THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, November 9, 1994 TAG: 9411080083
SECTION: ISLE OF WIGHT CITIZEN PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Linda McNatt
LENGTH: Medium: 95 lines
An old friend stopped by the office the other day, just to say hello and to catch up. And to lament the passing of a way of life.
John Johnson of Rushmere had his picture on the very first cover of the very first Citizen on Oct. 5, 1989. Johnson was 75 at the time, still working the waters of the James River, just as he had since he started working by his father's side at 12.
This year marks Johnson's 68th year on the river. He turned 80 in September. And despite the passing of five years since he and his sturdy boat, ``The Hawk,'' adorned the Citizen cover, he is still tall and erect.
Despite the spray of salt water and the river winds that have pelted him and men like him for so many years, his face remains unwrinkled. The only markings are those wrinkles of wisdom he's gleaned from his many years of hard work.
``Hard work does a man good,'' Johnson told me, shaking his head and chuckling. ``As long as I feel as good as I do now, I'll work.
``I've got a little arthritis in my shoulder,'' he said, touching his left hand to the opposite shoulder. ``But it don't bother me when I go to work, just when I'm sitting still.''
Johnson is a disappearing breed in a disappearing occupation.
He says he can't even describe how plentiful everything was in the old river when he first started working with his father and older brother. Back then, the elder Johnson supported 10 children, and he supported them well, from the earnings he made gathering seed oysters at no more than 10 cents a bushel.
That was when the James River and its tributaries were famous for seed oysters. Watermen from all over the East Coast would buy the small oysters from the local river and replant them elsewhere.
Eventually, the price of seed oysters went up to 25 cents a bushel. And when they reached a full $1, Johnson said, the local watermen in the Rushmere area thought they were rich.
But those days didn't last forever. Nothing ever does.
Natural and man-made disasters struck the river, one after another. In 1955, it was Hurricane Hazel. In 1975, a spill of the insecticide Kepone. In 1989, a broken utility line that dumped a million gallons of raw sewage into the river. And for all of those years, the river oysters have been plagued by one disease or another.
Nobody wants the seed oysters Johnson remembers from his childhood. And government regulations are making it harder and harder for a man to make a living on the water.
``This is the worst year I've ever seen,'' he said, shaking his head. ``The inspectors are the worst I've ever seen. Last year, they let us catch 2 1/2-inch oysters. Now, they've moved it to 3 inches.''
The inspectors have a rule, and they're measuring most every bushel, Johnson said. If an oysterman has more than two quarts of undersized oysters in any one bushel, he must not only throw the whole bushel overboard, he can also look forward to a stiff fine.
``After a while, they're going to run oystermen out of the river,'' Johnson said. ``They'll be dredging the river, I guess. I think that's what they want to do anyway. It looks like they just don't care nothing about the working man.''
Johnson has been a working man for many years, and he's still one.
He sold his fine boat, ``The Hawk,'' last year. Of the four he's owned in his lifetime, he said, that was his favorite. It was built right in the Rushmere community, sleek and sturdy, trustworthy in storm or calm.
But that hasn't kept him off the water. He wouldn't know what else to do with his days when he rises at 5 a.m., drinks coffee until the sun rises and then makes his way to the Tyler's Beach harbor.
``Every day - if the wind don't blow,'' he said. ``I don't go out on no blowing days, no windy days. I can't stand up on the boat like I used to. And I get tired a lot quicker now than what I used to when I was young.''
But he hasn't let any of that stop him, and he doesn't intend to any time soon.
On the living he made from working local waters, Johnson has made a home for his wife, Martha, for 60 years. They married when he was 20; she was just 15.
And together, they raised four children - all girls. There was never a son to learn his trade, Johnson said, and he has some regrets about that. But he took the girls out with him on Saturdays. And still, today, when one daughter comes home from New Jersey, he can't pry a fishing pole out of her hands.
The couple renewed their marriage vows 10 years ago, on their 50th wedding anniversary, because the girls wanted them to. They have 16 grandchildren, 26 great-grandchildren and one tiny great-great-grandchild, just recently born.
All in all, Johnson said, it's been a good life with his boat, his work, the river and his family.
But things are changing.
``It makes me sad,'' he said, sighing deeply. ``It makes me real sad. Yes, it does.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photo by LINDA McNATT
John Johnson sold his boat last year, but still goes oystering
nearly every day.
by CNB