The water dripped off the tip of my nose as we walked along the railroad tracks near the East End Beach.

Not a nice day, but mother said go out and play. Our favorite playing area was down below the park near the water. “Don’t play on the trains, lots of kid get hurt playing on the trains,” my mother admonished.

When the trains moved out from the Grand Trunk Railway Station it was easy to grab the ladder on the side of a boxcar because the train would be rolling slowly. When the train reached Tukey’s Bridge, it slowed down again, making it easy to jump off. Close by the bridge was the city dump and the homeless camp (the area now taken over by the wastewater treatment plant). We never ventured close to the camp; the homeless people did not look friendly.

My playmate spotted it first: a rowboat pulled far up on the beach.

As we drew near, we could see that it was full of great stuff. No motor, no sail, just oars to this wood boat (known as a double ender, I learned later). It looked heavy.

“Hey! You, kids, come over here!” yelled the man in the area that is now a parking lot. He stood near his tent and motioned to us. We approached with caution, ready to run at the first sign of hostility. He seemed nice enough and invited us into his tent when it started to rain. We sat by the door, set to bolt if need be.

The man began by showing us how to make pancakes on his little kerosene stove and began the most interesting story. His adventure had started on the Hudson River, on the Jersey side. Pulling his laden boat, he related how he rowed past Manhattan, along the East River and into Long Island Sound. He would camp on empty beaches for short periods on Long Island.

Rowing past Block Island on his starboard side, he put in at Cuttyhunk Island for a few days of rest. When the southwest wind was blowing strong up Buzzard’s Bay, it was a big help when the tide was going your way. The Massachusetts shoreline is then on the port side, and finding a campsite becomes more difficult.

After a stop at the city of Gloucester, our new friend rounded Cape Ann. He arrived in Maine and he told us that his next stop was Halifax, Nova Scotia, then Greenland, on his rowing trip around the world. Rowing around the world! What a guy! What a sailor!

My friend and I both nodded our heads, deciding then and there that this man was a superhero, a Captain Marvel or Superman – with a touch of Popeye.

A few days later, my mother, reading from the Portland Press Herald, said that our new hero had been arrested.

“Arrested? What for? Why would they arrest this guy for just rowing a boat?”

It seems that the Coast Guard commander spoke with our chief of police and they agreed that this man should spend a few days in jail and rethink his plan of rowing to Halifax, or Greenland, for he would never make it, not in an open row boat. We never read a follow-up story to this man’s adventure; the beginning of World War II dominated the evening news.