An Extraordinary Time

The Seattle Waterfront - “Changes” is a poem recited by Daniel Quinn, now 48, on May 12, 2005 at Highliner’s Tavern in Fishermen’s Terminal which won first place during the “Stories of the Sea” competition.

 He says “”Changes” is merely a lament of a fading way of life; the independent seamen (and here in Seattle that means fishermen) and the businesses and places that catered to them.”

 Some of the most noted (largest and oldest) businesses on the waterfront which closed shop recently include:

                      Doc Freemans’ Marine 1947- Sept. 2003

                      Seattle Ship Supply 1936-1999

                      Marco 1953-2005

                      Hendrick’s Electric  1971-2002

                      Alaska Fisherman’s Journal  Dec. 1978- Jan 2006

                     Ward’s Cove Packing Co. (salmon) 1928 – 2002

                     Western Pioneer 1972- 2005

 

This year’s Stories of the Sea competition sponsored by the Port of Seattle will be held at Highliner’s in Fishermen’s Terminal on May 4, 2006.  

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CHANGES

Daniel Quinn

I took a walk the other day, on the waterfront and docks.

The changes there are thick and fast; it’s a real Pandora’s Box.

The folks that thought the fleet so quaint when they moved into the ‘hood,

Now want those rusty hulks to move; “It’s for the common good!”

There’s twenty different restaurants, and lots of little shops,

But no place to get your welding done or fix a dinged-up prop.

I thought I saw a little place where I could buy some bait,

But it’s just too damned expensive when it’s called a sushi plate.

“Aha!” I said, when I saw the sign that said “Fishnets Sold Here!”

“At last I’ve found a working shop where I can get some gear.”

I ran right in but got a shock, ‘cuz it weren’t that kind of store;

The fishnets there were stockings!  And I slunk back out the door.

If Doc Freeman knew the Secret, he’d have sold some lingerie;

And then just like Victoria’s, he’d be in the pink today.

But Doc & Vic & Marco have all cashed in their chips,

And Seattle’s working waterfront has slowly been eclipsed.

Goodbye to the Kalakala! To Wawona bid adieu!

Let’s get them old hulks off the lake; it’s time to start anew.           

Just make it all homogenized and chase the greenback bucks;

If folks want to taste the waterfront, they can go and “Ride the Ducks.”

But we’re losing local flavor when we ban the funky stuff;

When the city tastes vanilla, and nothing’s odd or rough;

I know that change is constant, but it won’t feel right to me,

When they build a sleek new monorail where the boatyard used to be.

It’s been five years since the sinking of the Arctic Rose on April 2, 2001. Fifteen crewmen lost their lives in the worst American commercial fishing disaster since 1951. Since 1991, and the implementation of the Commercial Fishing and Vessel Safety Act, there has been a 76 percent decline in commercial fishing fatalities in Alaska, according to the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health. The reduction of the fishing fleet due to industry consolidation and lower market prices also contributed to fewer deaths.

Feelings about the Arctic Rose disaster are still raw. Expressed here are excepts from a ballad written by John van Amerongen, former editor of the now-defunct Alaska Fishermen’s Journal, and a weathered photo of Arctic Rose crew member Eddie Haynes placed on the memorial at Seattle’s Fishermen’s Terminal.

The Ballad of the Arctic Rose
By John van Amerongen
They came from Montana; they came from Mexico
Headed north to Alaska they were dying to go
Some hardly spoke English but a chance to be free
Lay waiting in Dutch Harbor on the Bering Sea
She was sailing from Dutch Harbor on the Bering Sea

Ninety-two feet from the stern to her nose
She had a name like a beauty: the Arctic Rose
Built down in Mississippi where the shrimp ran pink
They converted her to flatfish, she was safe you’d think
She had a Coast Guard sticker, she was safe you’d think…

Nobody knows how it happened that night
They were hitting on the flatfish, everything was looking bright
But they busted their asses packing ‘em down
And they hit the bunks hard and fell asleep sound
They hit the bunks hard and fell asleep sound
Alone in the Bring Sea with no one around.

She vanished in the night, capsized they said.
The amigos and Montana boys and everyone was dead
She flooded through the open door someone forgot to latch
It poured into the process room and down through the hatch
They were finally on the fish, finally doing fine
But they were headed for the bottom in two minutes time
One body and an empty raft was all they did find…