HARRY D "THE LEGEND of MAINE"

Harry D
(The “Legend” of Maine)
By Ken Feeley (Peter Alden Yule)


         All around the world, stories are told of great deeds done by simple otherwise unremarkable persons, who’s single magnificent effort has pushed them into a larger than life status, and earned them the title of “legend”. Among these men  we would find such people  as “Babe Ruth” the “legendary” baseball slugger or the equally famous wild west frontier pioneer and hero Davy Crockett. There is the  legendary lawman and pursuer of bad guys, Mr. Elliot Ness. Well such as may come to mind, one would do well to look at the simple life and times of the “Legend of Maine” Mr. Harry D..  Harry was the kind of man that just seemed to know what was right, or what was wrong, what would work and / or what would not. He was certainly a man much respected as I was about to learn. I had looked forward to meeting such a man, for many years. Let me tell you all about it.

         As a young man, at about the time of the start of the second war, I was invited to spend the whole summer in a Maine costal community, with my aunts, uncles, cousins and assorted other relatives on my mothers side of the family. Each of the family members, boys and girls, men and women, all of the proper age, had taken to the craft  of boat building. This was very much a family tradition, and they thought it would be good experience for me, the country boy from up in the mountains to get down to the coast and see how the other folk work and live. I would be employed in some small way at one of the several boatyards, famous for turning out, one at a time, the finest sailing ships of the entire state. It was a tradition of excellence created by the likes of men such as Harry D, that just seemed to grow this whole idea of building only the best. Why just to hear the stories told at the evening meals about the world famous exploits of men like Harry D., was enough to draw any young mans interest at spending the summer in such a way. I would not be disappointed.

         On my arrival I was given the insider’s tour of the town, and was extremely impressed at the hustle and bustle of this old “down east” seaport. It was much busier by far than I had imagined. There were sail making shops, rope works, riggers lofts, ships chandlers, paint shops, cabinet makers, blacksmiths,  engine shops and an endless array of boatyards, each specializing in a specific type of craft. Some boat yards were nothing more than family homes who’s backyards opened on an inlet or tidal basin or small river-way that flowed to the harbor. They specialized in sailing skiffs, or small work boats used for lobstering, or for the coastal fishing trade. Other shipyards were purposely situated at the widest and deepest parts of the harbor, and it was these yards that built the biggest boats. Here were built wood hull ships, that would sail to the furthest ports in the world. These would be ships, able to endure years at sea away from the comforting hands of the shipwrights that brought huge oak trees,  hardwood maples and long leaf yellow pine from the northern forests to life.  This was the stock and trade of such builders. It was easy to see by the community pride taken by every member of the town, how such a place had become world famous. Now I was here, with a chance to not only see, but to take part in this ambitious work that I, had never even considered, having lived in my small town of Oxnard Bow, out on the road to nowhere., for all of my life.

         Just like the small town persons who made up my small town, I found the work hard ethic of these “Mainers” to be no different than those by which I had been raised. The work day began at sunrise, and often time did not end until sundown. Sundays were work free in Maine, and dedicated to the Lord starting with morning worship and usually ending with a church supper.  Sailing during the day was allowed, and I got my first taste of that on my first Sunday in Maine. My cousins had a small sail boat with a single mast, and a shallow draft, allowing them access to most all of the waterways in the area. The boat had the distinction of being one of the earliest “cat” boats, built in town by Harry D. This little sailboat was at least thirty to forty years old, and was as sturdy now, as it was the day it was first launched.  Each time that I sailed in this little boat, I received a lesson in the fine art of sailing, and more information on the venerable life and times of Harry D. What kind of a man was he I thought, to have earned such a reputation and to be so well known and loved and admired. Well it would not take long before I had the chance to find out for myself.

