Now Ben had been a man of the sea for many years and somewhere along the line he had developed a taste for alcoholic drinks, however, I never remember him having any of his own. If someone would bring a bottle of whiskey over to Ben's house, he would get out three shot glasses, one for the person who brought over the bottle and two other glasses, one for himself now, and the other one was carefully filled and placed on the cupboard shelf for tomorrow. He had good friends who did make and have it around all the time and they needed to have a fish to eat now and then. Their need for fish in their diet, seemed to me, related to how frequently Ol' Ben acquired a real bad thirst. It was not unusual for Ben to say to me during the afternoon, "Glenn, go get your car and we will take Bill up a fish to eat. Tomorrow I'll give you five gallons of gasoline." Of course I knew he meant Bill Haas, a bachelor farmer, who always had a barrel or two of hard cider in his pit. In cases of real bad thirst, he could find a bottle of "white lightning" around the house too.

It took some time for me to realize the five gallons of gasoline would never happen. However, in all fairness I must admit he did, on a couple of occasions, fill up a little red gallon can and with considerable ceremony, we would raise up the front seat of my car and pour it in the tank. It didn't matter that much to me, you see, I was enjoying the experience of feeling I was needed, and I knew I would be included in a small way in the activities. Besides, it was fun and I'd hear some fantastic stones.

Ben was never comfortable in a car, I'm sure, as he would sit perfectly straight up, with both legs shoved out I front of him and his feet were firmly planted against the floorboards. He always stuck his corncob pipe in his mouth and held it there with his left hand while his right hand was on the car door. We would barely get under way when he, in his loud voice, would say "Now take it easy or I'll hada' throw out the arnkor!" (anchor)

Bill Haas was another island character and, in my opinion, there will never be another person quite like him. He loved fun - I never saw the man angry for any length of time and if he did get upset about something, he could always find something humorous about it. You just couldn't be angry with him - he would josh you out of it somehow. I don't think I ever heard him say a sentence that didn't have some profanity in it, or he didn't use the Lord's name in vain in some manner. He would be having fun all the time. Even the most reverent of people would excuse him by saying "He just can't help it, that's Ol' Bill."

Now for me, a young fellow who had lived rather a sheltered life at North Manitou lighthouse for nine years - a trip up to Ol' Bill's with Ol' Ben was an education by itself. My learning process was accelerated to a pace that could make a young fellow dizzy, and it did a few times, too.

I do not know how Ben got into the fishing business or where he met his first wife, or how he came to settle on the island. I do know he owned property across the road from the schoolhouse on the south end of that field. The Armstrongs had a home on the north end of that field. There was evidence of buildings on each end

Ben always dressed the same. His clothes were those of a ship's officer, dark navy blue, complete with vest and necktie. He always wore a ship officer's cap without the emblems. The inside vest pocket was secured with a horse blanket safety pin. Below that pin was a large bulge. He carried a wallet, mostly for appearance. One of his favorite expressions was '1 can go anywhere, in the coldest kind of weather, with just my vest and knock (sic) tie on!"

After Ben raised his family and his first wife died, he moved into one of the houses on the Point. The house that became known as Ol' Ben's house to everyone else on the island.

When I first began to work for Ben I was really not ready for all the things I had to learn in order to be of any value to him. You see, our family had just moved from North Manitou Island where I had spent most of my time taking care of a group of little kids.

I could row a skiff after a fashion, but the fine points I had not been told about, like feathering your oars when going into the wind and taking a bearing over the stern of the boat in order to hold a straight course. I had never sculled a boat in my life. I was determined to learn and I did; however, I never could do it like Ol' Ben. He would face forward and scull with one hand and hold his corncob pipe in his mouth with the other hand. What an accomplished sailor he was. I've thought about it and I've wondered why did he have so much patience with me? Did he do it because I was the son of Martin Furst, a former shipmate of his, or because there were no other young men around who would work for two dollars a day?

It was my second summer with Ben and we were fishing two settings of gill nets and a pond net located out in front of the lighthouse. We were getting ready to lift the pond net one morning when a couple of Coast Guard men came by and asked Ben to bring in a few undersized whitefish to smoke. Generally this did not create a problem, but it seems Ben had just heard about the game warden arresting a couple of fishermen over in Leland for shipping undersized whitefish. I could see Ben was nervous while we were putting on our yellow oil skins and preparing to row and scull the pond boat out to the net. It seemed to me I couldn't do anything to suit him that morning. I later realized that he was afraid the warden would be coming over on the mail boat which was arriving at the island about the same time as we would be coming in from the pond net with those undersized fish for smoking.

