 Wooden clipper ships that carried American goods around the horn were built in towns like Essex in the state of Massachusetts. Today, wooden vessels are still preferred by many fishermen, like me, to bring in the mackerel, carved in halibut from nearby fishing woofers, and from Newfoundland's grand banks. So when a sea captain wants a ship, build a wood, exactly to his specifications, he turns to a place where an old craft has been kept alive. He turns to Essex where men build ships of wood by hand, where more than 3,000 ships have been constructed since the earliest days of settlement in North America. In this village of 1,500 people, men still choose to practice the craft of their forefathers. Ever since the year 1668, the seafaring men have come to Essex to have fine vessels built. And here I was, back in Essex at last, for my own ship. Looked just the way I'd seen it years before. Of course, there were electric lights and automobiles now, but Essex felt just the same. At last, I was heading for Story's home and office. I'd written Jonathan's story, I was coming, you see, the Story family has been building ships in Essex for over 100 years. I wanted Jonathan, his men, to build me mine. Meeting him again after 30 years was a surprise. It was so natural, like visiting with a neighbor. Plans for my ship, a trawler, had been all drawn up, a scale model had been made. It was perfect like all the Essex ships, but naturally I made a few suggestions. My ship, I decided, would be a 70-foot dragger able to pull 50 ton of fish in a drag net. And I named her the St. Rosalie. Work began up in the mold loft of Roy Burnham's barn and down in the yards. Two Story drew the patents for the ship. Roy Hodges started squaring off the timber for the keel. While I settled in at Essex to watch my ship grow. It was time for school to start and fall, but folks in Essex figure their calendar not so much by the month or season as by the building of the vessels in the shipyards. But of course, boys everywhere have their own calendar for doing things. Now, Dale Cox had ideas of his own. Yes, but so did Truand Officer Mitchell. You see, the folks in Essex know they must raise good citizens with good schooling. They carry on the shipbuilder's craft, the town's pride. Yes, Dale must learn, as Everett and Lois had learned, it takes a long time for good things to happen. Yes, it takes a long time to draft the plans of a ship. Exactly the right angle has to be drawn for every rib, for every plank, for that matter, if the ship is to be seaworthy. Old Lou knows that. He's seen more than a score of ships launched at the story yards and picked the lumber for a ship. The grain and quality of every piece of wood is keenly estimated for its particular use before one piece is cut. Almost every rib that's cut out for a vessel has its own special angle, shape, and size. Time passes quickly when there's work to be done. By the time the men at the yard started scoffing up the keel and were rolling the pieces into one, the Essex River was teeming with alewives. Just like shipbuilding, alewives are a tradition in Essex. Every year, swarms of these herring-like fish come up the river to spawn. Since they rightfully belong to everyone in Essex, privileged to fish them must be purchased from the town. The board of selectmen, Woodson, Ed Garth, Pete Winthrop, elected managers of the town's affairs choose the highest bid from those submitted. Anyone in town can make a bid. It isn't only the highest bid to selectmen consider. Some years when the fish are few, no one is permitted to take the alewife from the river. But this year, Louis Miniatis, a newcomer to town, is the lucky winner. In Essex, you see there's a time for man to take on an extra job. Might surprise a city man to see how the folks in Essex seem to have the knack in doing so many different things. Louis dated the time he had his catch barreled and ready for market as the day the keel of the St. Rosalie was turned. It wasn't the man in the yard that didn't lean through that day in building the ship who was a great event. The keel is the backbone of a vessel. From here on, you're building up. You see a ship come to life as the ribs are hauled into place. No man in the shipyard has just one job to do. Everyone must turn to a variety of tasks. Even the skilled draftsman lends a hand when blocked and tackled up with the work. When you see the ribs lined up, you can figure how important it is to have accurate designs. Then you can see the products of weeks and weeks of work. The vessel takes shape. Now you can tell how she looked, how she arrived. That day, the St. Rosalie was at the talk of Essex. We were building the ship. I was worrying it together. Story and his men were working it. And there was a feeling of plage of the work. Bystanders adding that two cents to the men high up on the ribs. Maybe it's because every man in the shipyard takes part in so much that the men of Essex have never wandered down the road apiece to big industrial cities that must ride distance. In the factories, they're