. Remembering. Sitting on the bench down at Casper's every morning. The old sea captains. Weather permitting and still alive permitting.

To Oscar Schneider