One Hundred Years and Counting

We watched with bated breath as the ferry Adirondack approached the dock in Burlington, Vermont.  It was in the late morning of Wednesday, August 20, 2014, and Miss Patty and I had just driven across two states in order to sail aboard this great ship.  As the vessel eased gently into her berth, we noticed the name board that identified her as the Adirondack mounted on the pilothouse just under the large windows.  Right below that, another inscription gave the date, 1913.  These two simple signs told the world proudly but quietly that the Adirondack was over one hundred years old!  Very few ships have become centenarians, but the Adirondack was one of them.   Furthermore, unlike most of her contemporaries, she remained in revenue service, crossing Lake Champlain every day.   On this day, it would be our great privilege to sail with her.

We had crossed Lake Champlain with our four children on ferries previously.  We sailed aboard the Champlain on July 2, 2001, and aboard the Valcour on July 31, 2002.  These were magnificent voyages on a large and beautiful lake surrounded by pristine mountains.   The crossing from Burlington to Port Kent, New York, just south of Plattsburgh, took an hour.  The return voyage took about the same time.  For us, though, it always seemed too short.  The dark blue water rushing past the hull, the verdant mountains rising majestically on both sides of the lake, and the light blue sky laced with billowing white altocumulus clouds all beckoned us to stay with them and not return home.  Well, we needed to go home, but we also needed to come back.  And when the Adirondack reached her one hundredth year, we decided we must take our next voyage with her.

We boarded the Adirondack eagerly and got comfortable on the upper deck where the views would be best.   At the appointed time, and after taking on a full load of vehicles and passengers, the Adirondack set sail.  Easing gently away from her berth, the great ship headed north and out of the harbor sheltered by the Burlington Breakwater.  On passing the small lighthouse that marks the northern point of this jetty, the vessel accelerated and set a more northwestward trans-lake course for the New York shore.  A peaceful, quiet, and restful voyage followed.  For an hour we imbibed the natural and unspoiled beauty of Lake Champlain and the surrounding mountain ranges as the ship rode smoothly and gracefully through the calm blue water.  That it was the fresh water of an inland lake and not the salt water of the open ocean made no difference; the voyage was still, in Shakespearean terms, “a consummation devoutly to be wish’d.”[1]

With the leisure time that such a voyage affords, I thought of the long career of the Adirondack.  She had come to life as the South Jacksonville of the Jacksonville Ferry and Land Company in 1913, and she served on the Saint Johns River between downtown Jacksonville and South Jacksonville, Florida.  In 1921, after only eight years in this trade, the ferry line was replaced by a bridge, and the South Jacksonville was sold north to the Tocony-Palmyra Ferry Company in Philadelphia.  She then plied the Delaware River as the Mount Holly until 1927.  At that point, she was sold north again, to the 34^th Street Vehicular Ferry Company in New York.  With no change of name this time, she sailed on the East River between Long Island City and the foot of East 34^th Street in Manhattan.  This arrangement lasted until 1936 when the company failed.  Two years later, however, the Mount Holly was sold south to the expanding Chesapeake Bay Ferry Company and renamed the Governor Emerson C. Harrington II.  Under this new identity and with a newly rebuilt superstructure, she linked the communities of Claiborne and Romancoke on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  In the early 1940s the State of Maryland assumed the operation of the ferries from the private owner, and the Governor Harrington ran until shortly after the Chesapeake Bay Bridge was opened in 1952.[2]

In 39 years, our Adirondack had served five owners, sailed on four routes, and had twice been replaced by bridges.  In addition, her original coal-fired steam engine had been replaced by twin diesels.  But she was not finished yet, I thought, as she glided past Schuyler Island and slowed for her approach to the dock in Port Kent, New York.  Easing up to the wharf on a northerly heading, she came to rest gently at a small facility in the lee of a large promontory just to the south and almost adjacent to the Amtrak line that connects New York City and Montreal.  We remained on the upper deck as the westbound traffic disembarked and eastbound traffic came aboard.  This did not take long, and soon the Adirondack got underway again.

