|
|
Sea
spray showers the face of “Junie Bomba”. And a
strong breeze tugs at his hat as his boat cuts through the choppy blue-green waters off St. Croix. Four-foot
swells hit at 15-second intervals, but Junie is unperturbed. He has spent years unlocking the sea’s secrets and knows her as few living men
do. “She’ll heal your wounds if treated with respect,” he says, but she’ll rise up and kill
you at the first sign of contempt. “People
don’t believe these things,” he says, but he’s weathered enough storms to know.
He’s a third generation seaman – a descendant of men who plied these waters for years in
cargo-laden vessels. Junie
lives in the shadow of his father – a legendary seaman whose exploits are still mentioned whenever
local sailors swap tales of the sea. Those who knew
him, say that the seafaring talents of Wilfred “Bomba” Allick, were second to none.
His travels took him as far as Denmark and the Azores. He loved
racing, piloted 80-foot schooners, navigated by the stars, and was still active at age 84 when he
was cut down by the wheels of a drunken driver. This is
the tradition that Junie fights to maintain. “It’s
in my blood,” he says. “They don’t call me Junie
Bomba for nothing.” He’s
slim but well muscled and tall. His skin is parched
from frequent exposure to the sun, and his hands are calloused from the rigors of job.
Junie Bomba was born Wilfred Allick Jr. on Nov. 23, 1945.
He was his father’s first son. His mother,
Emelda, remembers him as a good boy who liked to tease a lot. By age 5
he already was accompanying his father on some of his travels.
He quit school in the 8th grade, picked up carpentry and plumbing in the Job
Corps, but wanted to return to the sea. Nowadays Junie
Bomba teaches youngsters the sailing skills that were handed down to him by his father. I once
sailed with Junie Bomba 14 years ago on a vessel he no longer owns.
She was called the “North Star,” and “eight tons of old boat,” was how Junie
described her. She was built from mahogany, teak and ironwood at the turn of the century.
She was 32 feet long, carried 560 square feet of sail, and sported a green-and-white finish.
A photo of Junie’s father hung below deck, a talisman that protected his son from the perils of
the sea. Seven
passengers were aboard the North Star on that Saturday morning jaunt to Buck Island, and the
departure from the congested Christiansted Harbor was not smooth.
Yes, I remember the events of that day quite well; and
the story will be retold to my grandchildren and their grandchildren the way I recall it –- like a
great Caribbean epic. And
verily, little ones, it came to pass that Junie gripped the tiller and tackled the vicious Christmas
winds – stiff gales from the east that make upwind sailing tricky.
Here amidst the swirling spray, is where Junie feels most at home.
This is where he retreats when the pressures of the world crash down on him.
And this is where man – “the most dangerous element of the world” – can do no harm. Junie’s
path hasn’t easy. His world almost crumbled years
many moons ago when a former girlfriend sold her share of the boat, took $50, 000 from his account
and fled to the mainland. Meanwhile, native sailors and sloops no longer dominate the Christiansted harbor.
Now, white sailors from afar – mainly the continental U.S. – monopolize the industry. Some
lack manners and discipline, Junie says. Others stare
him down as though he has no business among them. The
Frederiksted resident is undaunted, however. The spirit of Papa Bomba watches over him and applauds
each time he drops anchor at shore. Under
Junie’s leadership, another generation will unfurl their sails when sunrise flickers in
tomorrow’s sky. Junie chuckles at the thought of this and eases back on the tiller. The winds are
behind him now and a legacy forges on. Notes:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|