O U T   H E R E   I N   T H E   R E A L   W O R L D

Those in Peril on the Sea

In memory of Rick Kohls, 1959-2015

by Eva Murray

As I get ready to send this column to the paper, the people of Matinicus are preparing to bury lobsterman Rick Kohls. Rick was one of the three island men who, in January of 1992, left Matinicus Harbor in the dark, in biting cold and a fierce wind, to rescue the men of the construction tug O. A. Harkness.

The news this month is somber and heavy over the recent disappearance of the freighter El Faro and the 33 crewmembers aboard. I thought the story of a rescue at sea might be timely, especially as it coincides with our sharing memories of Rick around the island this month.

My own recollection of the night the Harkness sank begins with a supper invitation to Harriet and Warren Williams’ home on the island. Despite the near-zero temperatures that winter evening, my husband Paul, baby son Eric and I went to supper lightly dressed, as we would be seated right next to the Williams’ end-heater cookstove and their kitchen would be easily in the 90-degree range. We tucked into Warren’s Portuguese kale soup made with linguica sausage, until the telephone rang. It was Rick’s wife Sue, who had noticed our truck at the Williams’; she asked to talk to Paul. “Vance needs you down to the shore,” she told Paul, who left immediately, hearing urgency in Sue’s voice. Knowing he had neither longjohns nor heavy clothing, I thought whatever he was doing he’d likely come home with pneumonia. Unknown to me, he had a pair of insulated Carhartts in the powerhouse, and retrieved those before getting aboard Vance Bunker’s wooden lobster boat, the Jan-Ellen.

Rick was Vance’s sternman, and the two had worked together for years. Paul was the island electrician, and had done mechanical work aboard the Jan-Ellen as well as going as substitute sternman on occasion. The three could anticipate each other’s actions and could work together with a minimum of chatter, which would help on a night like that one. The wind was blowing about 40 knots.

I drove home, dropped Eric into his high chair with a couple handfuls of Cheerios to keep him occupied, and spent the next hour pacing back and forth in front of my VHF radio. I later heard that Captain David Allen aboard the Sunbeam, far in the distance, had told the captain of the Harkness over the radio to go to Matinicus, that “there would be help there.” Rudy Musetti, on the tug, later said he hadn’t realized anybody would be on the island in January.

Vance, Rick, and Paul left Matinicus harbor assuming they would be assisting a disabled vessel. Paul described getting a “sinking feeling” when, once underway, they heard Musetti radio that they were “leaving” the boat. Musetti had given LORAN bearings, and the men of the Jan-Ellen headed toward that point in freezing spray with very little visibility. Of course the Coast Guard out of Station Rockland had also been dispatched and were underway.

I couldn’t tell exactly what was happening from the VHF traffic. I recall Vance saying he couldn’t see much, that they were making ice, and that this was no time to be answering routine questions over the radio for the paperwork. The three men scanned the ocean but sea smoke and rough conditions made it unlikely they’d see people in the water. Paul told me he remembers Rick looking over the starboard side of the Jan-Ellen and finally saying something to the effect of “There’s a light over there” and pointing; he certainly spoke the words “over there,” anyway. The diffuse glow of an ordinary flashlight was just barely visible in the sea smoke and the spray.

Rick Kohls’ observation saved three lives.

The three men from the Harkness wore Mustang suits—which offered some flotation but no real thermal protection—and were hanging on to a ladder. The men of the Jan-Ellen pulled Rudy Musetti and Duane Cleaves aboard. Rick and Paul gave the hypothermic men all the clothing they could spare and got them down forward where there was a small heater (I remember Paul coming home later that night bare-shouldered, wearing nothing but the insulated overalls and his boots). The Coast Guard pulled the third survivor, Arthur Stevens, aboard their boat, and all were met at the wharf by islanders with blankets. The three cold men were brought to Vance’s for food and warmth; there was no island EMS agency in 1992, but that wouldn’t have mattered—a smart EMT would have done exactly the same. Islanders brought hot meals for the Coast Guardsmen, also local heroes, who stayed over in Matinicus Harbor that night rather than needlessly making a risky, late-night trip back to Rockland.

A lot of media attention came to the six men, and some of it got a bit mushy and syrupy. All the magazines did stories, and that was fine, but when we got around to Reader’s Digest things began to tilt a bit to the sentimental side. The flashlight that saved the victims had been a Christmas present from a daughter, and was supposedly frozen to a helpless man’s glove. There began to be way too much talk of angels and miracles.

I’m not knocking angels and miracles, but Vance, Rick, and Paul would tell you that the whole “hero” thing was awkward and peculiar. The men were each awarded a Carnegie Medal for heroism as well as a Coast Guard lifesaving commendation. Rick didn’t like talking about being the Brave and Intrepid Rescuer; the subject made him a little uneasy. That makes sense when you consider that every single last man and woman who works aboard any sort of vessel—ship, boat, or kayak—must be ready to rescue his fellow seafarer, and they are.

These guys did nothing different than anybody else from this community, or any maritime community, would have done.

Anyway, with the word “hero” sticking in everybody’s craw after the Reader’s Digest piece came out, and the whole thing being written up to sound like a Hallmark card, there was a funny coincidence the next spring. Rick grew up in New Hampshire and had always had a love for horses, something he couldn’t indulge much living on Matinicus. Vance’s wife Sari, a former island school teacher, was also a horse-lover, and the two of them sometimes watched the Kentucky Derby on television together. When Reader’s Digest bought writer Margot McWilliams’ story of the Harkness rescue, one thing the magazine did was arrange for a nice dinner for the survivors, rescuers, and their spouses, along with the writer. We were all to gather at the restaurant at the Samoset Resort in Rockport, an occasion for which Paul had to borrow a sport jacket from Page Burr because he owned neither jacket nor tie, and at least one was required by the dress code. As it happened, this fancy expense-account dinner was the same evening as the 1993 Kentucky Derby, so the rest of us gathered in the hotel lobby to wait for Rick and Sari who were just a few minutes delayed, having watched the race on TV. As the two entered the lobby they had a sort of a strange look on their faces.

“Well,” we asked. “Who won the Kentucky Derby?”

“Sea Hero.”