From the Amazon Website here is a preview of the first few chapters of
"Jimmy Catfish - The Beginning & The End"
Now available on Kindle
Leaving
For a New Life
Fogo
(Fire) Island was burning and slowly being buried by creeping,
molten lava.
St.
Nicholas Island was desiccated and people were in excruciating agony,
dying of thirst.
It
was the 1950s and all ten of the islands in their archipelago were
facing disasters as Cisco da Silva and Carlos Pires searched for a
way to leave.
Their
only way out was to sign on as crewmen aboard the last commercially
operated three-masted schooner still making Atlantic crossings.
Misfortune
eventually drove Cisco from the sea to a peaceful little island off
the coast of Massachusetts.
...and
that's when his troubles really began.
-o-
Jimmy
Catfish:
The
Beginning and the End
by
Bill Russo
Jimmy
Catfish is the prequel to a yarn told around a campfire in my short
Kindle book, Swamp Tales.
This follow-up volume is presented in two parts.
The
Beginning which is all new,
narrates the story of events leading up to the birth of the
unfortunate subject of the earlier tale; as well as his life as a
young man.
The
second part of the book, The End, is the complete original
short story - a few thousand words about eerie Codfresh lake, the
area around it, and its oddest resident.
I've
included the second part so that if you have been interested enough
to finish The Beginning, you will not have to search around to find
(and pay for), The End.
-o-
Bill
Russo is retired on Cape Cod, U.S.A., and is the author of a number
of books including:
Crossing
the Musical Color Line:
and
other stories of Singers and Players.
The
artists featured, some famous and some not, are mostly friends or
acquaintances of the author. Many of them, he met during his years as
a disc jockey and newspaper editor.
Among
his subjects are: the first man to cross the musical color line - in
a Big Band during the 1940s. His entire career is covered including
the time he spent as lead guitarist for Diana Ross.
Russo
was the first radio disc jockey to play and promote one of the
biggest truck driving songs in the history of Country Music. He
tells of meeting the singer and details how the man literally peddled
his music from the trunk of his car in Madawaska, Maine all the way
to stardom in Nashville.
The
Creature From the Bridgewater Triangle and other stories from
Massachusetts.
During
a decade long stint as an Iron Worker, Bill Russo lived in a
'haunted' area of Massachusetts that stretches from Bridgewater and
Raynham Southwards towards Fall River and New Bedford.
His
late night meeting with a swamp creature prompted him to write a blog
article, and that led to Russo being featured in "The
Bridgewater Triangle" documentary film and later on national
television discussing the hairy 'littlefoot' that he met; and then
finally to his short book detailing his encounter, along with about a
dozen more stories and articles. Most deal with legends and myths of
New England, but he also adds a few observations and even some Cape
Cod travel tips.
-o-
Cover
Photograph by Bill Russo:
A
secluded lake in Harwich near
the
right of way of the original
Cape
Cod Central Railroad
-o-
Chapter
listing Jimmy Catfish
Prologue - Cape Cod in the
21st. Century
Chapter One: Sao Nicolau
(St. Nicholas)
Chapter
Two: Finding the Captain
Chapter
Three: Shipping off to Massachusetts
Chapter
Four: The Last Voyage
Chapter
Five: Healing Time
Chapter
Six: The Gold Crown Tavern
Chapter
Seven: Life on Codfresh Lake
Chapter
Eight: The Summer Brings New Growth
Chapter
Nine: Winter and Tragedy
Chapter
Ten: In the Brack with the Catfish
Chapter
Eleven: The Baby Arrives: February 15, 1958
Chapter
Twelve: At the Water's Edge
Chapter
Thirteen: A Visit from the Captains
Chapter
Fourteen: The Reunion
Chapter
Fifteen: The Doctor
Chapter
Sixteen: Total Isolation: The Summer of 1959
Chapter
Seventeen: Six Years Later, July 1965
Chapter
Eighteen: The Return of Cisco
Chapter
Nineteen: The Plan
Chapter
Twenty: The Professor
Chapter
Twenty-one: October 1, 1967
Chapter
Twenty-two: They Come for Jimmy
Chapter
Twenty-three: Mungo's Plan
Chapter
Twenty-four: What of the Professor?
Chapter
Twenty-five: Codfresh Fades Away
Chapter
Twenty-six: Alone
Chapter
Twenty-seven: Epilogue to The Beginning
and
Prologue to The End
Chapter
Twenty-eight: Jimmy Catfish -The End
Jimmy
Catfish - the Beginning and the End
by
Bill Russo
Book
One: The Start
(Book
Two follows. It is, The End)
Prologue
- Cape Cod in the 21st. Century
The
horse-shoe shaped highway that runs from one end of Cape Cod to the
other, is 64 miles long. Halfway down, is the town of Harwich.