         It was now about five or six weeks since I had arrived in town. I was working at the boat yard of the largest builder in town. My job was simple, clean up the yard, the boat sheds, the docks, and run errands for the primary workers in the yard.  I was told to keep my eyes open at all times, to observe and learn. I was free to ask questions when I wanted explanation, and at all times, serve witness to the common sense that went hand in hand with the experience in building great ships. Well, learn I did and soon I realized that only the oldest builders in the yard were allowed to lay up the lines, for the vessel. That was the art of converting plans on paper into actual framework and planking that went into the beginning stages of construction. Only men who had been to sea, and worked in the yard for many years, seemed to understand the needs of the boat, to flex and bend and twist in all types of seas and weather conditions. Great ships are not rigid structures at all. They each had a personality and a character that was not drawn on paper, but was built into it by the skilled hands that claimed the name of boatbuilder. From time to time, a job or task would lead to discussion, between the men at work on the boat. This more often than not would lead to heated words, and angry exchanges, and inevitably would involve other men in taking sides of the debate. Now the debate may have been over something as simple as exactly where a particular screw or nail or wood dowel would be placed to attach large structures together. It may also have been over something as small and unimportant to my eyes as what type of carved detail would be etched into the trail-boards and trim pieces that would be part of the vessel. This type of debate, argument, or exchange of ideas had only one universal method for determining the outcome, anywhere in town. It did not matter what boat yard or shop had the dispute afoot, the resolve was the same. Send for Harry D.! This man had in my mind reached an almost “god like” level or standing, and it was universal. Wow I thought will I ever get to see him or meet him before going home at the end of summer? The answer was not long in coming. I was called to the office and told a dispute had indeed erupted, and as was custom, the sides involved had agreed to send for Harry D. My chore, was to go to his home and ask him to come into town to help out. Yes, I was about to meet this “Legend of Maine” and had no idea what to expect.

         Harry D. lived out about two miles from town, far away from the boat yards and harbor. Getting in touch with him, or asking him to come into town was not as easy as calling him on the phone, because Harry did not own a phone. He lived a simple life now away from the sea, and as he put it, he was getting back in touch with the land. Harry felt that owning a phone and talking to a voice without seeing a face, would be like telling the weather, by feeling the wind and not looking at the sky. No he had said “if someone wants old Harry to talk with, they will have to fetch me out in person.” Now that task was mine to do. I was given directions to Harry’s home and sent on my way, walking to meet this man, and not only to meet him but to talk with him and to help him “in any way possible” to get him back to town. I did not fully understand that order when it was given, but I promptly started my journey out of town to meet Harry D., filled with a personal challenge of making a good impression on this learned master.

         As I walked the road to Harry’s, I reflected on all I had been told about him. He was born at sea. His father had been a Captain on a large schooner, and on several occasions his wife sailed with him to ports in South America and to the islands of the Caribbean. It was told that on returning from one such trip the ship encountered a hurricane, and rather than trim sail or seek to avoid the peril, instead decided to sail ahead of the storm and gain speed and to beat all records for the voyage. It was during the height of the storm running at full speed with all sails full, and water splashing over the cargo laden decks, that Harry D. was born. From that moment on it is told that Harry found the rest of his life to be dull, and boring and uneventful. That was in part what drove him to achieve more and do more and to exceed where others had not. It was the challenge of life itself that made Harry tick inside. Harry needed challenges, and as a teenaged boy, he set about to build himself a boat. Build it he did, and it was much admired and folks who knew about such things gave him a great deal of encouragement for his work. By the age of nineteen, Harry had built several boats, working from ideas in his head, without drawn plans, and without acquired skills. He built boats so well that at nineteen, his strongest and best built boat to that point would become his next challenge. Harry D at nineteen announced that he would sail alone, single handed in his own hand made boat, around the world. It did not surprise the town folks that he would set out to do this, and soon news of his endeavor reached out to the world. Newspaper people, reporters from Boston and as far away as New York were on hand when the six foot tall handsome young man with the long blonde hair, and the strong arms and hands of a rugged Mainer, arrived at the dock to join into the beginning of his venture.  Some of the reporters on seeing this young man, and what now looked to be a small boat, compared to the ships that surrounded it at the dock, commented on how sad it was that anyone would try such a foolhardy venture as this man was about to try. They knew little of Harry D.

