JON CAMPBELL has spent nearly 30 years recording and writing about life as it is lived along his part of the East Coast, the Fisheries, tourists, regional cuisine, history, and general antics of the locals. Much to his surprise, much of his material has ended up being performed and recorded by singers from Cape Disappointment to Cape Cod, and across the sea in Ireland. If he was more ambitious, he probably would have done more.
AUDIO
WRITINGS
Garbage Barge
I shipped on board the “Break of Dawn,” in 1986
It was either be a tugboatman, or work at laying bricks
So I thought I’d skip the mortarboard and breathe some salt sea air
And spend a couple years afloat with Capt. Duffy St. Pierre
Well life on board the “Break of Dawn”, didn’t pack a lot of thrills,
And we’d put anything on the hawser that would help to pay the bills
So when we took that ” Mobro” garbage barge, it was just another job
A leaking reeking albatross we were hauling for the Mob
Well we picked up that garbage barge up in Long Island Sound,
And on the early morning tide, we were Carolina bound
Underneath the Verrazano, and stormy New York skies
Just me and Duffy St.Pierre and 15,000 flies
When we got down past Hatteras, where we were ‘sposed to go
The Port of Morehead City, they emphatically said “No”
“Well we’ve got three thousand tons of garbage, so where we going guys “
Said Capt. Duffy St. Pierre to the 30,000 flies
So it’s next stop Loosiana, where we’ll drop this reeking raft
‘Cause Mobile and Biloxi, they’ve already waved us past
Well the barge was getting nastier, as we got into the Gulf
And Capt. Duffy St. Pierre started talkin’ to himself
They waved us off in New Orleans, and all down the Texas coast
And the barge was getting pretty ripe as it began to roast
“We’ve gotta drop this damn thing off,” says I with bloodshot eyes
To Capt Duffy St. Pierre, and a half a million flies
They sent out 2 Destroyers, from sunny Mexico
They escorted us with fighter jets as southward we did go
I felt like the Flyin’ Dutchman with some tropical disease,
As the ‘Break of Dawn’ and the ‘Mobro Barge’ sailed eastward off Belize
Well we took pride in the “Break of Dawn”, and we kept a ship-shape boat
Now this “Mobro” barge out on the rope, made us a Superfund afloat
So just ask the Ancient Mariner, who stoppeth one in three,
About Capt. Duffy St. Pierre, a million flies and me
Well Duffy’s on the radio, and he’s mostly screaming “Please”
‘Til we finally got permission to head back to the Keys
I was tempted to swim to Cuba, as we went steaming by
Me and Duffy St. Pierre, and at least 2 million flies
5 miles out from Key West, we were boarded by the Feds
“ It’s just ordinary garbage, and not toxic waste” they said
So its back up on the Gulf Stream, and New York regains the prize
Of me and Duffy St. Pierre, and at least 3 million flies
Back in Brooklyn we dropped the tow-line, we’d been 6 thousand miles or more,
We’d been almost 4 months out to sea, when we got back to shore
With the hand that threw the monkey’s fist, I gladly waved good-bye
To Capt. Duffy St. Pierre and every single fly.
Last of the Eastern Rigs
They used to haul, home up the wind Carrying dories and the oars
Sailed out of the Port of Gloucester Converted to the nets and doors
They cut the masts a few years back Leaving just these two short twigs
But you’ll always know her by her lines The Last of the Eastern rigs.
Now these boats of steel, it seems to me, don’t offer very much.
And it seems to me a welded hull is always cold to touch.
And I never liked those painted ladies, with all their fireworks
And who could trust a vessel, born amid the sparks.
-cho
So I don’t care if they’ll lend me the money,
‘Cause the Banker never was the Captain’s friend
And this old boat she’s runnin’ smooth as honey
And there’s dollars on the southwest wind.
The wake she bubbles up like coffee, as we’re settin’ out the gear
And if there is a God in Heaven, she’ll float another year
She must have done ten thousand trips, without a word of thanks.
‘Til now there’s nothing but the coats of paint, holdin’ in the planks
But this old diesel’s got a few more turns, ‘til it up and pulls the pin
And we finally just took out the bunks, so at night we come back in.
-cho
‘Cause the insurance they want too much money,
And the Agent never was the captain’s friend
And this old boat’s runnin’ smooth as honey,
And there’s dollars on the southwest wind.
The net is spread out like a blanket, a hundred yards astern
And one day she’ll go steaming out, never to return.
They used to haul, home up the wind Carrying dories and the oars
Sailed out from the Port of Gloucester Converted to the nets and doors
They cut the masts a few years back Leaving just these two short twigs
But you’ll always know her by her lines The Last of the Eastern Rigs
--------------------
Iteroparous
I’ve seen your wild Pacific, your Coho and Chinook
Sockeye, Kings and Humpies, on the net and off the hook
And even schoolkids know the tale, when to ocean they have gone
After a couple years or so, it’s back upstream to spawn.