In
the middle of Harwich, several miles past bumpy Bell's Neck Road,
where a dense forest has morphed into a shallow, tree-stump pond; is
a dirt road - really just a path - that leads to a small village
called The Marsh.
There's
only one business building in the tiny 'throwback' settlement. It's a
creaky, wooden two-story structure with faded red paint, that houses
a general store - with pickles, ice cream, common crackers in a
barrel, and canned goods inside. On the porch, outside, framing the
entry way, are two wooden park benches.
The
one on the left is painted blue with white lettering on the slats of
the backrest, saying "Democrats". On the right hand side,
is a red bench, with the same white lettering saying, "Republicans".
Most
of the villagers will sit in either one. They might call themselves
G.O.P., but they like the Kennedys - especially the war hero, Johnny
who became President.
Or
they might be Democrats, but they like "Ike", the war hero
who became President.
A
few old timers are gathered at the store on a warm summer day to sit
on a red bench or a blue bench, depending on
their mood; or where the sun is hitting. They talk, drink sodas, and
and gaze across the street at a crystal clear lake with a sandy
bottom and generous beaches.
"That
little kettle pond is nothing like Codfresh Lake," says the
owner of the store, who has just walked out to chat with the only
customers he's had for over an hour. He is an ancient, shrunken man
who everyone calls 'AP'.
"What's
Codfresh Lake?" one of his companions asks.
Using
the question as an invitation; the wrinkled old man takes a pull from
his Birch Beer in a glass bottle, and slowly eases into the Blue
bench opposite his friends. He wears a faded Red Sox cap. With his
old-fashioned handlebar mustache on top of a fluffy white beard, he
looks like a skinny Santa Claus.
Setting
his soda down, he stares for a moment at the faded paint of the
bench. It's cracking and blistering. He picks off a few blue chips,
as if he were stripping little flakes of skin from a sunburn.
Peeking out of the corner of his eye, he waits until he is sure he
has the group's full attention.
Satisfied
that he does, "AP" begins to tell a tale of a body of water
so strange as to defy description. A lake compounded of equal but
separate sections of fresh water, sea water, and an unearthly
brackish stretch, reportedly inhabited by man-eating catfish.
"Even
stranger than that," he continues, "is that it was also
home to a person who was more catfish than human. Few people know
about Codfresh Lake, and even fewer about that fish-man, Jimmy
Catfish. I saw him. I even knew him. The story ends here on Cape Cod
but it starts out far across the ocean in a different cape, Cape
Verde."
Chapter
One - Sao Nicolau (St. Nicholas)
Two
men on horseback are riding to Tarrafal, the only seaport, and one of
just two villages on the tiny island of St. Nicholas. After an
interminable season of famine and drought they have abandoned their
homes and are fighting through an angry windstorm on a September
afternoon in 1949.
"This
barren island of St. Nicholas has little of Christmas in it, other
than its name. It is 150 square miles of naked mountain surrounded
by a ragged coastline too wasted to even sprout
weeds," said Francisco da Silva, the taller of the pair.
"That
may be true Cisco, but it's our home."
"Not
for long Carlos. Not for long. When we get to Tarrafal, we will
find a ship to carry us out of here."
"Cisco,
you sound just like your cousin the poet. He's always stirring up
people, trying to get them to leave the islands and go to America."
"Yes
Carlos. Last year when he wrote his book, he predicted that by the
end of 1950 one out of four Cape Verdeans will be emigrating to the
United States for a better life."
"And
do you think we will be among them Cisco?"
"I
do. There is nothing to hold us here. We have already left our
houses. And what did we give up? A couple of shacks and a few acres
of land that resembles over-baked bread."
Cisco
started to say something else but was cut off as the wind suddenly
picked up and pitched a load of desiccated earth into his throat.
The
two friends, coughing from the biting onslaught, closed their eyes,
covered their noses with their hands, and tucked their chins into
their chests.
Though
there were a handful of cars on St. Nicholas in the 1940s, most
people still rode horses, as did Francisco da Silva and Carlos Pires
on that Autumn day when they headed from the main village of Ribeira
Bravo to the island's only other settlement, the fishing town of
Tarrafal.
Plodding
along, their horses slowly navigated the narrow cobblestone path that
rimmed the island, running like a thread from the one town to the
other. There was no place else to go; it was literally a 'one road'
island. The way was bounded on either side, solely by mounds of
parched earth. No trees. No brush. No Grass. No weeds.
So
bare was the view from the rocky path that to one side there truly
was nothing but the choppy blue Atlantic. The opposite side was
merely a barren expanse of motley colored brownish earth supporting
clusters of jagged gray rocks leading to Mount Gordo, (The Fat
Mountain).
