The Portland waterfront is entirely infused with "characters". They permeate the docks like the smell of fish and diesel fuel permeates the air on Custom House Wharf. Does the place draw these unique people to it? Or do the individuals create the environment? Probably both. No matter... Each person has their own story and with a little patience and the price of a cup of coffee, or a beer, they will often tell you their tale. It was not so with "German Joe", but, over decades of lobstering off the Maine coast, he had revealed himself in bits and pieces, here and there, to this person and that, and the story was collected.
"German Joe" as he is known on the docks, owns one of the finest deep water lobster boat on the Southern Maine coast. Approaching 80, short, stout and balding, demanding and direct, he captains the Mary Lou IV and fishes "outside" in the frigid deep waters of the Gulf of Maine. The vast majority of Maine's 4,000 lobster fishermen fish "inside" along the shoals and islands of the rocky coast. Only the most intrepid and fearless venture into the big waters where no land is visible setting their traps deep, seeking the biggest and best of the hard shelled northern lobster, Homarus americanus. It is tough and dangerous work performed by tough and dangerous men.
He grew up in Germany during WWII. His father served in the German Army on the Russian front. His mother beat him severely. Joe would go to school and get beat by the teacher then go home and get beat by his mother. Every time he opened his mouth he was beaten, so he stopped talking. At one point he didn't utter a word for a year. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he stuttered. And he stutters today.
When Allied troops overran Germany, his cattle were straffed by fighter bombers. He hid in the attic of his house and peered out the louver vent at the approaching soldiers. Thinking he was a sniper, the troops machine gunned his house and he barely escaped with his life.
After the war, his parents somehow received permission to move to the US and the family entered the country through Ellis Island and resided in New York City. His mother enrolled him in school. Unfortunately for him it was a Jewish school. He woke up every day knowing he would have to fight someone. It was a brutal, violent upbringing.
Joe had happy memories of fishing in the river near his home in Germany and so he set his mind to fish. He dropped out of school and spent his time on the docks of NYC until he gained enough information and a fundamental grasp of English. And then he went to sea.
When German Joe walked into the bait shop, people snapped to. His reputation and terrible temper preceded him and the crew would scamper to stay out of his way. It was the bosses lot to cordially greet him and present the daily offering of poggies, redfish, haddock and skate for his review. He would handle each of the products, dig into the barrels of salted fish, smell them for freshness, determine their firmness and suitability for the long set he required. The boss saved the best to be offered for Joe hoping to avoid his wrath. And once the selection had been made, the most capable of the crew was assigned to load his boat. There were stories of an incident, years before, when his running lights had been damaged by a poorly winched barrel and of the shit storm that had resulted. No one wanted to mess with German Joe.
Joe was uber-paranoid in his craft. He trusted no one. He didn't want any other fisherman to know what bait he purchased, when he planned to ship out or when he returned, where he planned to fish, what his catch was, nothing. Actually, he was not unlike any of the lobster fishermen, but his obsession held a dangerous promise to it. Even his name was uttered only in low whispers by the men who worked the docks. German Joe was a force unto himself.
He had been married to Mary Lou and when she died, he drew further still, if that was possible, into himself. The story was that before each voyage he would visit her grave and sit on the headstone, receiving guidance from the beyond on where to set his traps this trip.
This past summer German Joe was involved in a boating accident. He entered the port between Custom House Wharf and Chandlers Wharf to offload his catch, swung the Mary Lou about to dock starboard and rammed a million dollar sailboat. Reckless inattention? From German Joe? Incomprehensible... But one of the early signs of the passing of a legend.
Just another story, just another character, just another blog.
"German Joe" as he is known on the docks, owns one of the finest deep water lobster boat on the Southern Maine coast. Approaching 80, short, stout and balding, demanding and direct, he captains the Mary Lou IV and fishes "outside" in the frigid deep waters of the Gulf of Maine. The vast majority of Maine's 4,000 lobster fishermen fish "inside" along the shoals and islands of the rocky coast. Only the most intrepid and fearless venture into the big waters where no land is visible setting their traps deep, seeking the biggest and best of the hard shelled northern lobster, Homarus americanus. It is tough and dangerous work performed by tough and dangerous men.
He grew up in Germany during WWII. His father served in the German Army on the Russian front. His mother beat him severely. Joe would go to school and get beat by the teacher then go home and get beat by his mother. Every time he opened his mouth he was beaten, so he stopped talking. At one point he didn't utter a word for a year. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, he stuttered. And he stutters today.
When Allied troops overran Germany, his cattle were straffed by fighter bombers. He hid in the attic of his house and peered out the louver vent at the approaching soldiers. Thinking he was a sniper, the troops machine gunned his house and he barely escaped with his life.
After the war, his parents somehow received permission to move to the US and the family entered the country through Ellis Island and resided in New York City. His mother enrolled him in school. Unfortunately for him it was a Jewish school. He woke up every day knowing he would have to fight someone. It was a brutal, violent upbringing.
Joe had happy memories of fishing in the river near his home in Germany and so he set his mind to fish. He dropped out of school and spent his time on the docks of NYC until he gained enough information and a fundamental grasp of English. And then he went to sea.
When German Joe walked into the bait shop, people snapped to. His reputation and terrible temper preceded him and the crew would scamper to stay out of his way. It was the bosses lot to cordially greet him and present the daily offering of poggies, redfish, haddock and skate for his review. He would handle each of the products, dig into the barrels of salted fish, smell them for freshness, determine their firmness and suitability for the long set he required. The boss saved the best to be offered for Joe hoping to avoid his wrath. And once the selection had been made, the most capable of the crew was assigned to load his boat. There were stories of an incident, years before, when his running lights had been damaged by a poorly winched barrel and of the shit storm that had resulted. No one wanted to mess with German Joe.
Joe was uber-paranoid in his craft. He trusted no one. He didn't want any other fisherman to know what bait he purchased, when he planned to ship out or when he returned, where he planned to fish, what his catch was, nothing. Actually, he was not unlike any of the lobster fishermen, but his obsession held a dangerous promise to it. Even his name was uttered only in low whispers by the men who worked the docks. German Joe was a force unto himself.
He had been married to Mary Lou and when she died, he drew further still, if that was possible, into himself. The story was that before each voyage he would visit her grave and sit on the headstone, receiving guidance from the beyond on where to set his traps this trip.
This past summer German Joe was involved in a boating accident. He entered the port between Custom House Wharf and Chandlers Wharf to offload his catch, swung the Mary Lou about to dock starboard and rammed a million dollar sailboat. Reckless inattention? From German Joe? Incomprehensible... But one of the early signs of the passing of a legend.
Just another story, just another character, just another blog.
