SHOTS N' STORIES - BUNNY AND THE HAWK

            THE BUNNY AND THE HAWK

                           by Dick Alley

        I was driving through Longshore this morning and just past the 2nd Tee right next to the road was a beautiful hawk. By the time I could pull over and grab the camera, it flew away, but it reminded me of another hawk encounter a few years back. 

Birds of Prey

        Prior to moving back to Westport, we lived in upstate Connecticut for 20 years. A nice little house on a busy street with a small but beautiful fenced-in back yard. Our favorite room in the house was our three-season porch at the rear of the house which allowed us to enjoy my bride's well-kept shrubs and flora, our busy bird feeders and more. 

     We had lots of birds, too many squirrels, an occasional skunk sneaking over from under the fence and every year, a bunny rabbit or two that happily fed on our back-yard grass.

       One afternoon, I spotted a hawk on a tree branch next to the house.  Our  friendly little bunny was busily eating the grass.  Before I could even yell, the handsome and horrible  bird  suddenly swooped down,  picked up  the bunny and flew to a corner of the yard, where it rapidly dispatched the poor little guy. I grabbed my camera and headed for the back yard. Obviously, by now there was nothing I could do for the bunny, but as I approached, the big bird was obviously unconcerned even though I was only about 20 feet away.

         The critter not only ignored me but defiantly stared me down, and continued to feed, even as I approached within a few feet, snapping pictures all the time. I took about 20 photo's before the hawk picked up what was left of the little bunny, spread it's wings and made a beeline for me as it took off. I ducked. as it gained altitude and soared over my  neighbor's house, still carrying the bunny. 

        I was too busy ducking at that time to catch it in flight with my camera, but that day when the lessons of life and death in the wild came to my back yard, will forever remain in my memory and on my computer.

                                                30

 

ANGLING WITH ALLEY - RECORD ATLANTIC HALIBUT

                       

                                ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOK

            On July 28, 1989  I was on assignment for the Fisherman Magazine, doing a series of articles on some of our Party Boat advertisers in Massachusetts and Maine.  It was a three-day trip, fishing on different boats sailing out of Gloucester Mass.,  on up to boats in  Maine.
            On this first day, I arrived early and introduced myself to Captain Tom Lukegord, skipper of the Nicole Renee, sailing out of Gloucester, MA. We were headed offshore in search of a good day of cod fishing. Tom and I had talked by phone many times and he always provided good fishing reports. The weather was nice, we had a boat full of fishing clients that included some tourists and some regulars who sailed on a weekly basis throughout the season. Captain Tom knew them all on a first name basis. He had fished with them on many occasions, a factor which was to prove beneficial before the day was over.
             The trip to the fishing grounds took about an hour before the boat slowed and the skipper directed his customers to drop their lines. He invited me to the cabin and showed me a good body of fish on the finder and it wasn't long before anglers began shouting, rods doubled and fish started coming over the side.

             I got busy with the camera, snapping photo's of happy fishermen boating keeper-sized cod. A short time later, the bite slowed down. The skipper ordered all lines in  and we moved only a few hundred yards be as fore telling folks to drop lines again. He had of course quickly found the school and noisy laughter quickly returned as customers once again added to their catch. Just as fast as the action started, it turned back off, and it was "lines up" as Captain Tom once again went looking for the school. 

            That was when he revealed that something really big was swimming below, spooking the fish. He had barely finished speaking when he cut the engines once again, happily announcing that the fish were back under the boat.   "Could be a  big shark", said Tom as anglers enjoyed a steady bite once again. 

        Anglers were hooking up on a steady basis. Sonny Manley, a steady customer aboard the Nicole-Renee, grunted and smiled as he began cranking another fish towards the surface. Suddenly the  line stopped dead and then began coming off the reel. Something had grabbed that codfish and was on the run.

                   

Sonny was a skilled angler. He had good equipment, strong line and the skill and strength necessary.for  a long and hard fight. Back and forth they went with short runs getting shorter then taking line again,signifying that this was no ordinary fish. The skipper made ready. Besides his mate, he lined up two or three of his regulars, each with a long-handled gaff as Sonny cranked and pumped the fish towards the surface. The real excitement came when the fish showed itself. The guys were all ready and under Tom's direction, they gaffed the big fish and hauled it over the side.