building too, I guess, but I suspect no factory worker can quite experience the sense of satisfaction an Essex ship builder feels. They're worlds apart. Of course, the work at the factories has to be done, and the folks in Essex and all over the United States, for that matter, enjoy the things made in these nearby plants. But the men in Essex choose to live differently. Somehow, at Essex, it seems folks don't figure modern speed is so important. They're satisfied serving a need to us fishermen who want wooden ships. And that means work by hand. If we're cold when the planks were steamed, you see, to make the planks fit tight and shape to the hull of a vessel, you have to put them into a steaming box to make them pliable. Then when they're mighty hot and ready, you take them out and fit them into place. Jonathan's story supervised every step of the operation, made me more comfortable to know he was always on the job. The planking is the one thing between you and the bottom of the sea. The St. Rosalie was planked with hard pine below her waterline, hard oak above, and the planks were wedged hard and fast. Every piece was set in place with wooden pegs. To me, every peg meant years of working and saving. So you can understand I got a thrill watching each blow of the hammer. Besides, this vessel was going to be my home, my crew's home for weeks, months at a stretch at sea. The St. Rosalie had to be built just right. And you know, the folks in Essex understand how a skipper feels. Now it was spring, or I should say, when the Rosalie planking was nearly done, it was time for me to make my second payment after the first formal inspection. Well, inspection, as if I didn't know just how the St. Rosalie was going along. Everyone in the yard was concerned because now the men who were working on the boat would get the first payment. I've found dozens of things wrong with the work, just for the benefit of partners, you understand. I even suggested the ship would sink. I'd paid some cash down when I ordered the vessel. When work was begun, that money went for lumber, tools, plans, and a lot of other such things. Now, when the ship was half done, I was to put up more money, not just for materials, but for the men's first pay. It was at the time of my inspection of the Rosalie that the folks of Essex were meeting afternoons at the town hall, rehearsing for the annual springtime musical review. As you might expect in Essex, Sailor's got the center of the stage. One, two, one, down. It's an old tradition in Essex. It still provides a good excuse for neighbors to work together and enjoy their community. Made my second payment, it was time for celebration. A shut-up party, it's called, fancy crimmings. The St. Rosalie was getting some of the looks by which a skipper at sea would come to Noah and respect that as the vessel made at Essex. It was time for the stories to feel proud too. The reason to be pleased was his boy, Jonathan. He'd done a trim job. Every one of the odd knew how pleased I was. How proud the St. Rosalie with a home port to bluster. On the day the Rosalie got her guilt letters, in Essex, almost everybody takes part one way or another in running the town. Yes, here, there have always been enough men and women proud of their village to work for it, without pay in most cases. So planning commission met because there was some concern about enlarging town's athletic field. You see, there were some other problems beside building of my ship in Essex. Only if you asked me what to do for children when they're not in school, I'd give you an easy answer. Send them to sea. At last, a great day arrived. The St. Rosalie was all dressed up and ready to be launched. I asked Dory how he made the grease to slide the ship into the water, but he wouldn't tell me. It's a great secret with ship builders. I daresay every man and woman and child in Essex turned out for the launching. Well, almost everyone. There are only about six or eight launchings a year in Essex, so naturally, such an event is regarded as considerably important. Now the pins were being knocked away. The St. Rosalie was ready to slide into the water. Only the christening remained. On married, myself, I asked the first mate if his wife would agree to christen the ship. She agreed. There was the first entry for my ship's log. Mariah, the wife of the first mate, christened the St. Rosalie at Essex. I came for the St. Rosalie, but it seems there was another reason too. I learned it wasn't only the St. Rosalie was launched that day in Essex, and I found out not everyone went to the Rosalie's launching. Some went to the church instead. But I was proud that in tradition of Essex, the young couple, Everett and Lois, would always remember that they were married on the day the St. Rosalie was launched. And as we idled down the river to the ocean, I began to feel the ship under me. I thought to myself, if ever I give up the sea, there's a town where I'd like to live. Of course, I don't intend to give up the sea, but if I ever should, I think Essex were. I'd make my home.