Did I ever tell you about my dad? Chapter 1

This is one of my favorite pictures of my dad. This is what I see in my mind when I close my eyes to picture him.

My dad is a commercial fisherman. From the time he was a kid, fishing has been in his blood. The man has lived out on the waters of Puget Sound for almost his entire life. Even now, two years after he sold the boat, I still think of him as a fisherman. It's what he is. I'm pretty sure there's saltwater running through his veins.

This is what I know of my dad's story. I'm sad to admit that I don't know that much about my dad. Well, not as much as I would like to know, anyway. I love my dad, but we've never been all that close. He and my mom split up when I was young, and I just never really got to know my dad very well.

But here's part of his story...

My grandfather, Paul Plenkovich, was born in Bol Brach, Croatia, Yugoslavia in 1901. He grew up in Croatia, but decided he wanted to come to the United States. When he was 20 years old, he decided it was time. He went to the immigration offices, filled out the paperwork, and sat back to wait. As he waited, he was watching the man who had helped him. The man was putting paperwork into two separate piles. After awhile, Grandpa asked the man what the difference was between the two stacks. The man explained that the stack on his left was for the people who would be leaving for America on the next boat out. It was likely to leave in 2-3 days. The stack on his right was for the boat after that. It was likely to leave in 2-3 weeks, maybe more.

Grandpa's papers had been placed in the stack on the right.

He was so eager to get to America, when that man took a break, Grandpa reached across the counter, grabbed his paper from the stack, and added it to the stack on the left. Not the most honest move, perhaps, but he wanted to come to America.

He entered the country in New York, and then traveled to Washington. His sister lived in Everett, and there was a large Croatian community in Seattle. A few years after he got to Washington, Grandpa bought himself a fishing boat. It was an all wood, purse seine fishing boat. (A seine is a large fishing net that hangs vertically in the water by attaching weights along the bottom edge and floats along the top. A purse seine is named that because along the bottom are a number of rings. A rope passes through all the rings, and when pulled, draws the rings close to one another, preventing the fish from swimming down to escape the net. This is similar to a traditional style purse, which has a drawstring. Grandpa began fishing for salmon.)

The boat was named Saint Nicholas. Here's a picture. Isn't she pretty? Well, as pretty as a fishing vessel can be, that is.

Grandpa was working and living in the Seattle area when he met my grandma. He was 20 the first time they met, and she was 7. Weird, huh? What's even weirder, was that, according to the story I remember, Grandpa was teasing her one day, and told her, "You know, Clara, I'm going to marry you one day!" She was horrified and retorted, "I'll NEVER marry a dirty, damn old fisherman!"

How wrong she was. When she was 17 and he was 30, Clara and Paul got married. They had 5 kids: two girls and then three boys. Here is a portrait the kids had done in the early 80s as a 50th wedding anniversary present for Grandma and Grandpa. My grandparents were pretty good looking, if I do say so myself!! My cousin Joanna looks EXACTLY like my grandma, and my cousin Steve is a carbon copy of my grandpa. In a family as large as ours, though, it's not surprising that some of us look like them! (I am one of the youngest of 21 grandkids. As I write this, there are something like 22 great-grandkids. My family is HUGE!) My dad is in the blue and white shirt in the center of the boys. To the left of him is my Uncle Tommy, and to the right is my Uncle Paul (whom everyone calls "Brother" - I'm not sure why.) My Aunt Jennie is in the blue and my Aunt Pearl is in the pink.

My dad, Bob, was the second boy, and the fourth kid. All the boys worked on the boat at one time or another, but my dad is the one who really loved the St. Nick. He always wanted to work on the boat with his dad. When he was only 11 years old, he was finally able to be a crew member. He had a 1/4 share. By the time he was 13 he had a full share.

Here's a picture of my dad showing off a prized salmon. It was 1964, and he was about 13. That's my Grandpa Paul on the far left. Isn't he cute? He looks like a fisherman, doesn't he? And check out my dad's sweatshirt...he's been covered in dirt and diesel fuel since he was a kid.

Actually, diesel is a smell that I will forever associate with my dad. After he graduated high school, Dad went to South Seattle Community College and got a Diesel Mechanic certificate. He did this so that he could take care of maintenance on the St. Nick himself. And for as long as I can remember he has driven an oil truck during the winter months, filling the tanks of homes in the Seattle area that are still heated by oil. Recently, he's been doing it year round.

Dad has lived his entire life in West Seattle. He grew up in a house that you could see from the West Seattle Bridge. Their house was up high on a cliff, overlooking the Duamish River, which feeds into Puget Sound.

The family business was fishing. Grandpa was the captain of the St. Nick, Grandma Clara was the galley chef, and Dad and his brothers worked on the crew. After awhile, Grandma stopped going on fishing trips, and the guys cooked for themselves. But my dad always went on trips whenever he could. They always fished in Puget Sound, usually along the Salmon Banks.

Here is a picture of them leaving on a trip that Grandma went on. The boat is passing through the Ballard Locks. My dad is wearing blue walking on the boat, Grandma is in the apron, and my cousin Steve (the one who looks just like Grandpa Paul) is sitting on the side of the boat. If you look carefully, you can see a woman standing with a cute little girl dressed all in pink. That's a good friend of the family, Fran, and me!!

Here's an interesting side story: In the early days of WW2, Grandpa and some of his friends were fishing off Alki Beach. It was a beautiful day, and they had their boats in fairly close to shore. Because they were close enough to talk, they were yelling across the water at each other. Because they were all Croatian, it was easier to speak the "old language" than English, so that's what they were doing. A woman walking her dog along shore heard their conversation, and freaked out. She called the police who in turn called the Coast Guard. Imagine Grandpa Paul's surprise when the Coast Guard showed up because they had been told the Communists were anchored off Alki.

Here's a picture of Grandpa around that time. He was so tan! And young!




My grandpa...mistaken for a Communist. Grandpa loved Croatia, but America was his country. In fact, Grandpa was an integral part of the fishing community in Seattle. My dad has continued this tradition, and served several terms as President of the Seiner's Association. They used to be involved in the Fishermen's Festival and the Blessing of the Fleet services that the Ballard First Lutheran Church did.


Here are some photos of the 1980 Blessing of the Fleet.


The program cover:

The ceremony.



My dad and Grandpa Paul.

Grandma made it into this photo!

Some sort of flag. I'm not sure what it was, or why it's important, but it appears to be so. Perhaps it has something to do with showing that the boat and it's crew had been blessed?

Here's Dad after he hung the flag on the St. Nick.

Maybe I had more to say than I thought. More to follow in another post...