          The entire day in the town was dedicated to Harry and his departure, feasts were set up at the docks, well wishers from all along the coast came into town to see Harry depart. A band from a nearby school played loud off key music but no one noticed the bad notes. It was a joyous and festive occasion, and the highlight of the day finally came in mid afternoon at the time of high tide, when Harry finally said his goodbyes and prepared to set sail. One reporter, who had no other questions in his mind yelled out to Harry, over the noise of the well wishers, “Harry, Harry, when will you be back?” Harry, looked to the sky, put his fingers in the air to sense the wind, looked toward the horizon, and yelled back his stunning response, “I will be back in one year”. Silence fell over the crowd. No one, had ever sailed single handed around the world in one year, no one ever. The answer sunk in and silence gave way to chatter and then to mild surprise and then to a rousing cheer. This crowd, knew that what Harry D. said he would do, he would do! There may have been doubters in the crowd but the overwhelming response did not reflect it. Three cheers arose as the lines to the dock were dropped and the sails filled and Harry Left the harbor to face the unknown.

         In exactly three hundred and sixty one days, four days short of his goal, Harry D. was seen entering the mouth of the harbor at dawn. He had done the impossible, he had set a world record at nineteen years of age and sailed single handed around the world. At each port of call along the way, Harry would document his efforts by having Captains or port officers sign his log book, with the time and date of his arrival and departure. The Record was official. Now, on the three hundred and sixty fifth day, one year to the date of departure, the entire town and the newspaper reporters and the Governor of the State of Maine were on hand for the celebration. Harry was pressed to answer question after question and he did his best to answer them all. Obviously toward the end of the day, when one man asked just how he had done this tremendous thing all alone, his advice and response was that it was “really no great challenge, it was all  a matter of common sense”. Man he said was given by God all the tools he needed to face any challenge, tackle any task, face any peril, do any chore, perform any deed. It is all a matter of  “Common Sense” was his profound clear message. The crowds roared in approval, and on that day, The Legend of Maine was born.

         There was one more question that came up from the crowd, and again silence reigned over the noise, Harry, what will you do next? In less time than  it took him to consider the source of the question, Harry shouted back that he would build a new boat, a double ended sturdy deep sided boat, a little larger than this one, and he would sail around the world again alone, this time though, he would do it non-stop. Again the roar from the crowd and three cheers for Harry D. resounded across the entire port. At the age of twenty four, Harry D. did exactly what he said he would do, and once again he was entered into the record books as unique, daring, fearless and undaunted. Harry D. had earned, at twenty four years old the respect and acclamation that was usually reserved only for the oldest most stalwart men in the community. Harry D was a force to be reckoned with. A man for all ages. Harry D. became the Legend of Maine.

         Now it was time, I could see Harry’s house just ahead of me, and I saw sitting in an old rocking chair, looking off into space, a figure far, far away from what I had expected. I was looking for a Giant, looking for Harry D. , The Legend of Maine. I had been told that Harry was over seventy five years old, and from time to time he was a bit strange, but this, this shriveled thinning shell, this image of a man, rocking on the porch was beyond all of that. I neared his house and turned up the well kept walkway and quickly became aware that Harry had seen me coming. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief as he sat on his porch, rocking back and forth in a well worn rocking chair. Harry D. was wearing no shirt, had on the pants from a pair of old red long johns rolled up to his knees, was barefoot and on top of this all, he was wearing a brightly flowered ladies sun bonnet tied to his head with a piece of old rope. Had I not been in a state of shock, I might have surely surmised that I was at the wrong house. Alas, I was not. This, this poorly drawn comedic character sitting before me was Harry D. He shouted out to me to stop. “Stop where you are, and bend down by your feet, and grab me up a handful of those strawberries, before you take one more step” he shouted. I removed a large clean handkerchief from my pocket and quickly filled it with the beautiful large ripe berries as instructed, and moved furtively toward the porch again. As I got nearer, I asked, “sir are you Mr. Harry D.?”  “Well, if I’m not, then you have probably come a long way for nothing” was his sharp response. He removed the bonnet from his head. “I’ve been tending to those berry patches all morning long. Had to put the bonnet on to keep the sun off my noggin," he explained. “I got so wrapped up in taking care of the weeds and cleaning up the berries that I just plain forgot to stop and eat any” he said. “Here, boy, you have to eat some of these. You should always eat fruit when your young or else you’ll get old and worn before your time” was his advice. “Now boy, just what brings you to old Harry’s door”, and who are you, I don’t recognize you at all, your not from here for certain I can tell that” he expounded in rapid succession. My answer, “I was sent from the boatyard, they need your help, my name is Peter Alden Yule, and I am not from here, I am from Oxnard Bow, and I am spending the summer with my relatives.” “Well said, well said, I like a man that tells it the way it is, sign of an intelligent being and not a slatherer not a sop. So they're in trouble again eh, well no surprise there. It has been a while, more than a month this time, maybe they are starting to get the message, what do you think young Peter, do you suppose they are learning from old Harry?”