One
time Carlos had called the roadside a desolate 'patchwork' and Cisco,
who fancied himself a poet like his cousin who had published two
books, said; "No Carlos: the dirt here is not a 'patchwork'. It
is so dry and empty that we should call it a 'parch-work'."
Both men laughed, as each was young, hopeful, and in possession of
the resilient ability to sneer at ironic misfortune.
The
raging wind got stronger, scooping up great chunks of earth; grinding
and mixing them with the air until a thick brown dirt-fog was brewed
that overspread the entire island. Visibility was reduced to near
zero.
Dismounting,
they took off their shirts to cover the heads and eyes of the nervous
horses, while shouting calming words to them.
The
bellowing storm finally hushed to a whisper, leaving Carlos and Cisco
looking as though they had been flogged. Crimson rivers snaked down
their backs from their shoulders to their waists, partly washing away
hundreds of sharp dirt-spikes that had been hammered in.
They
poured tepid water from their canteens into their cupped hands for
the still frightened horses, saving scarcely a swallow for themselves
before remounting.
Later,
they wearily crested a ridge marking the final leg of their trip. The
last bits of the dirt-fog drifted off towards the sun, which cast a
golden path in the calm waters of Tarrafal Harbor.
Prodding
their mounts to a gallop, they raced to a slim, fresh water stream
near the harbor. In winter it had been a river but the endless
drought had reduced the Rio Gordo (The Fat River) to barely a skinny
stream.
Running
and splashing like schoolboys on a picnic, the animals happily beat
the water to a froth. The men let the mounts play for several minutes
before hobbling them and setting them to graze in a yellowed field
close by.
"Let
us go to the beach and wash off the rest of the dirt from the ride,"
suggested Cisco.
"I
think I'll also need a few minutes in the sand," Carlos added.
The
tepid Tarrafal water was a salty balm; soothing their raw backs as
well as massaging spent muscles. As their strength returned they
left the ocean and headed for the steamy, black sand. The unusual
shiny sepia sand, found only on St. Nicholas Island, is said to have
healing properties due to a high content of titanium and iodine.
After
a brief rest, buried up to their necks at the medicinal beach, they
retrieved the horses and cantered to Joao Neves' bar for some food
and grogo, the local rum. In high spirits, they had hopes of meeting
sailors who could perhaps steer them to a job aboard a ship bound for
North America.
Chapter
Two - Finding The Captain
With
a bottle of grogo between them and two mugs in front of them, Carlos
and Cisco sat in one of the four high-backed booths in Joao's small
building. Hungrily, they speared chunks of food from a platter of
bread, cheese and sausage that had been set upon a table made of
rough, unfinished planks.
Six
wooden stools with no cushions were in place in front of the bar but
only one was occupied. It was a slow night in Neve's establishment,
a fact which Joao lamented every time he poured a drink for his
solitary bar stool occupant, a tall, spare white-skinned man who
seemed to wince every time Joao complained about
his sparse patronage.
"Hey
mister, if you are sick of Joao's grousing, perhaps it's time to come
and sit with us. Bring your mug and you can share our grogo,"
said Carlos to the white haired man, who appeared to be in his early
fifties.
"I'll
be happy to do that," he said, nimbly jumping off the stool and
settling into the space offered by Carlos.
"I'm
Carlos Pires and this is Francisco da Silva - call him Cisco. We've
left our houses and our land and hope to leave this island. In the
meantime we're going to spend the last of our money on some food and
drink."
"Thanks
gentlemen. I am Captain John Manderer. If you want to leave Cape
Verde I have a ship and I need crew. Why do you want to go?"
"Well
Captain, there are ten islands that make up Cape Verde," said
Cisco slowly drafting down half a mug of grogo.
"There
is ours called St. Nicholas or Christmas Island. There is Fogo, or
Fire Island in English, and eight others. Each island has two morose
companions - drought and starvation; the one following the other.
There is no Christmas on St. Nicholas Island and on Fogo, there is
nothing but fire. The Fogo Volcano is always active. Rivers of
boiling lava constantly threaten the settlements. The creeping death,
as we call it, regularly engulfs whole villages. Every island has
trouble of one kind or another. Some people are resigned to living
under these shadows, but not I, and not Carlos; we are leaving."
"Cisco's
cousin, a poet and author, has written that 25 per cent of all Cape
Verdeans will be leaving the homeland by the 1950s, so you should
have had no trouble finding sailors for your ship in Fogo,"
Carlos noted. "Why've you come to St. Nicholas?"
"Yes
Captain. Why have you come here?," Cisco added.
"Because
I need 30 sailors at a minimum for the voyage to America and in
Fogo, there were less than 20 men willing to sign on, so I decided to
......"
"Do
not say anymore," Cisco interrupted, "Carlos and I will
sign on right now if it means we can sail to the United States."