          

 

Sonny Manley on the left with Captain Tom Lukegord holding Sonny's World Record catch. It weighed in at 255-pounds and the record held for several years before a bigger fish replaced it.

 

             Sonny sat down. So did the gaffing crew. Captain Tom started the engine once again, moved a sort distance where he picked up the codfish school and told the folks to go ahead and fish as it would take a while to measure the fish, take some photo's and get ready for the run back to the dock.

            I looked at my watch. We were already late for the run back to Port, but that's what radios are for. Tom called home, making arrangements to have the fish weighed. The customers caught fish for another hour and I took a bunch of photo's and then we headed back.

            They measured the fish at more than seven feet in length. Tom thought it could be a record but we would have to see what it weighed. About an hour later, we knew. This Atlantic halibut weighed in at 255-pounds setting a new world record at that time.

          

The Northeast coast off Rhode Island, Massachusetts and on into Maine offers a unique recreational fishery for cod, haddock, the occasional halibut and other ground species. Party boat fishing has diminished in numbers over the years, but still makes for a fun day on the water for hundreds of fans every year.

                                                        30

30

             

                                                                      

SHOTS N' STORIES - FIREARMS AND FIREWORKS 1960

FIREARMS & FIREWORKS - 1960

by 

Dick Alley

             Prior to writing stories about the outdoors, I was a Police Officer. Sworn in  October 1959, I retired in April or 1986. It was a great career, working with some of the greatest people I ever met. Most days were routing, but I was quickly alerted to the serious side of  police work in early July of my rookie year. The story comes from my original notes on that fateful evening.  

           

    I was working the midnight to eight shift.  I had been on the job less than a year. Sgt. Joe Buccieri was Shift Commander. I was assigned to patrol the northeast part of town. Don Bennette had the Saugatuck (southwest) patrol.  Chet Cornell (Pappy) was the senior guy and had the Post Road beat and George (Skip) Stanton was assigned southeast patrol.

    After our briefing, I headed out through the main lobby and yelled a greeting to Andrew (Ande) Chapo who was our regular desk officer. Desk officers didn't attend muster. He was just settling in behind the desk and waved as he removed his gun and holster and put them in a desk drawer, just like he did every night.  

            

    The night got off to a slow start, just the way we wanted it. We all had to report for duty at the annual PAL fireworks show by 5 PM the next day. In those days that was volunteer duty. No pay. Part of the job. With another midnight shift following the fireworks, we knew we'd be dragging the next night.

    A little before 2:00 am, Chet Cornell found an open door at the rear of Cafe Barna on the Post Road.  The Restaurant was located where Ed Mitchell's is now. I was parked in the center of town watching traffic and headed east for back-up. By the time I arrived, Chet was inside and Skip was also pulling up. Chet and Skip proceeded to check the inside.

    Moments earlier, Brendan McLaughlin had fired several shots from a Colt-45, semi-automatic pistol intentionally killing his father at the family residence on Gorham Island. He then left the house and headed straight for the Westport Police Department, less than half-a-mile away.

    Don Bennette had already made his first arrest of the night shift. Somebody was too lazy to go around the rotary before making the left turn onto Treadwell Avenue at the intersection of Treadwell and Riverside and Don caught him. After writing the summons, he drove to Headquarters, left his car in front of the entrance and went inside to hand Ande the summons so he could enter it in the daily log.

    McLaughlin pulled up in the parking lot, walked through the door, his Colt Army forty-five in hand and shot Don, hitting him in the hip, the bullet then striking the main desk where it became lodged and remained for many years. The bullet sent Don spinning through the open door connecting the lobby and the locker room. McLaughlin then turned to Ande, aimed the pistol at his head and pulled the trigger. That's when God stepped in. The firing pin clicked on a dead round. Ande hit the radio mic button with one hand, scrambled to get the drawer open to get his gun with the other and sent out the emergency signal for officer needs assistance. Up at Cafe Barna, our radio's crackled. " Put that gun down", yelled Ande. "All cars. Signal 100 Headquarters".