The return voyage to Vermont was just as lovely as the initial crossing to New York had been.  Again I contemplated the Adirondack’s long life and marveled that a ship could keep going so far beyond the usual expected lifespan of thirty to forty years.  She had gotten her new lease on life in 1954, two years after the Chesapeake Bay Bridge had taken away her work.  Purchased by the Lake Champlain Transportation Company, the Governor Emerson C. Harrington II was brought north from Maryland and renamed the Adirondack.  Following the long trek through the Hudson River and Champlain Canal, the Adirondack has remained on Lake Champlain for the last sixty years, making the seasonal crossings between Burlington and Port Kent every spring, summer, and fall.[3]  Job security at last!

Few ships, few things in general, and certainly few people live to be one hundred years old.  But even those who do reach the century mark know they won’t last forever, at least not in their earthly form.  While we often stand in awe of someone who has lived so long, we also recognize the 100^th birthday as something of a last hurrah.  For the end of necessity must come, and fairly soon.  Not even the grand old Adirondack can sail forever!  Her time shall come, as will ours.  It is inevitable.

In the long history of the world, even a life lasting one hundred years is a comparatively short time, a small window of opportunity that should be used wisely.  We are told many times and in many ways throughout the scriptures that one of the best uses of our time involves showing Christlike care and concern for others and helping them to feel the Lord’s love for them.  This thought calls to mind the famous remark of the great Quaker missionary Etienne de Grellet:

            I shall pass this way but once; any good that I can do or kindness I can

show to any human being; let me do it now.  Let me not defer or neglect it,

for I shall not pass this way again.[4]

Good advice to follow, no matter how long or short our lives.  Admittedly, this is not always easy, especially when it involves disagreeable people.  Annoying personalities can challenge the good intentions of even the most saintly.  But we must strive to overcome such petty differences.  Also, most of us will not be able to follow this counsel for one hundred years.  Our windows of opportunity to serve others will most likely not be as large as the Adirondack’s.  But there will be opportunities nonetheless. 

Carpe diem, then, as the ancient Romans commanded.  We must seize the day, for every day presents an opportunity to do good for and to show kindness to someone else.

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[1] William Shakespeare, Hamlet, III:i:62-63.

[2] Information from Lake Champlain Transportation Co., posted at www.ferries.com/assets/files/OurFleet.

The Adirondack’s history with photographs is located on pages 7 and 8 of a pdf file.

[3] Ibid.  See also Jack Shaum, “Former Romancoke-Claiborne Ferry still going strong at 100,”

at www.myeasternshoremd.com/news/queen_annes_county, posted May 16, 2013,

and en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claiborne-Annapolis_Ferry_Company.

[4] Available at values.com/inspirationalquotes.

The Ship Shrine

My daughter coined the phrase, but it’s really more of a display than a shrine. I had the idea several months ago of buying some inexpensive plastic frames for enlargements of a few of my favorite photographs of ships and children. Nothing fancy, just a few showpieces for old time’s sake. I selected the pictures, bought the frames, and set everything up on the dresser in Miss Karen’s old bedroom. I admired this little gallery every day. She saw it when she came home for Thanksgiving and laughingly called it my ship shrine.

Starting on the left and proceeding in chronological order, I have a picture of the ferry Orient at the dock in Orient Point, Long Island, in August of 1976. I was still a teenager then. After my first voyage aboard the State of Maine and before I returned to school, my parents and I took a road trip out to the East End of Long Island. We visited the lighthouse at Montauk Point and the state park at Orient Point. We also stopped to admire the old ferry loading passengers and automobiles for transport to Connecticut.

The Orient was quite a sight. An old landing craft from the Second World War, she had been repainted in civilian colors and now sported a gray hull with white superstructure. Her age showed in her battered bow, her rusty shell plating, and her squat, box-like hull. She was not a graceful looking vessel, but with the bright afternoon sun shining on her port side, she was quite attractive in a difficult-to-describe sort of way. Little did I realize that this chance encounter with the aged Orient would prove to be a harbinger of voyages to be made with children yet to be born. When I stood on the adjacent beach and took her photograph I was unmarried and childless, still just a kid myself, and unable to even imagine the many voyages I would make aboard the Orient’s successors with my family in the years ahead. The picture I took of her has since become one of my favorites, and it holds first place in the ship shrine.

