That's IT Gerry. The verse I buggered up is now
corrected. Sorry, I was driving a National Treasure
of England, his wife, and my girl and couldn't write
it down.

Townley didn't do the 'rum' verse, as I recall. But
Stan did.

I miss John--- he always lent a new twist. First year
at Mystic, a fellow ran up to me, all excited, and introduced
himself to John Townley. I explained that John wasn't the only
5'2" chantyman...

That same year, an old fellow came up to me, introduced himself
as 'Stan' and asked if I was the lad from San Francisco. I damned
near fainted in the oyster shells. Then he asked where the 'brown
girl' that I'd come out with was...he was looking for Celeste
Bernardo, to set up a gig in San Francisco.

Later, he came up, grabbed my (illicit) beer and said 'I need
something to lubricate my larynx before I go on' and drank half
the bottle in one 'chug.' Bloody hell.

Then he went and pissed it out on the immaculate topsides
of the Brilliant.

Fast forward a few years. Stan's in the back seat of the car,
I'm hosting him for the severalth time on both coasts. I asked
him about Whaling Johnny. I hadn't the nerve to ask what I really
wanted to ask, 'Please do me a painting.'

Idiot.

I'd put it off until next year.

"Stan has passed away," said Celeste, just before we wept together
on the phone. "Just one more Maui, that's all I wanted..." said I.

A couple of years later, I'm living in the New York area (of all
things.) Townley and the X- had mentored me across 2800 miles, and
there I was, singing weekly with Frank Woerner and befriended (often
at 3AM) by Bernie Klay.

Then Bernie, Cmdr. Klay, too, was gone.

At the memorial at South Street, Bernie's long-suffering love, Karen
asks "What should I do with the mandolins?" I said "give them to
Townley." Must have been a small fortune's worth. "There's a Stan
Hugill painting..."

Devil on one shoulder angel on the other.

Angel wins.

"Give it to Mystic Seaport-- they don't have one."

Months pass. Another late-night phone call.

"I don't think Bernie wanted Mystic to have it. I think he wanted
you to have it."

"Okay--- if you think that's right, I'd love to have it."

Guess it was the payment for all those 3AM phone calls. Why
does anyone answer the phone at 3AM, anyways?

Give the address. Hold breath for 3 days.

God. Don't let them lose it or destroy it.

Here it is. Open it. My God. Nothing like anything else. A
luminous masterpiece.

Here it is. Doesn't do it justice The 'super-abundance of checked shirt'
is palpable. And the sky is just--- exactly like a tropical sky.

It can light up a dark room. Never knew Stan could paint like that.

It lives over my work-station, I look at it daily.

Oh--- I did make it up to Mystic.

Another East Coast friend turned out to be William Main Doerflinger,
who lived just a few minutes from me. We threw one hell of a sea-music
party at his house, not long before he went to Fiddler's Green.
Anyway, in the early 60's Stan had given him the centerpiece of his
study, a classic Hugill painting of a ship in full sail. When Bill
had gone, I persuaded his son to donate the painting to Mystic, the
only Hugill in their collection. I lovingly took it up there, and
presented it at the Festival. Just a couple of years after I got the
one that I'd tried to get them, I got them theirs. Not as nice as
mine, but there it is.

Couldn't get them to agree not to sell it--- they don't like
conditions on gifts. Which explains in part why I won't see you
all next week.

This is all a long way from 'Whaling Johnny' but then it isn't.

Remarkable, deep, personal friendships and hospitality have been
the magic behind the preservation of this genre. That's something
that other folks don't understand...as they try to 'balance the
books.'

'Whaling Johnny' is the perfect example. Didn't even make it into
the books. But was given in the back seat of a 1985 Camry on the
way to Mystic from Hartford. From one fellow to another who'd met
again and yet again on both coasts of these united states.

And Stan's 15 years gone.

Yet his generosity continues, in those of us who remember
it, and pass it on.