When these salmon start to feel the urge, and head back towards the land
In Spring-break style they congregate, to have their one stream stand,
But this revery is terminal, this fact is widely known
But out here on the Atlantic, we have a salmon of our own.
And out here the story’s different, though some parts are the same
And the Atlantic Salmon manages without a fancy name
But when it comes to spawning, the difference is profound
Our salmon he just finishes up, and turns right back around
So when the wild Pacific salmon is floating belly up
The Atlantic Salmon’s back at sea, and frisky as a pup
And when the wild Pacific salmon is merely Grizzly feces
Ours has the choice of many countries in which to propagate the species
What conclusions we should draw from this, the science is not specific
But if you plan on spawning more than once, would you choose Atlantic or Pacific?
And though science isn’t positive these fish could climb Niagara
It could be that Atlantic Salmon is like a bite of pink Viagra
----------------------
This Boat
I was downtown having breakfast, just a couple days ago,
And I was standing at the register, to get a regular to go
This old fisherman was talking to some eager beaver kid
And I couldn’t help but overhear what all was being said.
You know the old man had him goin’, the kid was foaming at the mouth,
And I watched the old guy reel him in, like playing with a trout.
He said “Yes I’ve got a boat for sale, but it’s more than you can pay,
Besides, you’re never gonna get caught up, and it’ll cost you everyday”
(cho)
“ So I could give to you This Boat, though I’ve really gotta tell ya,
You’ll get a whole lot less, than when it came to me.”
“It used to be that with this boat, you could put something on your table,
But now you might as well just tie it up, as put it out to sea.”
“ Time was the herring, they would almost jump on board.
And the side of my old shack was solid nailed-up tails and swords
And there were so damn many lobsters, they’d almost crawl up on the beach,
And this deck was piled with butterfish, as high as you could reach.
And I could bore you with how the BigEye, like the buffalo roamed free,
And you could get a load of steamers, like pullin’ apples off a tree.
And at times when we were dredging, we’d be in shells up to our thighs,
And every seagull wore a necklace of bright blue scallop eyes.”
(cho)
“Time was, with this old boat, you could fish as you saw fit
And when you went, and what you got, no one cared a bit.
Now it’s all got so expensive, and only the fish is cheap,
And you’ve got some guy from the government, tells you what to keep.
You couldn’t use a boat like this, you’d never make it pay,
And you’d be reduced to keeping ugly fish, the one’s we used to throw away.”
He pushed back his chair disgusted, “I’ve said all I’ve got to say,
So kid, just go home and read Spartina, we’ll maybe talk another day.”
(cho)
I shipped on board the “Break of Dawn,” in 1986
It was either be a tugboatman, or work at laying bricks
So I thought I’d skip the mortarboard and breathe some salt sea air
And spend a couple years afloat with Capt. Duffy St. Pierre
Well life on board the “Break of Dawn”, didn’t pack a lot of thrills,
And we’d put anything on the hawser that would help to pay the bills
So when we took that ” Mobro” garbage barge, it was just another job
A leaking reeking albatross we were hauling for the Mob
Well we picked up that garbage barge up in Long Island Sound,
And on the early morning tide, we were Carolina bound
Underneath the Verrazano, and stormy New York skies
Just me and Duffy St.Pierre and 15,000 flies
When we got down past Hatteras, where we were ‘sposed to go
The Port of Morehead City, they emphatically said “No”
“Well we’ve got three thousand tons of garbage, so where we going guys “
Said Capt. Duffy St. Pierre to the 30,000 flies
So it’s next stop Loosiana, where we’ll drop this reeking raft
‘Cause Mobile and Biloxi, they’ve already waved us past
Well the barge was getting nastier, as we got into the Gulf
And Capt. Duffy St. Pierre started talkin’ to himself
They waved us off in New Orleans, and all down the Texas coast
And the barge was getting pretty ripe as it began to roast
“We’ve gotta drop this damn thing off,” says I with bloodshot eyes
To Capt Duffy St. Pierre, and a half a million flies
They sent out 2 Destroyers, from sunny Mexico
They escorted us with fighter jets as southward we did go
I felt like the Flyin’ Dutchman with some tropical disease,
As the ‘Break of Dawn’ and the ‘Mobro Barge’ sailed eastward off Belize
Well we took pride in the “Break of Dawn”, and we kept a ship-shape boat
Now this “Mobro” barge out on the rope, made us a Superfund afloat
So just ask the Ancient Mariner, who stoppeth one in three,
About Capt. Duffy St. Pierre, a million flies and me
Well Duffy’s on the radio, and he’s mostly screaming “Please”
‘Til we finally got permission to head back to the Keys
I was tempted to swim to Cuba, as we went steaming by
Me and Duffy St. Pierre, and at least 2 million flies
5 miles out from Key West, we were boarded by the Feds
“ It’s just ordinary garbage, and not toxic waste” they said
So its back up on the Gulf Stream, and New York regains the prize
Of me and Duffy St. Pierre, and at least 3 million flies
Back in Brooklyn we dropped the tow-line, we’d been 6 thousand miles or more,
We’d been almost 4 months out to sea, when we got back to shore
With the hand that threw the monkey’s fist, I gladly waved good-bye
To Capt. Duffy St. Pierre and every single fly.