    McLaughlin turned and headed for the door, clearing his  gun while fleeing. Ande followed and chased him outside where McLaughlin again turned and fired, and Ande took a bullet to the leg. Don picked himself up off the floor, not even realizing he had been shot at the time and also ran outside in pursuit of McLaughlin.

 

    Chet, Skip and I had just finished the building check at Cafe Barna and jumped into our cars. We drove big black, stick-shift Olds 98s in those days and we were doing 80 mph before we got into third gear. We were about a mile from the station.

      As we pulled into the lot, McLaaughlin was between Don's patrol car and the front door.  Don and Ande were in the parking lot, manuevering for shooting angles and cover. Within seconds, the rest of us pulled into the lot.   Skip joined Ande on one side of the lot and I was next to Don on the other side. A few shots were exchanged when McLaughlin suddenly made a break for the lobby entrance. Don and I both fired and we saw McLaughlin open the door and enter the building.

George "Skip" Stanton

Skip saw him stumble, then charged the door and saw McLaughlin on the floor, holding his stomach. Skip kicked McLaughlin's gun away from his body and covered him. McLaughlin was holding his stomach and bleeding. We were all back in  the building and the phone behind the desk was ringing. Don answered it

and was told of an "emergency" on Gorham Island. Don hadn't yet realized he was wounded. The only person left on the road was our Shift Commander, Sgt. Joe Buccieri. Don asked him to go to Gorham Island telling him that everybody was pretty busy. At this time, Sgt. Buccieri had no idea that two of his men were wounded along with the perpetrator and he went to cover the call. Skip took possession of McLaughlin's gun, handed it to me and told me to secure it in the squad room. I put it in my locker.

    Ande staggered through the door, bleeding profusely and Chet sat him down in the lobby and applied a tourniquet. At about the same time, Don suddenly felt pain, grabbed his side and loosened his belt and saw the bullet wound. Skip had already called the town ambulance. We put McLaughlin in the ambulance and Don and Ande in Chet's patrol car and they all headed for the hospital. That's when Sgt. Buccieri called in to say he had a homicide victim at Gorham Island and to send some guys up there. I explained that there was nobody to send and filled him in on the shooting at Headquarters. Skip was the senior officer and said he would go to Gorham Island. He had already called Sgt. Marks and told me to call the Captain (Rosenau) and I  suddenly found myself the only cop available on the entire shift.

     Captain Louis Rosenau was there within minutes, closely followed by Sgt. George Marks who headed up the Detective Bureau. Within minutes,  Detective Bill Smith and Technician George Ward arrived. The Captain instructed me to call Captain Al Brown and also Desk Officer Skinner to relieve me. The Captain notified Chief Luciano.

    The next few hours were pretty confusing. Once relieved from the desk, I was assigned to block off the parking area and guard it and following that, more personnel were brought in and I was told to make notes of the events and write out a statement. (I still have my original notes).

    I arrived home around mid-morning and went to bed but sleeping was a problem. The adrenalin was up. Plus the phone kept ringing as I explained to family and friends the events of the previous night after the news hit the media. I finally managed a couple of hours before having to report for duty at the annual fireworks display at Compo Beach and I was due in again at midnight. The fireworks ended at about 10 PM and I hit the wall. I was exhausted. I remember going to the Captain and telling him I didn't know how I would stay awake all night. He suggested I try and get someone to cover my shift. I finally reached Tony Fiore and he agreed to cover my shift but I had to pay him back a few days later. It gives me a chuckle today every time I read about an officer being put on leave following a gun incident. Under today's rules I would probably have had to take several days off.

    Next day, I was able to get to Norwalk Hospital and visit Don and Ande. McLaughlin was also a patient there and had to be guarded at all times. I parked in the lot and who gets out of a car a few spaces away but the McLaughlin family. I knew and liked Brendan's brother Ross and we all exchanged awkward words over what had happened.

    It was back to work the next night and everything settled down into normal patrol duties once again. Don and Ande both recovered after several weeks. Both retired as Lieutenants several years later. Ande was later injured while working a fire in the center of town when he fell and hurt his back. That injury eventually forced his retirement. Don also fell and badly injured his arm one night several years later.