  Again, Harry’s joining together of thoughts and questions surprised me. I did not find the man to be at all out of touch with his thinking, and he appeared to be in control of all of his faculties. I was surprised. “Peter  Alden Yule, you say, well I don’t know of any Yule’s in town, but Alden, now there is a name I know. Probably a name from you mother’s side of the family, Am I right, no,, no don’t tell me of course I am right, your John Alden’s nephew, Yes, that’s who you are, and that is why an up country boy like you was sent to fetch old Harry. Your Uncle is proud of you boy, you must be special, or he would never have sent you out for old Harry’s inspection.” In less than a minute, Harry had struck the nail on the head, had looked at a situation and massaged it with uncanny wisdom and come to a conclusion. I was amazed and dared to ask, “how did you do that sir, how did you figure that out so quick” Harry responded in the shortest answer that I would hear all day. “Just common sense” was all he said. In just ten minutes time, I could see why Harry D. had earned his reputation, his “legend” status. I liked Harry, and I think he liked me on first impression.

         Well now it was time to go back to town, and Harry having eaten the last of the Strawberries, began giving instructions once again. Harry began to speak, after he had retied the bonnet on to his head. “Peter, I want you to know that the only reason that two men building a boat, or a house, or anything else can’t come to the right answer is this, Pride. Stubborn pride is the  biggest enemy a man can have, never wanting to be wrong, just foolishness. We are all wrong at some point. Men with stubborn pride don’t get too far in this world, nope not far. Are you a proud man Mr. Yule?” He asked.

    Again I think I may have pleased Harry when I told him that I did not think that I was a prideful man, unless of course it was pride in a job well done! “Good point young Peter Yule, pride in a job well done is a virtue, not a curse. I will try to remember that” was what Harry said. He followed up the philosophy portion of the moment with a clear instruction. “Go over to the tool shed just over there, and when you go in, on the side about twelve feet down on the left, you will see a big wheelbarrow. Go there and bring it back over to the steps now.” This was an odd request, but being the new man, I responded as instructed, went to the shed, opened it and saw that every tool every item, every square inch of the space was neat, organized with great care and not like any shed I had ever seen. Hooks on the walls held rope and large hand tools each carefully cleaned and ready for instant use, and every box was labeled and every cabinet secured with a wood pin. I could easily see the marks of a craftsman in the way the shed was arranged. Exactly twelve feet down on the left side I found the old wheelbarrow that Harry had requested. I carefully turned it toward the door, not wanting to bump anything and proceeded back to the porch not knowing what would come next.

         I was not sure just what Harry had in mind with the wheelbarrow, perhaps he had one more chore to do, I thought. I carefully moved the wheelbarrow out of the shed and over to the porch, where Harry was still seated. I brought it up to the stairs and Harry stood up, and moved toward the steps. Harry was indeed short, probably from his advanced years. He was I think less than five feet tall, and could not have weighed more than one hundred pounds. A small frail, but highly active man, with a definite twinkling in his eye, that belied all of his many life time exploits. This man looked more like a sparkling aged elf of mythological stature, than a rugged around the world sailor. Harry bounced down the steps and in an instant, he curled his whole body into the standing wheelbarrow. I was in shock, when he barked out the order, “Damn the torpedo’s full speed ahead.”  Full speed ahead, Just what had I gotten myself into I thought.

         Harry made the order clear. “Mr. Yule, at my age, I do not walk two miles to town to answer any foolish questions, to resolve any disputes, or to offer free advice to any man too proud to be found wrong. The only way Harry goes to town is if someone else does the walking, and I get to ride. Ain’t fancy, but it works so lets get a move on now.” I was sure of my mission, but had a great deal of reservation about moving Harry D. The Legend of Maine, down a country road in his current attire, to resolve problems among men who showed him such great respect. Never the less, here I was a sixteen year old country boy pushing a wheelbarrow full of a legendary hero, down the middle of an old road in coastal Maine.
         