Next come two photographs of the tanker New Jersey Sun in drydock at the Todd Shipyard in Galveston, Texas, in May of 1977. Then follows a portrait of the tug Charger docked in Newark, New Jersey, in July of 1978. These pictures represent many happy memories of my formative adolescent years when I was learning the craft of the sea and working toward my license. Those were the good old days!

Next in line is the cable carrier Furman departing Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and passing the Portsmouth Light in New Castle on Saturday, March 15, 1986. This picture represents a turning point. My seagoing career was drawing to a close, but the proverbial new day was dawning. The following year the first of our four children was born. Henceforth in my photography the ships would share the limelight with the children.

And so the next picture shows Miss Patty with a very young James and an even younger Miss Karen standing on the beach at Orient Point watching the new ferry John H arrive. It was Friday, August 17, 1990. The same place where I had looked upon the old Orient now became the younger generation’s viewing platform, and over the years all the children have enjoyed many happy hours both on the beach at Orient Point and aboard the ferries between Long Island and Connecticut.

They travelled elsewhere, too, though. Accordingly, the next photograph in line shows the whole family—all four children with their Mommy and their Nana—in Battery Park in Lower Manhattan, watching the transatlantic liner Queen Elizabeth 2 depart from New York on a voyage to Southampton, England. That was a special day, Monday, August 19, 1996. Besides providing an exciting time for the children, it brought back memories for my mother and me, memories of watching my grandparents sail from New York for Europe in the 1960s when I was a small child myself.

The next photograph portrays James diligently scanning the horizon with a pair of binoculars aboard the ferry Delaware on her namesake bay enroute from Lewes, Delaware, to North Cape May, New Jersey, on Tuesday, August 18, 1998. Finally, the lineup of pictures concludes with another favorite—all the children assembled with Captain Steve Pond in the wheelhouse of the ferry Champlain enroute from Port Kent, New York, to Burlington, Vermont, on Monday, July 2, 2001.

On two small shelves higher up and next to the mirror on Miss Karen’s dresser, I have two additional pictures. One shows James, Miss Karen, and Steven on Sunday afternoon, June 20, 1993, all dressed up in the vintage American Export Lines souvenir tee shirts that my grandmother had long ago brought home for my brother and me. The second is a photograph taken of a painting aboard the cruise ship Nieuw Amsterdam. This depicts the Holland-America Line’s earlier Nieuw Amsterdam passing the lightship Ambrose on her way outbound from New York. I had become enraptured by this painting during our voyage aboard the new Nieuw Amsterdam following James’ wedding in February of 2012, and I regretted that I could not bring it home with me! This little copy seems the next best thing.

Not part of Miss Karen’s ship shrine but nonetheless relevant are three professionally done portraits that I did bring home from the Nieuw Amsterdam. The first of these portrays the newly married couple, James and Sarah, radiating happiness on their shipboard honeymoon. The second shows our younger sons, Steven and Michael, also looking very happy, and perhaps even a bit mischievous despite being dressed in their formal attire. The third is a family portrait. In commemoration of the wedding, Miss Patty and I posed together with all the children and our new daughter-in-law in the grand atrium of the Nieuw Amsterdam. The ship’s photographer created a family heirloom appropriate to the occasion. All three photographs are now framed and displayed together in Miss Patty’s sewing room in what we may perhaps call a wedding shrine.

There remains one more to examine. In my family history room I have another portrait taken by another photographer aboard another ship. While enroute from New York to ports in the Mediterranean aboard the Independence in November of 1966, my grandparents, Robert Burns and Julia Murphy, posed for the cameraman in their evening attire at the Captain’s cocktail party. An exceptionally good likeness of them, this heirloom holds a place of honor in my family archives. I look at it often.

