Rudolph

The Maine coast is dotted with rocks, small islands, and a wide variety of “obstructions to navigation.” Sometimes, their names are interestingly suggestive, like Cuckold’s Light, or descriptive of what they can do to a vessel tossed up on them, like the Needles. The Needles lay close to the town where I lived and played an important part in the local lore of navigation. 

Many vessels had been pierced trying to “thread the Needles.” There was a known channel through. But aides to navigation drift off station. And the foolish are beguiled by the impression of a deep and broad channel where none exists. The experienced and the less foolish avoid temptation altogether and take the safe route that avoids the Needles.

Santa arrived by boat in December, as he did in many coastal communities on the Maine Coast. The lobster boat bringing him made a slow progress up past the Widows. As it came along it gathered a parade of boats, with whistles and horns braying. Once past the Widows, the procession turned towards open water, through the Needles, and then back towards the Harbor. Every year, the question was not who Santa and Mrs Clause would be but who would pilot the procession.

I remember best the year the Cap’n ( my father-in-law) piloted.

The Cap’n had spent a sizable hunk of his life at sea and had grown up in the local waters. He was a reasonable selection as a pilot but also a controversial choice. He was known for having a tongue as sharp as a dragon‘s in disputes and rarely forave even accidental slights. Other likable selections had piloted in previous years. Bubba Grey and Spinney, the boat builder from “ovah to tha habah.” had piloted. But this year, the decision was to go with “new blood.” So, the seventy-six-year-old Capn’ was named.

The Saturday morning of the procession dawned all bright and chilly. Santa, Mrs. Clause, various elves and Town officals were all gathered. The only one missing was the Cap’n. Spinney approached me and asked me if I knew if there was a hold up. I replied that all I knew was that my mother in law was fussing with him all evening long last evening. She wanted to give him homemade cold remedies from her family for his head cold . The crowd milled about.

Finally, his car drove down to the wharf, and out he popped. Cora had him swathed in a heavy coat, a set of colorful legwarmers, and a muffler that covered most of his face. He grumbled in a no-nonsense but hoarse voice, “What are we waitin’ for!”

With that, the procession got going. About a half hour later, they uneventfully threaded the eye of the Needles and approached the Harbor.

Just as they were about to dock a gust of wind blew up. It whipped the muffler off his face. As the lines went from the lead boat to the wharf, it revealed that the Cap’ns nose was a very bright cherry red in color. As everyone debarked, most of the attention was on Santa and Mrs. Clause. The local school band played “Here Comes Santa Clause.” However, as the Capn’ got onto the float to lead the parade to Town Hall, they spontaneously broke into “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

The photo in the paper did not help. The the shot of the Cap’ns cherry-red inflamed nose was distinctive. The caption read ” Rudolph Leads Parade!”

Publically, the Cap’n put as good a face on it as he could; it was stage cosmetics for a joke. But privately, relations that Chritsmas between Coara and the Cap’n was fraught. He blamed the home medications, and she blamed the schnapps night caps.

The new nickname about town, Rudy, didn’t help.