"You
mightn't say that after you find out what kind of a ship it is,"
said Manderer.
"If
it floats, we are in," Cisco told him.
"Wait
a minute," Carlos held up his hand and motioned to Cisco to be
silent. Squinting his eyes, he looked directly into those of the
Captain. "I do want to know. What kind of a ship is it?"
"She's
called the Lynette C and she's a beauty. She's a sailing ship - the
last commercially operated three masted schooner in New Bedford,
Massachusetts. Also the last of her kind in all of New England. I
spent $7,000 refitting her after I bought her and she looks as pretty
as a movie star."
"A
sailing ship?" they wondered in unison.
"Yes.
A sailing ship. I sailed her from New Bedford to Cape Verde in just
32 days. We had twenty paying passengers and a cargo of one piano,
four automobiles, 10,000 board feet of pine lumber, 40 thousand
pounds of cement, and various household goods and bundles of clothing
sent from people in New Bedford to friends and relatives. It was a
very profitable voyage for me since I did not have to pay for fuel.
But, when I landed in Fogo most of my crew left me for modern ships
and none of the new sailors that have joined the crew have ever
worked on a sailing ship before. They won't go aloft to set the
sails. If you can and you will, then I will take you on as First and
Second Mates and I will pay you well."
"What
cargo will we be carrying?" Carlos wondered.
"We
will have 20 paying passengers and 250 tons of salt."
"Captain
Manderer. Allow me to me pour us all another drink and I will ask
you a further question or two. If Carlos and I like your answers,
then I am pretty sure we will sign on and help you get a full crew."
Cisco
extracted from the Captain a contract for permanent employment as
well as his promise to help the two men gain citizenship in the U.S.
The
next morning they saw the Lynette C for the first time. She was big
and beautiful. Just a bit shorter than an American football field,
the ship was 260 feet long with 29 cabins and 58 berths.
Sailors
all their lives, though in much smaller vessels, Carlos and Cisco
soon became familiar with the ship and within a few hours showed
great speed and skill in furling and unfurling the sails on all three
masts.
Captain
Manderer came on board in late afternoon and was impressed by the
innate skill of his two new mates. He shared the news that he had
just that day signed a contract to transport 30 Cape Verdean
cranberry bog workers to Cape Cod. This was in addition to the 20
people that had already booked passage. He reasoned that he could put
18 men into the nine cabins he still had vacant and place the other
12 men among the 58 crewmen's births.
Cisco
said that he and Carlos would talk to the cranberry men and find out
which ones had fishing or sailing experience. Those that did, could
be recruited as supplemental crew. Along with the 18 men they
already had, this would bring them up to the needed complement of 30.
Captain
Manderer ticked off a list of the ship's needs. The jobs of Captain
and Quartermaster, who handles the operation of the ship on a day to
day basis, were filled by Manderer himself and old Josiah Spant, who
had been Quartermaster on the voyage from the States and had served
well. Carlos and Cisco occupied the First and Second Mates' slots.
When
they spoke with the cranberry workers they found that many of them
were also able seamen who had worked in the packet trade between the
islands. They were easily able to muster as many more crewmen as was
needed.
Pedro
Andrade was appointed as the Bosin because he had held that position
on small ships that ran between Fogo and some of the other islands.
The Bosin's job is supervision of the ship's supplies and maintenance
of the vessel.
Jorge
Fonseca had been a navigator in government service so he was selected
for that job. Similarly they found men who had worked as carpenters
and slotted them as carpenter and carpenter's mate.
Because
he had been an orderly in a hospital, Artur Bernardo was named ship's
surgeon, though he would be expected to do little more than dispense
aspirins and perform first aid.
The
tasks of cooking & running the galley fell to the Coelho brothers
who in better times had owned a restaurant.
Lastly,
they found Johnny Gomes a local hunter and fisherman
who would act as their Striker. The Striker needs no nautical
skills. His job is to supplement the food stocks by fishing,
shooting sea birds, or hunting when they are ashore.
The
rest of the crew would be trained as deckhands and would learn to set
the sails, as well as clean and maintain the craft.
Chapter
Three - Shipping off to Massachusetts
The
Lynette C began her voyage to New Bedford at nine a.m. on October 3,
1949 in bright sunshine and a favorable wind. She was 32 feet across
and her mainmast was 145 feet high. Under full sail, powered by more
than 7,700 feet of canvas, she quickly reached 16 knots in calm seas.
Most
of the people watching from shore as she left, felt uncertain that
the old schooner would safely make it to the United States.
Those
on board were much more sure of themselves. The infectious optimism
of the Captain and crew buoyed their spirits.
When
they were four hours out to sea, the cook; assisted by the assistant
cook, a
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