I look at the portraits from the Nieuw Amsterdam and the snapshots in the ship shrine often, too. But I think this collection is not so much a shrine to ships; rather, it is a mini-archive of our family history. Ships have played important roles in our family’s history, serving as transportation for business meetings, vacations, family reunions, and sometimes just plain joyriding. Also, for many years they provided a career and livelihood for me. But while they serve the family’s needs, these vessels are not part of the family. Like other inanimate objects, they are discarded when no longer useful or profitable. Inevitably, they end their careers in a scrapyard. Occasionally a famous ship may be preserved as a museum piece, such as the Queen Mary in California or the Cutty Sark in England, but this is rare. Most of the time the old ships are refashioned into razor blades and automobile parts.

The family, however, always maintains its integrity. As the Proclamation on the Family tells us,

The divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to be perpetuated beyond the grave. Sacred ordinances and covenants available in holy temples make it possible for individuals to return to the presence of God and for families to be united eternally.¹

When I consider the five generations of my family that I have known in this life—my great-grandmother, my grandparents, my parents, my wife and myself, and our children—this sounds like a great idea! When I consider the extended family that I have known here and the deceased family members for whom I have done research and temple ordinances, this great idea seems even better. But of all these folks, the four for whom I admit to having a special soft spot are my own children. I realize that they’re all adults now, but they’ll always be children, even babies, to me.

Unlike discarded merchant ships, my children will never end their careers in a scrapyard and be transformed into something else. They will remain my children and I will remain their father. The ships I sailed on in my youth provided me with a livelihood, but my children have given me far more. This includes both happy and sad memories, both restful and sleepless nights, both great responsibility and great pleasure, both worry and relief, but above all an abiding and transcendent feeling of satisfaction that is difficult to describe.

As I look at the photograph of the aged ferry Orient in the ship shrine and think of the many voyages that I made on that route over the years with my children, I feel the sense of satisfaction that comes from having given them life and raised them from infancy to adulthood. President Gordon B. Hinckley expressed it very simply and succinctly when he told Mike Wallace:

Look, when all is said and done, you as a parent have no greater responsibility in this world than the bringing up of your children in the right way, and you will have no greater satisfaction as the years pass than to see those children growing in integrity and honesty and making something of their lives, adding to society because they are part of it.²

This is true. As important as ships have been in my life, my children are infinitely more important. The photographs of my favorite ships on Miss Karen’s dresser may comprise a ship shrine, as she calls it, but these vessels’ significance is eclipsed by my children and also by my grandparents and new daughter-in-law. Thus, it is not really a ship shrine but a family shrine.

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¹ In Gordon B. Hinckley, Discourses of President Gordon B. Hinckley, Volume 1: 1995-1999, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 2005, pp. 32-33. This Proclamation was included in an address made at the General Relief Society Meeting on September 23, 1995.

² Op. cit., p. 486. This statement is an excerpt from an interview of President Hinckley by Mike Wallace on the television program 60 Minutes on December 18, 1995.

Still more pictures of ships and children.....

The U.S. Coast Guard sailing ship Eagle at sea between Bermuda and Newport, Rhode Island, on June 21 or 22, 1976.  This was the first of my many encounters with the Eagle.  In honor of the American Bicentennial, tall ships from around the world gathered first in Bermuda, then Newport, and finally New York.  The State of Maine carried news reporters and photographers and maneuvered around the tall ships so these guys could get their stories and pictures.  I took my own pictures, though.

A U.S. Navy P-3 Orion flies high over the State of Maine in the Atlantic, one day out of Norfolk, Virginia, on May 22, 1978.  My older brother flew P-3 Orions during his time in the Navy, but he was not aboard this aircraft.

One of the beauties of the sea.  Sunset in mid-Atlantic seen from the State of Maine while enroute from Norfolk, Virginia, to Rotterdam, the Netherlands, in May of 1978.

The tugboat Charger reposes at the dock in Newark, New Jersey, in July of 1977.

The fully loaded gasoline barge Interstate 35 is pushed ahead by the Charger, eastbound on Long Island Sound in July of 1978.  This view is from the bridge of the Charger.