Last of the Eastern Rigs
They used to haul, home up the wind Carrying dories and the oars
Sailed out of the Port of Gloucester Converted to the nets and doors
They cut the masts a few years back Leaving just these two short twigs
But you’ll always know her by her lines The Last of the Eastern rigs.
Now these boats of steel, it seems to me, don’t offer very much.
And it seems to me a welded hull is always cold to touch.
And I never liked those painted ladies, with all their fireworks
And who could trust a vessel, born amid the sparks.
-cho
So I don’t care if they’ll lend me the money,
‘Cause the Banker never was the Captain’s friend
And this old boat she’s runnin’ smooth as honey
And there’s dollars on the southwest wind.
The wake she bubbles up like coffee, as we’re settin’ out the gear
And if there is a God in Heaven, she’ll float another year
She must have done ten thousand trips, without a word of thanks.
‘Til now there’s nothing but the coats of paint, holdin’ in the planks
But this old diesel’s got a few more turns, ‘til it up and pulls the pin
And we finally just took out the bunks, so at night we come back in.
-cho
‘Cause the insurance they want too much money,
And the Agent never was the captain’s friend
And this old boat’s runnin’ smooth as honey,
And there’s dollars on the southwest wind.
The net is spread out like a blanket, a hundred yards astern
And one day she’ll go steaming out, never to return.
They used to haul, home up the wind Carrying dories and the oars
Sailed out from the Port of Gloucester Converted to the nets and doors
They cut the masts a few years back Leaving just these two short twigs
But you’ll always know her by her lines The Last of the Eastern Rigs
--------------------
Iteroparous
I’ve seen your wild Pacific, your Coho and Chinook
Sockeye, Kings and Humpies, on the net and off the hook
And even schoolkids know the tale, when to ocean they have gone
After a couple years or so, it’s back upstream to spawn.
When these salmon start to feel the urge, and head back towards the land
In Spring-break style they congregate, to have their one stream stand,
But this revery is terminal, this fact is widely known
But out here on the Atlantic, we have a salmon of our own.
And out here the story’s different, though some parts are the same
And the Atlantic Salmon manages without a fancy name
But when it comes to spawning, the difference is profound
Our salmon he just finishes up, and turns right back around
So when the wild Pacific salmon is floating belly up
The Atlantic Salmon’s back at sea, and frisky as a pup
And when the wild Pacific salmon is merely Grizzly feces
Ours has the choice of many countries in which to propagate the species
What conclusions we should draw from this, the science is not specific
But if you plan on spawning more than once, would you choose Atlantic or Pacific?
And though science isn’t positive these fish could climb Niagara
It could be that Atlantic Salmon is like a bite of pink Viagra
----------------------
This Boat
I was downtown having breakfast, just a couple days ago,
And I was standing at the register, to get a regular to go
This old fisherman was talking to some eager beaver kid
And I couldn’t help but overhear what all was being said.
You know the old man had him goin’, the kid was foaming at the mouth,
And I watched the old guy reel him in, like playing with a trout.
He said “Yes I’ve got a boat for sale, but it’s more than you can pay,
Besides, you’re never gonna get caught up, and it’ll cost you everyday”
(cho)
“ So I could give to you This Boat, though I’ve really gotta tell ya,
You’ll get a whole lot less, than when it came to me.”
“It used to be that with this boat, you could put something on your table,
But now you might as well just tie it up, as put it out to sea.”
“ Time was the herring, they would almost jump on board.
And the side of my old shack was solid nailed-up tails and swords
And there were so damn many lobsters, they’d almost crawl up on the beach,
And this deck was piled with butterfish, as high as you could reach.
And I could bore you with how the BigEye, like the buffalo roamed free,
And you could get a load of steamers, like pullin’ apples off a tree.
And at times when we were dredging, we’d be in shells up to our thighs,
And every seagull wore a necklace of bright blue scallop eyes.”
(cho)
“Time was, with this old boat, you could fish as you saw fit
And when you went, and what you got, no one cared a bit.
Now it’s all got so expensive, and only the fish is cheap,
And you’ve got some guy from the government, tells you what to keep.
You couldn’t use a boat like this, you’d never make it pay,
And you’d be reduced to keeping ugly fish, the one’s we used to throw away.”
He pushed back his chair disgusted, “I’ve said all I’ve got to say,
So kid, just go home and read Spartina, we’ll maybe talk another day.”
(cho)
