Charles V. Stanfield:
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As the season breaks, the only thing that can compete with the sweet, salty
aroma of a new spring is a warm sunny morning. St. Michael's is rewarded
with both today.
Driving down the long even lane to Charles Veryl Stanfield's creek-side home, I observe the "old-timer" in the drive, taking in both his surroundings and my idle approach. This spring marks Charlie's 64th season as a crabber, and June 11th marks his 90th year on earth. |
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It is a seemingly perfect day where the sky is blue, the trees are budding
and the waters of Broad Creek are serene as they cradle the boats of
long-time watermen, father and sons. With a gleam in his eye and his
faithful feline friend "Inky" at his feet, Charlie guides me down the path
toward his dock. As he steps into his fiberglass boat, "Katie" - named
after his granddaughter- I ask what keeps him going. A straightforward man
with to-the-point answers, he replies, "I just like to be on the water."
This desire to be on the water, coupled with the search for a decent living
during the Depression era, brought Charlie to the world of crabbing in
1935. Having previously worked on the streetcars in Baltimore and as a
trucker, making 10 cents per hour, he figured he could significantly
improve his financial situation by harvesting the crustaceans that have
made Maryland's seafood market a booming success. With a knowing smile he
asks, "How would you like to be making 10 cents an hour?"
Sixty-four years ago, Charlie saved his meager earnings to buy his first
boat and thus began his lifetime contribution to the industry. Since these
humble beginnings, this veteran waterman has seen and experienced many
changes, ranging from the selling price of crabs to the variety of bait.
"The money has changed...we used to get 2 to 2.5 cents per pound and used
to sell in barrels. Now we get $60.00 per bushel."
And as for the bait? "We used eels all the time. Now, crabs won't bite
them. It has to be chicken necks and bull-lips. The chicken doesn't last
though; the crabs eat them right up. Bull lips last a few days." [This new
editor is getting quite the education- and fast- from Charlie Stanfield.]
He has words of wisdom not only for me, but also for young watermen just
beginning in the industry: "Even on the water, you should still have an
education. Technology is a big part of things now."
We are greeted by Charlie's son-in-law Donald Albright and his son, Tom (one
of nine children), and the four of us cruise the waterfront and survey the
new, posh properties that dot the landscape. Tom and Donald tell me that
there are probably around 30 spreads-one of them could be qualified as a
mansion-here where Charlie's family farm formerly sat. All last summer,
Charlie fished these waters which kiss the shoreline of his forefathers'
waterfront farmland-a property that once comprised two miles of shoreline
alone. Charlie and many of his children were born in the original c.1800
home which still stands.
Charlie does not seem to be one to dwell on the past, however. Though
"retired" a little over a decade ago, he has had roughly three boats since
then, and six out of seven days of the week last summer you'd have found
him hard at work crabbing.
Not only does he work hard, Charlie plays hard. Says Donald, "After
spending the day crabbing [a day that begins at 3:30 a.m.], he works in the
garden-no one else can touch it - then plays pool." And, apparently no one
can touch him at pool: "He whips all the younger guys," says Tom. To this
end, Charlie has converted his shed to a billiards room, complete with air
conditioners to offer reprieve from hot, humid summer nights.
As we disembark, we stand on the dock, summing up our time together. I
have ascertained that these men-anxious to take full advantage of this mild
spring day-are eager to make hay while the sun shines in a profession where
the crabs are the crop and watermen - young and old - reap the harvest.
As I make my departure, I turn back to see Charlie Stanfield making his way down
the dock with a smart step, his faithful friend Inky at his feet,
and no doubt a plan for a quick game of pool before lunch.
Written by Maryellen Apelquist from the Waterman's Gazzette, June, 1999.
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