The passenger liners America and Queen Elizabeth 2 docked on the West Side of Manhattan on July 27, 1978.  My grandparents sailed from France aboard the America in 1955.  This view is from the southbound Charger, enroute from Rensselaer, New York, to Newark, New Jersey.

The lounge area of the Interstate 50, northbound with a full load of crude oil on the Delaware River in August of 1978.

The tanker Scapmount aground in the Atlantic Ocean near Cape Henlopen, Delaware, on August 23, 1978.  Note the two black balls displayed in the rigging.  The correct signal for a vessel aground is three black balls.

Miss Patty poses happily with the drydocked Waccamaw behind her in Norfolk, Virginia, on April 2, 1983.

Karen, Steven, and James wear the souvenir American Export Lines shirts that my grandparents had bought for my brother and me thirty years earlier.  This is in Nashua in June of 1993.

James on lookout duty aboard the northbound Delaware between Lewes, Delaware, and North Cape May, New Jersey, on August 18, 1998.  Beyond him in the haze to the east lies the open Atlantic.

The four children crowd into the wheelhouse with Captain Steve Pond of the Champlain on an eastward crossing of Lake Champlain from Port Kent, New York, to Burlington, Vermont, on July 2, 2001.

The lightship Nantucket rests alongside a small pier in the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Park in Oyster Bay, Long Island, on August 19, 2009, prior to being towed to East Boston, Massachusetts, where she is now undergoing restoration.  I took my children to this park frequently when they were little.  The Nantucket was one of several attractions there.

Another beauty of the sea.  The whole family sailed aboard the excursion boat Iceberg Quest from Twillingate, Newfoundland, to see this iceberg up close on June 24, 2004.  It was a cold, damp, and overcast day on the north coast of Newfoundland.

The Nantucket at her restoration pier in East Boston, Massachusetts, on July 27, 2013.  Michael and I enjoyed this view from the ferry Island Expedition, enroute from Spectacle Island to Long Wharf in Boston proper.

Merrily Reminiscing

My father always told me to take notes as I made my way through life. As a kid, I thought this idea was just adult nonsense. As an adult with children, however, I consider it to be wise counsel. Accordingly, then, I have taken notes my entire adult life, actually starting in my late teens. Since my children were born, though, the note-taking has accelerated. Just about everything they’ve done in their short lives is recorded. My basement library contains shelves upon shelves of children’s biographical materials—written notes, photograph albums, video tapes, mementoes, computer files, paper files, and so on.

I was recently looking through some of these materials in order to collect information for a spreadsheet that would tabulate all the voyages the children have made. I found everything that I needed, and I enjoyed reading the notes I had written and looking at the pictures I had taken. They brought back many happy memories. The children were so young then, and with the natural curiosity of youth they were learning about their world. The sea formed an important part of their travels and adventures, and I would like to think that they learned something from sailing across even small sections of it.

Most of their voyages took place aboard the vessels of the Cross Sound Ferry fleet between New London, Connecticut, and Orient Point, Long Island; many others took place aboard the Staten Island ferries in New York; and there were some occasional voyages on assorted waterways elsewhere in the eastern United States and Canada. It all started because at the age of six months Miss Karen could not tolerate the four-hour drive between her home in Nashua and her Nana’s house in New York. After two hours, she would loudly voice her frustration with the family car, and nothing could console her. Enduring her crying, sobbing, and screaming for half the journey quickly became intolerable for the rest of the family. So on Saturday, May 27, 1989, we made the two-hour drive to New London and embarked on the ferry New London for the hour-and-a-half voyage to Orient Point. After disembarking from the ship in Orient, we drove two more hours to Nana’s house. It worked out splendidly. When our little girl had reached the limit of her endurance for the automobile, it was time to get out, either aboard ship or at Nana’s house. No more crying, sobbing, or screaming. The sea restored peace to the family!

The sea also provided grist for my literary mill. In a series of spiral-bound notebooks that I call my Baby Books, I recorded details of the children’s lives, including their voyages on Long Island Sound and elsewhere. In June of 1990 I recorded James’ soliloquy as we arrived at the dock in New London:

Cars coming off ferry. Man open gate and cars come off ferry. Big truck come off ferry. Big truck make big bang. Where all the cars going? Man put hose together. Other man bring garbage. Man put garbage in dumpster. Man have to get more garbage.