         As the first moments of our journey passed, I became obsessed with the vision of it all, and started to laugh inside. Harry being as perceptive as he was must have seen the tell tale grin on my face and he quickly asked what was so danged funny!. I had been found out and so I shared with him my amusing concern. Harry broke out in an uncontrollable laughter, that could be heard for miles. Dogs from houses still a quarter mile away began to bark. I caught the laughter bug from Harry and laughed so hard with him that I almost dumped him from the wheelbarrow onto the roadway. I sat the wheelbarrow down, and together we laughed for five minutes, until tears filled our eyes. “Boy, I like your spunk, your family has got to be pleased with you, you come from good stock, and I can’t think of a time when I have had as good a driver as you.” I thanked him for his complement, picked up the wheelbarrow handles and started on our way again. The dogs that had been barking raced toward us, and as they neared us Harry called them by name. They moved up to the side of the wheelbarrow and he patted them on the head and sent them on their way. He knew every dog on the whole two mile road by name, and more importantly they knew him.

    As we grew closer to town, ladies would come out to their front yards just to say hello and wave to Harry as he passed by in his royal carriage being pushed by his loyal servant. To my amazement no one was taken aback by Harry’s appearance. I was for a moment drawn to the story of the Emperors New Suit. As we passed each house, waved at each neighbor, talked to one more dog, I felt myself growing just a little bit taller, being in the company of and service of Harry D., The Legend of Maine. I enjoyed this man and could easily relate to him, and he to me. I enjoyed this bit of my summer more than any other part, and would not trade it for anything. By the time we reached the boat yard, I trusted that all of the stories about Harry were true, and that he perhaps could solve any problem anytime, and now my challenge was to find out how he did all this. Harry had never received any formal schooling. He had no outward credentials, just what was his secret?

         As we reached the boatyard, we were ushered inside and taken to the place where the new vessel was being built. Harry was helped on board, and he beckoned me to join him. We sat as the two opposing points of view were explained, with a great deal of accuracy, so that the problem could be understood even by a country boy like me. Harry made his way below decks, and I followed, to see the problem up close. We climbed back up on deck, and then Harry turned to me. Peter Alden Yule, son of the sons of Maine, you have sat quietly listening to two fine gentlemen, both skilled and talented in their trades, explain a serious problem. You have witnessed the problem first hand, and now before I tip my hand in this matter, I am asking you, Which is the right way to do this job. Silence that was deafening, stillness that could be seen, disbelief from twenty men, that Harry would dare to put such a question before such a new comer, an outsider, a boy who had never sailed, raised the tension to a breaking point. “Why sir, I would have to say that if I were to make such a choice, it would be most difficult, but if pressed on the issue, I would have to go with the second mans way”. I held my breath for what would come next. Would I be tossed over the side, or subjected to scorn for life, had I made the right choice. Some men laughed some men grumbled, and Harry raised his hands for all to be still. “Young Mr. Yule, has made a decision, and I want to know why he feels as he does.” I did not know the proper words to define the action of the wood and the joiner work required to do the task, and so I looked squarely at Harry, who’s face was now filled with great expectation of the next words that I would speak. “Well”, I said and reaching down inside for the correct words, “Well sir, to me it’s just common sense to do it that way.” Harry D. looked at the crowd now gathered, reached out and took my hand and held it high in the air. “The boy is right, absolutely right, let’s hear it now for Peter Alden Yule, a true man without prideful ways, and filled with common sense.” The men responded, with three cheers and applause, and I felt ten feet tall. The Legend of Maine, a withered and frail man of equal stature to the greatest legends of all time had in one short afternoon changed my life. Trust in one’s self, don’t be afraid to be different, tell it like it is, and call it as you see it. This was Harry D’s legacy to a young boy from a town out on the road to nowhere.

         As the men went back to work, I helped Harry down from the boat, and walked over to get his wheelbarrow, with the trip back to his home uppermost in my mind. The foreman of the boatyard walked over to us and offered me his hand in having met the challenge. The wheelbarrow was placed in the back of an old pickup truck, and Harry D and I were seated in the front with the foreman. The trip back to Harry’s house was only five minutes long and when we arrived there, the foreman gave me the rest of the day off, to spend with Harry D. and to help him with some unfinished gardening, work that I knew well. I met Harry several more times that summer, and each time I felt that I had been in the company of genius. The Legend of Maine will last forever in my memory.