    I also made Lieutenant and retired as an Inspector in 1986. Don currently lives in Arizona. Ande passed away a few years back. Bill Smith attained the rank of Captain before retiring and then suffered a massive heart attack while grocery shopping one day. George Ward retired as a Lieutenant and also moved to Arizona where he later died. George Marks ran the Detective Bureau until his retirement as a Lieutenant and lived past age 90.   His son, George Jr. also completed a police career at WPD and is currently retired and living in the Carolina's. Both Skip Stanton and Chet Cornell resigned from the Department for personal reasons within a few years of the incident. Skip passed away a number of years ago and I lost track of Chet. Lt. Joe Buccieri retired and lived past the age of 90, dying in upstate Connecticut.

        Brendan McLaughlin spent a number of days in intensive care at Norwalk Hospital before dying from his wounds. The Coroner ruled it a justifiable homicide. His brother Ross gave up on plans to join the Department and went on to a career in the military.

        

    All of the officers involved in the gun battle received Commendations from the National Police Officer's Association. It was quite a night---with more fireworks than anyone could ever imagine.

                            Dick Alley

                            Inspector-Retired

                            Westport Police Department

SHOTS N' STORIES - PARTY BOAT TUNA

PARTY BOAT TUNA TRIPS - THE WAY IT WAS!

by Dick Alley   

Over The Rail - Mates play a key role in Party Boat tuna trips.

 

It was called an "assignment" back in the late 1980's. I retired from the Westport, CT Police Department in 1986 and took on a part-time job as a Field Editor for the New England Fisherman magazine, while also writing fishing columns for The Hour, the New Haven Register and free-lancing for a bunch of other publications. I had three solid deadlines a week, but could pretty much work my own schedule.

Tim Coleman, my editor at The Fisherman kept me busy with assignments up and down the New England coast from Connecticut to Maine, doing stories in conjunction with many of our advertisers on the various fishing adventures available in nearby waters. 

I didn't make a lot of money, but had more fun than I could ever have dreamed about as a kid while devouring stories from Sports Afield and Outdoor Life and Salt Water Sportsman.  Looking back now, I probably would have worked for nothing. It was that much fun.

A few of those "assignments" included stories on fishing for tuna, both from charter and party boats, during the heyday of tuna fishing.

My first tuna trip was aboard the Sunbeam Express, then the Flagship of  the Sunbeam Fleet, under the leadership of the late Captain John Wadsworth and his son Captain Bobby Wadsworth.  The Wadsworth family were early leaders in recreational fishing boats out of Waterford, CT. Their daily fishing trips ranged from winter flounder in early spring, to bluefish, blackfish, porgies, striped bass and black sea bass. When the recreational party boat tuna fishing phenomenon exploded, Captain John was the first in the area to purchase a 100-plus foot boat capable of long-range trips with accommodations for several anglers, captains and crew including a great cook who provided excellent meals. 

Greg Daignault with the biggest tuna of the trip 

            While most anglers brought their own stand-up rods, reels and fishing harnesses, there were also good outfits aboard that could be rented at a reasonable price.

             I was lucky enough to cover the first trip to the Continental shelf and the Canyons some 80 miles from shore. We departed Waterford   in the evening,  slept much of the way out and arrived before sunrise. It was a 3-day trip. During the daytime hours, we trolled up to 6 rods off the back.

            At night, we tied up to a buoy and fished butterfish baits at various depths with most everyone fishing to start and only a few as the hours passed. The bites came in spurts with first a flurry  and a fish or three on board, then quiet, then another reel would shriek and the excitement started all over again.

            Trolling was even more exciting. Anglers took turns at the spots for 30 minutes at a time. Near sundown and again at dawn, a school of fish would suddenly come up for the baits and it was everybody hooking up. Mates did a fabulous job, calmly passing rods back and forth under and over other angler's lines, so that almost everyone caught fish. 

The weather was great and everyone was happy on the return trip. I had another new and different offshore assignment only a couple of weeks later and couldn't wait to go. Those pic's are for the next story.

30