The observations of a three-year-old! With the ship unloaded and ready to receive traffic for the next voyage, James continued:

Cars going on ferry. Daddy drive on ferry. All the cars have to go on ferry.

This narration continued as long as there was something for the children to watch. All the way to Long Island, James remarked on everything he and his comparatively quiet baby sister saw—lighthouses, buoys, fishing boats, cargo ships, and the vast expanse of the sea itself which seemed to intrigue them both. In later years this nautical realm would intrigue Steven and Michael, too, and all four of the children would make many happy voyages. A case in point is a crossing of the Delaware Bay aboard the Delaware enroute to their uncle’s house on Sunday, December 24, 1995:

The ferry left Cape May at 11:40am. This was the high point of the morning for the children, and it was their first time on the Delaware Bay. In commemoration of this occasion, they received free ferry coloring books.

All the children loved the ferry voyage. I took them on walking tours of the outside decks. The bay was quite choppy and full of whitecaps, with the wind and seas coming from the west. The ferry rolled quite a bit for the entire crossing. We really knew we were at sea! The kids loved it! They had fun trying to walk straight with the vessel swaying beneath them, and they laughed and giggled at their seeming clumsiness.

They wanted to see everything that was on the water. These sights included the Cape May Point lighthouse, several tankers anchored at Big Stone to the southwest, the open ocean to the east, the breakwaters off Lewes and Cape Henlopen, and the rough sea itself. The voyage lasted an hour and a half, and we all agreed it was much too short.

Closer to home, we made a night voyage from New London to Orient Point aboard the John H on Friday, March 1, 1996, with Steven and Michael:

This was the first time we had gone on the ferry at night. Our vessel left New London at 7:30pm. When Steven had finished his sandwich, I took him out on the weather deck for a look around the ship. He was fascinated by the night on the waterfront. He looked around carefully at everything and asked several questions. While we were outside, the ferry departed. As the ferry turned south toward the Sound, Steven noticed the flashing lights on the buoys marking the channel and the lights marking the turnpike and railroad bridges. As the vessel came to the open water of the Sound, he saw the two lighthouses that mark the entrance to New London Harbor. These fascinated him. He watched their strong bright lights for several minutes. Then he turned his attention to the great black mass of sea and sky that was beginning to surround the vessel.

Steven was intrigued by all he saw aboard the John H, and I thought Michael might share his interest. But this backfired. Poor Michael was nervous. Perhaps all the surrounding darkness disturbed him. I took him around the ship hoping he’d get over his fright and enjoy the voyage, though it became clear that he was very nervous about everything. He decided early that he’d seen enough. He repeatedly said, “Let’s go back inside and see Mommy,” who was amused by her baby’s reaction to the nocturnal voyage.

Steven came back outside for more sightseeing. He wasn’t nervous at all. It was a lovely night on the water. There was a slight southwesterly breeze and a low southerly swell that gave the ferry a gentle motion. The sky was partly cloudy with a waxing gibbous moon. Several stars were visible even in the nearly full glow of the moonlight. The sky overall appeared a medium gray. The water was a very dark gray, nearly black. Steven gazed quietly but intently into this darkly magnificent atmosphere.

A year later, on Friday, July 18, 1997, amid electrical storms on another night crossing from New London to Orient Point aboard the North Star, Michael overcame his nervousness:

A full moon shone through the clouds in the southeast. A low swell came from the same direction, and the North Star rolled gently. As the sky darkened, lighting became visible over both Connecticut and Long Island. Electrical storms seemed scattered throughout the region, and they intensified as the ship approached Orient Point. The flashes of lightning increased in frequency. With each flash the surrounding land and water became eerily illuminated nearly as bright as day, but only for a split second. The mystical black-and-white beauty of these illuminations was striking, but not frightening. There was no audible thunder. Steven and Michael found this display fascinating. They oohed and ahhed at the most spectacular lightning strikes, and they asked many questions.

