Whatever they say about me in the end, at least I made it over the bridge a few times…

That’s an inside joke here in Gloucester, “getting over the bridge”. You see, we live on an island on the tip of Cape Ann, which is north of Boston. While we’re only 45 minutes from the self-proclaimed “Hub of the Universe”, Gloucester to its residents can seem like the end of the earth. Which isn’t far from the truth; we jut out into the Atlantic, more comfortable with the sea that has supported us for almost 400 years than the land at our back. I have friends that literally don’t cross the bridge over our Annisquam River. It is more like a moat, separating Gloucester and Rockport from West Gloucester. I however have had the chance to leave and come back a couple times and every time I return, I appreciate my town even more.

If you watched the movie “The Perfect Storm” you probably have the impression that we’re all hard drinkin’, hard workin’ fishermen that don’t care as much for nature as we do for money. Well, I can’t deny we do have a part of that here but it isn’t the entire town. Many of my friends are still in the business: dragging, scalloping and lobstering. Hard workers all of them, and in many cases hard drinkers too, but every last one of them holds the deepest respect for the sea that gives us and our town life. The experts say that there isn’t any more fish – but they are catching them now more than 10 years ago. Every net is full past the quotas, meaning hundred of pounds of codfish are thrown overboard everyday – so much for conservation.

I’ve worked in the fishing industry growing up but it never was a career option for me. I lobstered with my dad as well as fished for striped bass in the summer. I also worked at a couple of wharves culling lobsters, selling ice, and unloading fish to be shipped. My grandpa was a captain; we had our family boat the “St. Peter” named for the patron saint of fishermen. My ancestors from Sicily came here and found that they could ply their trade in our fertile waters. And so the three generations before me had the luxury of working with their fathers and grandfathers in the world’s most dangerous profession in the city that brought codfish and the name Gortons to the world. I got to go dragging with my dad and grandpa only twice before they sold the boat and I was on the old boat as much as possible back then. I guess they didn’t want me to get a taste for it. I was always told that I’m going to school to have a better life. It took awhile but I think I understand now why they did it.

We’ve been lucky not to have too many disasters at sea in my family. But our city hall records the names of thousands who lost their lives fishing our waters. Our new monument to fishermen’s wives reminds us of all the widows and fatherless children our city has had since 1623. Both my grandfathers tell stories of almost sinking, huge storms, steamers that just miss hitting the boat by feet. One of my grandfathers is missing a finger from a mishap; and I know a few other guys that are missing more. Both my great-grandfathers were killed in wharf accidents and my great-great grandfather was killed by a split cable hitting him in the chest. This is not a lot of hardship for a fishing family; a high school friend of mine lost almost all the men in his family when their boat went down in 1995, and I know kids without a father after a tanker hit their boat a few summers back.

I eventually went to college and became the first person in my family to do so and graduate. My degree in Anthropology has helped me understand my family history and the sub-culture of the Italian-American community in which I was raised. I have also been able to travel, backpacking Europe twice and visiting my family’s ancestral hometown in Sicily. It’s been almost three years since my last trip, yet I am still enjoying everything. Small towns and cities always breed a certain mentality that I’ve tried to avoid. However, when you’re “stuck” it’s easy to start having that mindset. And any time now, I’ll have to leave town again to keep my sanity. But for right now everything here is great, the weather is cold and from my window I can see the steam rise off the harbor, partially blocking my view of the lighthouse on Ten Pound Island. At night from my view on Governor’s hill the whole town is lit up. The spires of city hall and the Universalist church (the first in America) can be seen from out at sea. The lighthouse on Eastern Point shines it beacon at me every seven seconds, followed by the bellow of the foghorn on some nights. I still feel lucky enough to have gone “over the bridge” a couple times and I know I will again. But there is no chance that I’ll cross that bridge and not come back to Gloucester.

"Finding Myself in Gloucester" appeared in "Seven Seas Magazine", March 2002