JOHN HAGERTY was raised in Warrenton Oregon and grew up working in the Charter fishery in the 60s and 70s. As an adult he worked in carries and boat yards in the Astoria Warrenton area. He is currently a poet, playwright, Stand up comedian, beach bum, Razor’s Edge drifter and proud pentagenarian.
When I hear of someone dying doing something dangerous, I often remark that ‘they died because they were weak. It sounds cruel. But if the loss is explained as just an accident or a fluke, than that kind of implies that all the other times that they survived and were successful, that was kind of an accident or a fluke too.
Strong A Thousand Times; They died cause they were weak
The rocks, the sea, the river aint what killed them
And it wasn’t really what they went to seek
They died when they got caught beyond their measure
They pushed themselves too far
And they died cause they were weak
500 times I pushed it to my limits
500 times I barely got away
But by God-Damn, if I go down tomorrow
Don’t give me any less
Then what I always say
I didn’t die from being ‘just unlucky’
It wasn’t ‘just my time’ no more than theirs
The margins of my getting home for diners
Was won by heart and muscle
But often measured just by hairs
I’d hope that I was rising to some challenge
That end meant I had reached some kind of peak
I died because I loved the edge of liven
And in the end I died cause I was weak
I’ll tell you why it’s good that weakness gets me
I’ll tell you in a way that even rhymes
I was only weak that once for just a moment
But brothers, I was strong a thousand times.
________________________
The Night The Loggers Fought The Crabbers At The Stripper Bar
I was there at Annies
When it finally all came down
When the loggers and the crabbers
Blew up and then threw down
A volatile combination
Of hormones, booze and pride
Made the toughest of the toughest
Fight the toughest side by side
Tables toppled over
Broken jaws and broken glass
Even some hats were damaged
In the mass of kicken ass
They tumbled out to the parking lot
Where I bet they fought like hell
I never saw who won or lost
It was prolly hard to tell
See, I’m a lover not a fighter
Wisdom falls like pearls
I’ll stay in here and do my best
To protect these naked girls
But those strippers would have been ok
They didn’t need no tazers
They didn’t need no clubs, no guns
Cuz I think they all had razors
________________________
Screamen Ebb
By: John Hagerty
For: Bobby Chisholm, Gilbert Morrison, Brian McGuire and Joe Cumbers; rip 1982
The sea that kept the town afloat
was hungry and could not be crossed
It was the stormy winter of our youth
sailing for the combination
‘cannery, moorage, charters, bait and lounge’
Oh, we stayed drunk
but lost a lot of weight
beneath bar-tab booze trees
that bore no solid fruit.
That rainy Friday night’s December blow
we gathered there at Bobby, Joe and Gilbie’s
and sat down on the floor
to slice up quarts of beer
and memories of women
we chased down
with budget whiskey
And we all laughed
to hear Big-Joe pass out
and smack his brittle lips
in dreams of food
Laughed, and then grew silent
As fishermen, they did not loaf
and too much fish was food enough
when the weather would permit
But…
Sunday night
All the old timers
looked out through salt and tear burned eyes
and said ‘stupid kids…
to sail in a soup like that
on a screamin ebb tide
Big-Joe would have gone
had he not been pukin’ drunk
and for a long time wished he did
Enough of Gilbie washed up
to bury in the early spring
A piece of hull hung
on the jetty for a week
And I swear, I’ve never seen
that sea as flat as Monday Morning
and I’ll never hear a sadder sound
than that fog horn.
Strong A Thousand Times; They died cause they were weak
The rocks, the sea, the river aint what killed them
And it wasn’t really what they went to seek
They died when they got caught beyond their measure
They pushed themselves too far
And they died cause they were weak
500 times I pushed it to my limits
500 times I barely got away
But by God-Damn, if I go down tomorrow
Don’t give me any less
Then what I always say
I didn’t die from being ‘just unlucky’
It wasn’t ‘just my time’ no more than theirs
The margins of my getting home for diners
Was won by heart and muscle
But often measured just by hairs
I’d hope that I was rising to some challenge
That end meant I had reached some kind of peak
I died because I loved the edge of liven
And in the end I died cause I was weak
I’ll tell you why it’s good that weakness gets me
I’ll tell you in a way that even rhymes
I was only weak that once for just a moment
But brothers, I was strong a thousand times.
________________________
The Night The Loggers Fought The Crabbers At The Stripper Bar
I was there at Annies
When it finally all came down
When the loggers and the crabbers
Blew up and then threw down
A volatile combination
Of hormones, booze and pride
Made the toughest of the toughest
Fight the toughest side by side
Tables toppled over
Broken jaws and broken glass
Even some hats were damaged
In the mass of kicken ass
They tumbled out to the parking lot
Where I bet they fought like hell
I never saw who won or lost
It was prolly hard to tell
See, I’m a lover not a fighter
Wisdom falls like pearls
I’ll stay in here and do my best
To protect these naked girls
But those strippers would have been ok
They didn’t need no tazers
They didn’t need no clubs, no guns
Cuz I think they all had razors
________________________
Screamen Ebb
By: John Hagerty
For: Bobby Chisholm, Gilbert Morrison, Brian McGuire and Joe Cumbers; rip 1982
The sea that kept the town afloat
was hungry and could not be crossed
It was the stormy winter of our youth
sailing for the combination
‘cannery, moorage, charters, bait and lounge’
Oh, we stayed drunk
but lost a lot of weight
beneath bar-tab booze trees
that bore no solid fruit.
That rainy Friday night’s December blow
we gathered there at Bobby, Joe and Gilbie’s
and sat down on the floor
to slice up quarts of beer
and memories of women
we chased down
with budget whiskey
And we all laughed
to hear Big-Joe pass out
and smack his brittle lips
in dreams of food
Laughed, and then grew silent
As fishermen, they did not loaf
and too much fish was food enough
when the weather would permit
But…
Sunday night
All the old timers
looked out through salt and tear burned eyes
and said ‘stupid kids…
to sail in a soup like that
on a screamin ebb tide
Big-Joe would have gone
had he not been pukin’ drunk
and for a long time wished he did
Enough of Gilbie washed up
to bury in the early spring
A piece of hull hung
on the jetty for a week
And I swear, I’ve never seen
that sea as flat as Monday Morning
and I’ll never hear a sadder sound
than that fog horn.