One of my favorite pastimes as a younger Mariner was visiting older Mariner’s houses and, beer in hand, staring at the ‘Family Photos’ of Deep Rivers, Westbrooks and Guilfords past.  Some went back to the sixties, some of the faces I’d recognize, most aged since then, some gone to the great Muster beyond.

The Mariners, time and technology march invariably onward, and somewhere on this march, the Family Photo tradition died.  Professional photographers couldn’t cover costs doing it in the digital age, and I hear, that someone, somewhere building bonehenge out of the photographer’s staging one drunken night didn’t help.

Proudly, this year, The Mariners managed to loosely organize ourselves and a camera at Westbrook.  Here’s the result, and here’s to future generations of Mariners wondering what happened to Dan’s hair between the last family photo and this one and whose face is behind Woody’s Ale, if they can figure out who’s who at all.

“”To reap the rewards, you have to do the work.” In its Zen-like simplicity, this is what PMC Founder and Executive Director Billy Starr took home from a 400-mile hike through the northern and most challenging part of the Appalachian Trail. This knowledge, learned years ago, has not only shaped his life but has enabled him to run what is today the single most successful athletic fundraising event in the nation. “  –from Pan Mass Challenge Website.

The Mariners support a variety of causes each year, two of the most notable being Joe Mawn’s (Vice Commodore) and Dick Walter’s (Chief Bass Drummer) marathon bike rides.  Joe rides across Massachussetts in the Pan Mass Challenge, while Little Dick cruises between Boston and New York in three days in the Tri State Trek, benefitting the ALS TDI, frequently giving up the fabled Deep River Muster weekend to do so.

Last weekend, Joe hosted a sunset cruise around Boston Harbor as part of his fundraising efforts. (and what’s a boat ride without a touch of rum?)

Both ride hundreds of miles during the event and untold miles in training, in memory of friends and loved ones lost to cancer and Lou Gehrig’s disease.  The Mariners have lost more than their share to both, and we (and I) thank Joe and Dick for their respective parts, and indeed, work,  in raising awareness and funds..

Both are still actively fund raising for this year’s events if you are so inclined.   Click here for Joe, here for Little Dick, Rider 29.

Check out some more pictures of our sorted past.

Photos from 1987 & 88

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1987-88

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1987 and 1988

Photos from 1989 & 90

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1989-90

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1989 and 1990

Photos from 1985

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1985

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1985

Photos from 1986

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1986

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1986

Swiss Mariners and Friends from 1983

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1983

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1983

and 1984

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1984

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1984

Swiss Mariners and friends from 1981 and 1982

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1981

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1981

Swiss Mariners Photos from 1982

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1982

Fall is beloved by many for the fire reds and pumpkin oranges that take over our trees before the onslaught of winter. It is also the time that many fifers and drummers are preparing for their final weekend beneath the stars, cranking out tunes next to a warm fire in an old corn field in Sudbury, Massachusetts. On the grounds of the historic Wayside Inn fifers and drummers gather for the annual Sudbury Colonial Faire and Fife and Drum Muster.

The parade, on Saturday, is strikingly short, which bodes well for those that may have been over-served during the Friday evening festivities. Here are a few shots of the imbibers taken five or six years ago during that parade.

 


 

 

 

 
Naturally, the Mariners always find a way to enjoy themselves at this bucolic muster and it has become the favorite for many. What I did not know until recently, however, is the role the Mariners had in its inception.

So, let me begin a story for you.

The picture below is of Russ Kirby, who, for decades, was most recognizable as the emcee at the Sudbury Muster. As you can see he is holding a fife.
 

 
The fife he is holding is one that he made and, as it turns out, he has made quite a number of fifes, including these beauties, which are made from some old timbers that were once a part of the Wayside Inn.
 

 
How did he get timbers from the Inn you might ask? Well, in December of 1955 there was a great fire at the Inn that destroyed the entire North and West wings of the building.
 

 
Consequently, there were lots of old timbers that had been removed and put into storage on the property of the Wayside Inn. The old charred timbers sat for many years until Russ, a novice instrument maker, came along and asked if he could use some of the wood to make some fifes. Most of it he found unusable due to massive damage from moisture and insects. But, he was able to salvage a few pieces and build the set pictured above.

Not long after, the Sudbury Fife and Drum Corps found themselves at the Deep River Muster playing the ‘Redhorse Fifes’ that Russ had made. What happened next is a wrinkle in Mariner history that surprised me. Listen to the audio file below as Russ, in his own words, conveys what happened next.

 

 Birth of Sudbury Muster [1:47m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Photos from 1977 just added

Swiss Mariner Photos 1977

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1977

Here are some photos from Swiss Mariner past. More to come

Swiss Mariner Photos 1973

Photos of the Swiss Mariners and friends

Swiss Mariner Photos 1974

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends

Swiss Mariner Photos 1975

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1975

Swiss Mariner Photos 1976

Photos of Swiss Mariners and friends from 1976

A New England afternoon in early summer. You know the kind: blue skies, white clouds, sugar maples swaying to the moisture laden air, sweet with salt fresh from Long Island Sound. All the peace and tranquility of a quiet Connecticut town.

Until the ‘entertainment’ began. I had never seen or smelled anything like it. The sulfurous roar as the canon announced their approach. If I could understand ‘canon-ese,’ I would certainly have heard it crying, ‘Fag a Baile! The Mariners are coming!’ And then the sea of red and white stripes and hats and ‘kerchiefs and pewter swinging at hips, and oh, the continued roaring of the drums and the wailing of the fifes as they got closer and closer, until I could see the tooth baring yelps of men, the barefoot-swagger, the pirate in chains leaping through the crowd, matched in enthusiasm and vigor only by the children jumping up and down for joy at the spectacle.

I know. I was 8. I was one of them.

And like a boy signing on board a sailing ship, some part of me left home that morning and hasn’t returned.

It’s been 27 years since that morning when The Mariners marched into my world, never to depart. I have wondered in the interim how eight-year-old me knew, even then, that this was the thing and the place for me. There are different flashes of memory- how it moved me, the music, the noise, the commotion, the pure power and joy; I still wonder, what makes it so magical? And other things I never could have known at that point, like how talented and amazing each and every member of this disorganization is; how they have become family, friends, brothers, counselors, role models and confidants to me through the intricacies, trials and victories that have filled my days. My feelings and ideas have evolved over time, and yet, only in small and inadequate ways have I ever been able to understand or explain.

This seems to be a universal failing among Mariners. ‘Friends.’ ‘Family.’ ‘Heart and Soul.’ All the usual monikers have never explained, never painted a picture worth looking at that even hinted at the model the artist was attempting to render. I was beginning to believe the old religious mantra, “For those who believe, no proof is necessary, for those who do not, no proof is possible.” I was reminded also of a long-standing tradition among sailors to take in hand a painting or photograph of a vessel, stare at it until the smallest inconsistency or error is found in its content and then discard it, never to be looked at again. This seems the fate of definition.

And so it was with amazement and joy that, this August, in a bar, in a somewhat less than reputable section of a very old town, my good ‘friend,’ Greg Bacon, did the job for all time, capturing it for me. With seventy-five or so absolutely soused companions, he masterminded, orchestrated and conducted a cry we have all unwittingly rallied to, one that does as good a job as any at conveying who we are, and why we dedicate our lives to the relentless and sometimes reckless pursuit of human decency and dignity in the most raucous, life-loving and affirming way we know how- because simply, “We Are The Mariners.”

 

 Let the Good Times Ring [1:21m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download