A year after that, on Friday, May 15, 1998, another night crossing from New London to Orient Point aboard the New London yielded a lesson on running lights:

At 9:00pm the New London departed and sailed south into the increasing blackness of the night. James and Steven were excited to be at sea at night, and the weather was so good that we remained outside. At James’ insistence I explained how the running lights worked, what their colors meant, and how to determine another vessel’s course by the appearance of its lights. Both boys eagerly studied the lights on the ferries bound from Orient to New London as they passed us port-to-port.

James and Steven found these lights truly intriguing, hence the impromptu lesson. They learned about the red and green sidelights, the white masthead lights, and the white stern light, their arcs of visibility, and their positions relative to each other. They caught on quickly, too, as they observed passing vessels’ lights in addition to my explanations. Several other passengers also became interested in this subject and stood close by to watch and listen, too.

A couple of months later, on Friday, July 17, 1998, on a foggy crossing from New London to Orient Point aboard the North Star, Steven met the great man:

Just before sailing, Steven had the honor of meeting the Captain. Seeing him walk across the deck towards the bridge in his Merchant Marine officer’s uniform complete with an anchor insignia and four stripes, Steven ran over to him, caught up to him, and said hello and paid his respects. The Captain cheerfully returned Steven’s greetings, saying, “Hi there, Buddy! How are you doing?”

We sailed at 8:00pm. The fog remained over the water, and the ferry sounded its foghorn for most of the voyage. We remained outside on the upper deck. Steven and Michael were quite interested in everything going on aboard the ship. Both boys were impressed with the density of the fog and the severe limitation it placed on visibility. They liked hearing the foghorns of our ship and others and the fog signals of the buoys and lighthouses. They also got to peek into the bridge and see the picture on the radar screen.

As if meeting one great man wasn’t enough, Steven arranged to have all his siblings and me meet the Captain of the ferry Champlain on a voyage across Lake Champlain from Port Kent, New York, to Burlington, Vermont, on Monday, July 2, 2001:

During this eastbound crossing the Captain invited us up to the bridge. The children and I went up the narrow steps and gathered in the pilothouse and had a pleasant conversation with the Captain. His name was Steve Pond. He told the children how everything worked, about the lake and the ferry, and they asked many questions. He was very nice to them. When our visit to the bridge was concluded, the children all said “Thank you” and shook hands with Captain Pond. They were very polite. I was proud of them. I was also very pleased to be back on the bridge of a ship that was underway and going somewhere.

Captain Steve Pond also posed for a photograph with James, Miss Karen, Steven, and Michael on the bridge of the Champlain. A wonderful keepsake!

Farther south and closer to their Nana’s house, the children made many voyages aboard the ferries linking Manhattan with Staten Island. When they were little we would make one round trip of an hour’s duration, and then move on to something else. As the boys grew into their pre-teen and teen years, their interest levels also grew, and we often made three or four round trips in succession. These expeditions filled entire mornings. As one such outing on Saturday, March 4, 2000, demonstrates, they were time well spent:

We spent three hours riding the ferries back and forth between New York and St. George. We made three voyages aboard the Governor Herbert H. Lehman and three aboard the American Legion. The weather on the bay was exceptionally good for this time of year: blue sky, a few cirrus clouds, a northwesterly breeze, very clear visibility, and a mild temperature.

James was fascinated. He thoroughly enjoyed all aspects of the vessels’ operations. He asked many questions, observed everything very carefully, and used up an entire roll of film taking pictures. Steven and Michael also enjoyed these voyages. The three boys studied the loading and unloading of the ferries, watched the wake and propeller wash, watched all the harbor traffic, and saw all the famous sights. The maneuvering of the ferries and the variety of harbor traffic interested them the most. They enjoyed close-up views of several tugs and oil barges, dozens of smaller barges, and two large container ships of the Maersk Line. One of these was the Maersk Valentia. She was coming into port, bound for New Jersey, and she and the Governor Lehman passed at fairly close quarters. Later, another large vessel of the Maersk Line came out of the Kills and proceeded seaward. The boys found all of this very interesting. James took pictures, and they all asked questions about these grand vessels.

