I was a gopher-labourer in tiny Wilder film studios on Berkeley Street Toronto when a Tourism job came in. The regular camera assistant was busy so I was told to learn how to pull focus, “Oh yes and while you’re at it” get on a plane to Nova Scotia, go location hunting and find a performer or two. Life was good.
The Lunenburg docks were recommended for our attention so I found my way there, stood on the docks for a day watching the activity and looking for the perfect Nova Scotia fisherman. On day two a battered old scallop dragger with iron sides tied up and half a dozen rough looking characters rumbled down the ramp. One of them was wide and strong with a heavy growth and clothes that proved he worked hard for a living, Gathering up my courage, I approached him and asked him if he would help. It was an easy and pleasant affirmation, he told me his name was Otis and “yes” he would meet me here at sunrise one week from that day. Half an hour after unrise on the alloted day there weren’t any picturesque fisherman on the docks, just the cameraman and I walking impatiently up and down. I wished I had asked for a phone number and finally approached a business man in a beautiful suit to ask if he might know Otis. The business man was of course Otis, all spiffed up and shaved for his film debut. He promised to return to his fisherman appearance in a week. He did, the cameraman shot and I pulled focus. Otis was great.
Otis was a descendant of survivors from a ship that went aground off the coast of Nova Scotia. The survivors were of Dutch heritage and they had intended to become farmers. The survivors came ashore to find not much in the way of farmland but instead a perfect and picturesque harbour tucked into the coast. A resilient people, they became fishermen and boat builders and helped build the modern community of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. The shipwrights became internationally known for their abilities whenoneoftheirships,theBluenose,consistentlywonschoonerraces. Asecondlargeshipwasbuilt in meticulous detail for a film entitled Mutiny on the Bounty, which also brought the shipwrights much appreciated attention.
Otis was well known in this community. He lived in a small white house on the hill above town. The house was old but Otis maintained it well. It was a pretty house, very white and very clean. The walks and flowerbeds were lined in carefully placed red, white and blue stones. Inside, everything was dust free and in its place. In contrast with his house, Otis was very rough and rumpled. To give him his due, the roughness was brought about by the way he made his living. Otis was a seaman. He worked on whatever ship would take him, for whatever job was available. He stood at average height with a battered black beret smashed on his head. His face was sun-darkened under a crust of snow-white stubble, two bright steady eyes framed in leather, a thick neck and barrel chest. The anatomy of ocean fishermen is sometimes changed by the demands of their work. A man who pulls nets into a dory for half his life has backward hands. The little fingers become as large as the thumbs because the little finger is used to hook the net for second pulls. The demands of Otis’s work had created exceptionally large forearms and a grip of iron.Otis enjoyed his life. However, one day in the year was his favorite. Because the American fishery on the east coast was very similar to the Canadian fishery, there was a lively competition over who was the best at a wide range of fishing skills. On a day agreed to by all, strong men from Halifax and down the coast, came to Lunenburg, as did the strong men from Boston on up. They joined in a vigorous contest of skill and strength. Otis’s specialty was the dory race. At the prescribed time, men lined up in schooner dories and at the sound of a gun, were off, pulling for all they were worth. Young men who had trained all year for this moment, did their very best and crossed the finish line exhausted and splayed across their oars. Otis, who was usually much older, always won. To add insult to injury, he would cross the finish line grasping the handles of his two twelve foot oaken oars and turn them up vertically with only the power of his wrists.
Each year Otis added a new trophy to the spotless wall of trophies in the little white house on the hill.
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Bill Irish is a 40 year veteran of Canada’s Communication Industry.