When we arrived at the net, Ben kept looking out toward Glen Haven and, sure enough, the mail boat was headed for the island. Ben sculled the boat around to the proper pilings while I stood in the bow and untied all the down haulers. We then began to lift the net. We had a good catch that day with perhaps a couple hundred pounds of legal fish and we kept about twenty or thirty pounds of the smaller ones for smoking. It was these smaller ones that had him worried and he was cross as an old bear. In the process of resetting the net, Ben

I insisted he put me on the beach right there in front of the lighthouse. We were living there that summer. When I came in the house with my hip boots and yellow oil skins on smelling of fish, mother knew something had happened but she knew by looking at me that I wasn't in a mood to tell her so she kept quiet. I went upstairs in the living room and turned on our Atwater Kent radio and watched Ben scull his boat and fish around the lookout point into the bay. The mail boat was arriving at the island right then too. I noticed how the wake of it rocked Ol' Ben in the pond boat as it went by. I didn't care if the wake tipped Ben and his pond boat over, and secretly I hoped the game warden was on that boat too.

All the next day I sat by that upstairs window and listened to the radio. My family, knowing something was wrong, kept picking at me to find out what was bothering me. I told them I had quit my job and I could see the concern in my mother's eyes as she knew how badly I needed that two dollars a day to buy new clothes. I had some teeth that needed fixing too.

I sat there by the window and wondered about the mutiny thing. Was I really in a lot of trouble? I recalled some of the stories Ben had told of mutiny on the high seas. Punishment was invariably death. Was that pond net out in the lake far enough to be considered high seas?

It was a relief to me when I saw Ol' Ben swaggering up that boardwalk headed for the lighthouse. I heard him knock on the kitchen door and his greeting in a loud voice "Good Morgan, Mrs. Hootzler, a fine Morgan in the Morgan!" They visited a few minutes and it wasn't very long before I heard him say "Where's Glenn?" I heard mother answer, "Oh he's around somewhere." And then he said the thing I wanted to hear. "Tell him I'd like him to come and help me lift nets in the Morgan." I heard mother reply, "Yes, I'll tell him." He left a few minutes later. I came down the stairs with a smile on my face. Mother winked at me. All was right in my world.

I had committed mutiny on the high seas - and I had gotten away with it.

A year or so later a contractor from Wisconsin began making improvements at the Coast Guard station. He was enlarging and raising the boat house. The station itself was having a basement put under it and bathrooms were being installed. Wages were fifty cents an hour. All the island young men old enough, including myself went to work for that contractor.

Ol' Ben had to limit his activities, not only because of his age, but the boys available to help him were so young and inexperienced.

It's been sixty-four years (in 1992) since I began to work for Ol' Ben and in my mind I can see an old man, a man who had already lived a lifetime, teaching a young boy, a boy of slight stature, valuable lessons of how to secure a living from the sea. Lessons that boy will never forget.

The End

Monday, March 20, 1939, at two o'clock p.m., the silent messenger of death claimed Bernt S. Johnson, one of Frankfort's and Benzie County's loved and most respected citizens.

Mr. Johnson was born September 3, 1858 at Farsund, Norway. When a lad of fourteen years the call of the sea became too strong to resist and he ran away from home and secured work on an ocean going schooner. For many years thereafter, he sailed the seven seas. He was familiar with every port in the old world. His life was an unusually colorful one and his experiences which he loved to relate were many and thrilling. Twice he was shipwrecked on the ocean. Once off the coast of Newfoundland when the schooner loaded with corn, founded and he with the other members of the crew were adrift for nine days. Their only food during this time was some corn which they salvaged.

About 1880, Mr. Johnson came to America and settled in Chicago to continue his sailing activities on lake Michigan. In 1885, he married Mrs. Gesine Thompson, a childhood friend from Norway and they moved to Whitehall, Michigan, and from there to South Manitou Island where his wife died a few years later and left him to rear seven small children. To this gigantic task, he gave his unfailing devotion. Six of those children are living today (1939) to mourn his passing.

Mr. Johnson continued to maintain his home on South Manitou Island for more than fifty years, but the call of the waves always sang in his heart. He loved the sea and almost his last utterance was "I am Shipwrecked on the Great Sea."

For about thirty years, he sailed the Great Lakes and in his later years when most men are getting ready to retire he fitted out a boat and carried on a splendid fishing business. In his busy life he never could find a time to quit. No man on Lake Michigan was more widely known and respected than Mr. Johnson. He was a man of sterling integrity and high purpose. A practical Christian -- one of God's good men.