Fishtown Local
When one meets a truly reasonable person in this world, one remembers them forever that way. Tolerant, funny, clever and a total family man.
That was Sander Schultz who recently departed our world. Kudos and testaments have flowed from all quarters but my striking memory of Sander was imprinted forever on a calm, waveless, late winter morning in Gloucester Harbor around 30 years ago. This determined, still novice sailor was sitting flapping away in the channel between the Paint Factory and Parisi’s Fort Fishery building.
Didn’t really know then it was Mr. Schultz behind me. I was riding “motorcycle style,” that is, sitting on the floor of my small Sunfish’s cockpit and facing forward with my feet up on the deck, like a recliner. Perhaps it was too comfortable a ride because that posture can be very nap-inducing. Spring was in the air, life was on hold. My eyes briefly closed.
Suddenly, they were jolted open by the sound of a raspy marine signal, loudly hailing my boat. There, about 20 feet behind me, was the towering hulk of a large Coast Guard cutter, the Cape Higoon, it might have been called. I whirled around to see a mustached figure coming from the command bridge and down to the forward deck. He strode to the prow and called out:
“Ahoy Captain, would you have any Dijon Poupon mustard?“ spoofing a popular TV ad. The others on the foredeck roared with laughter.
The comeback from me was “Just finished it, but do you need a tow?” Touché, but only momentary.
“Just wanted to be sure you were awake, skipper.” Again, a passel of crew laughter. He got me. Twice.
“Yes, thanks, wide awake, now.” He gave a full-throated laugh, waved and climbed the stairs to the bridge. The beast of a boat backed away. Even the vessel itself appeared to be grinning.
It was my first encounter with a Coastie who was friendly and actually had a sense of humor. He appeared to be driving but my angle made it hard to know for sure.
Then next time I saw that mustache was months later, looking down at it from a church choir loft. There was something very memorable about that face. Plus there was a toddling kiddo who was crawling every which way around his lap, sometimes climbing up to his shoulders, like a cat on a scratching post. Right in the middle of choir anthem it came to me — it was the guy driving the cutter, the Dijon Poupon guy. After the service I cornered him before he left and he admitted it was him. We both roared with laughter, much to the confusion of his kid.
After that, we always said a raucous hello until they moved to a different church. But he was indelibly etched onto my friendly folks list forever. What a guy …
Sander Schultz — everyone who knew him will miss him.
But speaking of that portion of the harbor and all the rest, a new consternation has been created by the bombshell that Harbormaster TJ Ciarametaro and perhaps Assistant Harbormaster Chad Johnson are leaving their posts due to another murky, complicated Gloucester political whirlwind.
The story is completely Byzantine, even by our murky municipal standards. Another opaque political smudge pot in a long line of them. Transparency ain’t exactly us in this town. The story in the paper, as expertly reported as it was by Ethan Forman, wound itself around itself and became more confusing as it went. Forman grabbed every loose thread of information and followed it along its length. (Another reasonable person and ace reporter we are are lucky to have — not seen since Richard Gaines.)
But still a swirling mystery, recalling other employment imbroglios that were resolved without being solved.
But suffice it to say, Ciarametaro and Johnson were fantastic at what they did. They listened to their base, they were firm but not rigid, they expanded Gloucester’s appeal tocruising mariners. The Outer Harbor anchorage completely filled out under their watch. They managed mass city maritime events and they saved people when they had to. They were godfathers of the Gloucester High School sailing team, watching over us, occasionally pulling boats from the drink when heavy winds suddenly popped up. They were so interested in what and how we did and cheered our expanding trophy case over the years. To Hilary Frye, the kids and I, they were heroic — guardians, mentors, protectors, and so able to roll with the punches the changing weather could dish out.
They ran their department well. If they are really gone, Gloucester will have suffered an immeasurable loss in another swirl of impenetrable, unexplained and officially “unavoidable” mystery.
Gloucester resident Gordon “Call me George” Baird is an actor and musician, co-founder of Musician Magazine and producer of “The Chicken Shack” community access TV show.