Two years later, on Saturday, April 27, 2002, we did the same thing in the same city, but there were differences:

We arrived just in time to board the American Legion. At the boys’ request, we went all the way forward on the vehicle deck so that we had front row seats, so to speak, for the crossing. This was great. We made four voyages aboard the American Legion, i.e., two round trips. We alternately stood on the bow, on the stern, and on the upper deck. But the boys and I all liked the vehicle deck best, whether forward or aft, because of its proximity to the water. Michael became transfixed by the sight of the water rushing past the hull. I, too, have always liked this, and I shared Michael’s enjoyment.

But changes had come to the city and the ferries in a terrible way. The vehicle parking decks had been fenced off, and the boats no longer carried cars and trucks for fear of a car bomb attack. Then there were police and police dogs everywhere. They patrolled the boats and the terminals and kept a wary eye on all the passengers, especially those carrying packages. The worst thing lay ashore, though:

The biggest change of all was the alteration in the skyline of Lower Manhattan. The World Trade Center was conspicuously absent. This was clearly visible from the ferry. It was impossible to not notice this. The boys asked me to point out to them exactly where the twin towers had stood, and I did. It seemed unreal, even though we were looking right at the buildings of Lower Manhattan and could plainly see that the World Trade Center was no longer there. A very sad note in an otherwise pleasant day.

Whatever may happen ashore, though, there is one thing that happily does not change. I have remarked in my Baby Books numerous times that:

It was great to be at sea again. It felt wonderful to stand on the deck of a ship again and feel the vibration of the engines under my feet and smell the salt air blowing across the water and feel it running through my hair. The exhilaration of going to sea again, even if just across the Upper New York Bay and back, is difficult to express. Suffice it to say that I found it a very pleasant sensation. Few things in life can beat a sea voyage.

While this will of course always be true, there remains the one voyage that was truly unique. On Thursday, June 24, 2004, during the ambitious family vacation we took in Newfoundland, we set sail to see something none of us had ever seen before:

We sailed at 1:00pm aboard the excursion boat Iceberg Quest. The Captain steered the boat north out of Twillingate Harbor and then turned eastward, past some headlands, and then across open water. An iceberg lay ahead of us, and the Iceberg Quest headed for it. A larger iceberg sat in the water to the northeast several miles from Twillingate, but that was too far to go in a two-hour voyage.

The children were all very excited to be at sea again, this time in search of icebergs. We stayed on the outer decks of the vessel, on the stern and on the house top. There was lots of motion—pitching and rocking.

The boat approached the iceberg, and it grew larger in our view. The crew estimated it to a hundred feet high. Eventually the boat reached the berg and slowed down and circled it at a close but safe distance so everyone could see it. The children were thrilled. We took lots of pictures because this was a unique experience for us. We spent some time admiring this iceberg, and then it was time to head back to Twillingate.

We had an anticlimactic but peaceful and enjoyable voyage back to port. The rocking and pitching got a bit rough in some swells coming in from the open ocean to the north. Much of the fog had gone away and the overcast had broken up. For a little while the sun came out.

Whether or not the sun was shining, going on a voyage with the children was always a wonderful experience. No matter what the weather conditions, sea state, or duration of the crossing, everyone in the family loved to sail. With the children all grown up and on their own now, I turn to my Baby Books and picture albums to merrily reminisce about the good old days. I am very thankful for the blessings of the written word, the photographic art, and the happy memories they preserve. Most of all, I am thankful for the blessing of four magnificent children. When I think of them, I think of Mother Teresa’s famous statement: “Every child is a gift from God.” How true!

Perhaps the last thought should go to Baby Michael, who now commutes to work in Boston by ferry. On Wednesday, August 17, 2005, after several hours aboard the new Staten Island ferries Samuel I. Newhouse and Andrew J. Barberi, I wrote:

Michael enjoyed this voyaging so much he wanted to do it all day. I agreed with him.