Tom From The Dock

I met Tom from the Dock tonight for the first time, and I have a feeling it won't be the last. Tom had to be at least 80 years old, out for a stroll along the wharf in the Charlestown Navy Yard around midnight on a Wednesday. Wasn't sure what to expect at first, an old white haired bearded guy with a paisley blazer and white pants, shambling up the road out of the corner of my eye. Realized he had seen me and corrected his course straight for me, so I knew an interaction was coming.

Tom rolled up and said hello, quick smalltalk about how nice a night it was (74 degrees in October!). We quickly got into a conversation about the little things in life, about this unbelievable view of the skyline we had sprawled out in front of us, about the majesty of the Navy Yard surrounding us, about how the light glinting off the choppy water in front of us as we gazed out toward the ships rolling across the dark horizon was all we ever asked for - everything else was just a bonus. Hazy and overcast, the moon muted and engulfed by a clouded shroud, the sparkling lights of the Boston skyline and the ships in the distance shone all the brighter. Here was amazement, here was wonder, and here we were - the only two guys in the neighborhood to come out and take advantage of the situation. I knew I'd like Tom right away, he seemed to share a mindset of my own regarding how to appreciate anything and everything in life.

Seemed like Tom had some health concerns - he mentioned something about all of his lymph nodes being removed in a single operation - or at least 12 of them? To be honest, I don't actually know how many lymph nodes humans have. He mentioned something about the doctors finding something in his throat, sounds like they had to chop out the lymphomic system before whatever it was spread to other parts of the body. Here's hoping they caught it, he said he woke up out of an operation and all his lymph nodes were gone. Can you even feel that?

Tom said something about living on his own for the first time in years - sounds like his wife had either died or is dying. He did mention something about her being on the way out at one point, but I'm unsure if he was talking about her or someone else. He also mentioned recently losing his dog - which, to be honest - hit a little too close to home. He was happy to hear I had a puppy as well, I started to tell him I don't exactly have him anymore, the ex got him in the breakup - but there didn't seem to be much of a point.

From his stories tonight, Tom seems to have lived an extremely interesting and varied life. Him and "Jack?" founded some park up in Vermont. I didn't catch the name - I wish I had - he mentioned it a few times. I name-dropped having been to Waitsfield two weeks ago, and going to Wardsboro this weekend and he didn't bite - seemed to recognize Leigh's hometown but didn't even flinch about Waitsfield. I should have mentioned Mad River or the Catamount trail, he seemed more like that type of guy. He said we should go hiking up in Vermont sometime - I said I'd love to, but I'm not sure he's in any condition to do that type of thing anytime soon. I told him I was excited to bring Milo up there this weekend, and he mentioned he used to raise Chow dogs (?!), and he once brought 30 of them with him up to Vermont to run around. Good mental image. He talked about the Chow raising/breeding game a bit more over the course of the night too.

I'm not sure I heard this correctly, but Tom might have said he used to be a smuggler, and used to run cocaine to Florida out of both Colombia and Panama. Holy shit. Before I even had a chance to really wrap my head around that and pursue that line of questioning, he had already moved on to a different subject. Mentioned being a man of the sea (damn right), and that he knew his way very well around a boat. Invited me to go sailing with him at some point. Said he knew someone who would be passing soon who had a small red sailboat docked somewhere in the Navy Yard, and was thinking about picking up the ship from her. We both reflected that the onset of Winter was probably a pretty terrible time to invest in a boat, and that neither of us had anything in the way of money anyway. Still, I'm going to have to go looking for that boat.

This entire conversation occurred on the docks of the Charlestown Navy Yard, on a park bench set up looking out over the water. The USS Cassin Young, the enormous, prestigious, and statuesque modern grey terror of a battleship about 100 feet away from us, blending in with the gloom of the night. About 150 feet away, behind that monstrosity? The O.G.USS Constitution, a stately and majestic frigate / galleon / man-o-war type (gonna have to figure out exactly which one at some point). Apparently Tom used to work on board - not sure what capacity. He said he owned a piece of it - said he was given (actually didn't say how he acquired it) a porthole cover - the hinged thingy that covers up the cannon windows when they're not in use. Also mentioned that it weighs about 100 pounds, is nearly 3 feet tall, and he wears it on his back sometimes while walking around. (???)

I gave Tom my number. I got his too, he's in my phone as Tom From The Dock. I was looking forward to seeing this strange old man again, listening to his stories, hopefully while sitting on that same bench on the pier, or maybe up in Vermont romping with a pack of Chow dogs. Still can’t get that mental image out of my mind. He was a good man.

But

I never saw him again.

I went out to that dock almost every night for the next month, hoping to run into Tom again, hoping he was still his strange, spry self. Hoping he was OK.

Hoping, but fearing the worst.

I hope you’re out there Tom. I hope you got yourself that small red sailboat and set sail. I hope one of those little ships I see out there every time I head back to those docks and look to the horizon is you. You deserve it, pal.

... you and your scurvy crew of 30 Chow sea-dogs