Return of the Chesapeake City Snakeheads

Return of the Chesapeake City Snakeheads

Mules ready to pull schooner through lock. Inset: Harry “Hat” Borger, one of the last mule drivers to work the canal’s towpath

Lift bridge that connected George St. with Lock St. Note Rio Theater at left and part of Shine’s Gulf service station at right. Inset: Kaky and Shine Crawford.

Early, wooden pilot boat alongside of tanker to exchange pilots. Note pilot climbing ladder to assume command, circa 1943. Inset L: Marty Poore, one of the operators of the early pilot boats. Inset R: John Schaefer, owner and principal operator.

I’ve been concerned recently about a report describing an undesirable creature called the snakehead fish. It seems that they have been seen and sometimes caught in certain streams and ponds on the East Coast. They were brought here from another country and have the potential for rapid reproduction and thus could threaten the native fish. They are especially resilient, even having the ability to navigate on land with their flippers. These facts are upsetting because they remind me of a story told to me by my reliable Uncle Ernest when I was nine years old. Apparently these resourceful snakeheads have returned and again could cause big problems. That’s right; I said “returned,” because back in the early 1900s, according to Unk, there were many, many more of them and they were a force to reckon with.

It was 1945, and Uncle Ernest was visiting our farm, and as usual he brought along his best friend, Jack Daniels. I remember the evening well; it was dusk, after a warm day for early November, and as we watched the darkness squeeze out the last filament of light beyond Dave Herman’s immense oak tree, and as we eyed a mated pair of bluebirds flitting back and forth to snag bugs from mid-air, Unk told me his incredible tale. I had just brought home an ugly catfish I had caught in the canal, and that was what reminded him of the ugly fish that besieged Chesapeake City in the early 1900s.

Back then our canal was not sea-level; it was a long, narrow pond that ran from Chesapeake City to Delaware City. It required locks to raise and lower vessels as they entered and exited the canal. There was a pump house (now part of the Canal Museum) with a forty-foot water wheel that transferred water from back creek into the canal when it needed replenishment. Back then the tugboats and Ericsson liners were steam-driven. Large sailboats and barges had to be pulled through the canal by mules. Operations were much different back then before the Corps of Engineers bought the canal in 1919 and eventually widened and deepened it, thus making it sea-level.

But now, let me take you back to 1945, when I was a boy and thrilled to Uncle Ernest’s snakehead story. Here is what he told me in his own special way: “Well, Moose the Goose,” he said, swirling and clicking the ice cubes against his glass, “what I’m about to tell you I’ve remembered from the account your grandfather, Harper Hazel, told me when I was about your age. You see, he lived here on the farm in the early 1900s and had a clear recollection of the shenanigans that went on back then. Here is his story as I remember it: ‘You know, Sonny,’ Grandfather Harper began, ‘Chesapeake City was a quiet fishing town in 1915. The area was surrounded by farmers who came to town for supplies and for church and other activities. It was right about then that weird things started happening. Repulsive part-fish, part-snake creatures called snakeheads got into our canal and evolved at rapid speed. These crafty critters did it all practically overnight.

“ ‘That’s right, in a short time they undulated up the canal banks and began walking on their flippers all around the streets, especially the South Sides’ legendary Bohemia Avenue. Their numbers multiplied and they matured early, enabling them to establish institutions of all kinds. They had their own schools (underwater of course) not far from the Canal Museum. They even started their own church on the grounds by the old High Bridge. I recall being in the area one time and being touched when I heard the congregation singing their favorite hymn: Slithering to the Sweet Bye and Bye. Their nasal, out of tune voices brought tears to my eyes.

“ ‘Also remarkable was what they accomplished as individuals. One brave, young snakehead attached a line to the pilot boat and could be seen tubing back and forth in front of the Hole-in-the-Wall. Another learned to ride a motorcycle up and down the streets. It was so neat to see how he gripped the seat with his little back flippers as he worked the accelerator with his front ones. Soon many other young snakeheads took to riding motorcycles and even formed a club. And they all let their head scales grow long so that they could tie them into attractive pony tails. Yeah, it sure was heartwarming to watch them speeding along with those scaly pony tails flopping in the breeze.

“ ‘Some of them tied camouflaged bandanas to their heads, which made them even more appealing. And my but it was entertaining to watch and listen to them roaring down George Street—past Foard’s Hardware Store, past the Church of the Good Shepherd, past Beiswanger’s Ice Cream Parlor, past Shine Crawford’s gas station, and eventually across the lift bridge to Lock Street. But, of course, the sensible folks of the North Side always got together to drive them back across the bridge, where they could frolic as they pleased. Most of the townspeople, besides me, were delighted by the spectacle while others were unexplainably disgusted by it.

“ ‘Some of the other equally flamboyant snakeheads used to frequent the famous Hole-in-the-Wall bar to entertain and be entertained by Birdy-the-Bartender. One especially large one, named Allen, used to sidle in and bite the customers on the tops of their heads. Sometimes Birdy had to throw certain over-zealous revelers out the screen door, which meant that Birdy’s brother had to fix it the next day. Anyway, this snakehead named Allen, who had grown to the height of 6’8’’ and, by the way, walked on the tips of his tail like a clown on stilts and whose voice reminded me of John Wayne, sometimes threw Birdy out the screen door. This same Allen used to bite the beer glasses to pieces, and over the Christmas holidays would always eat the red Christmas lights as they hung on the tree. One time, and I witnessed this, Sonny, Allen removed one of Ralphy’s new boots.

“ ‘Ralphy was a whimsical Hole-in-the-Wall fixture who was known for his beer-drinking marathons. Most people drank their beer from a mug, but Ralphy drank his from an oft-filled pitcher. Anyway, Allen snatched off one of Ralphy’s boots, filled it with beer, and made everybody take a swig from it. Ralphy had just bought the boots that day, so they were brand new, and the comical part was that the beer began leaking out of the one like a sieve. Another time when I was there Allen came swaggering in with a 20-pound large-mouth bass. He made Birdy open its mouth and fill it with beer. And, you guessed it; everybody had to take a drink from it, including me. What a nasty-tasting mixture! Take my advice, Sonny, and don’t ever try it.

“ ‘But listen, I don’t mean to give the impression that the snakeheads were all playboys without respectability. Certain groups were inspired by cultural refinement. Why, some performed in the town’s minstrel shows (being naturally dark made charcoal application unnecessary). Others participated in the annual Chautauqua presentations. Oh yes, some were extremely bright. I became personal friends with a bright one named Oscar, and I know for a fact that he used to help Birdy’s son, Chuck, with his homework, which improved the lad’s grades considerably. Oscar became so respected that he even ran for mayor. He ran under the slogan, “A Flounder in Every Pot,” and he was only five votes shy of winning. My word, Sonny, imagine how different things would be if he had won.

“ ‘Eventually, though, despite the good intentions of the conscientious ones, the snakehead episode turned sour, because when the young, male snakeheads started dating the eligible daughters of  the town, the influential leaders had all of them rounded up and banished to a swampy compound somewhere in the wilds of Southwestern Cecil County.’ And that, Moose, is the end of Grandfather Harper’s story as I remember it. And now I have some serious partying tonight at Dolph Wharton’s tavern.”

So off he trudged, and as I watched him descend our field towards town, fantastic images of humanized snakeheads cavorted in my brain. And even now, 68 years later, snakeheads are on my mind. You can understand, concerned reader, the seriousness of our situation today, because somehow some of those dreaded buggers have apparently escaped captivity after nearly a hundred years and may be headed for our canal and town again. And we certainly don’t want a return of the problems cited by my grandfather’s historic, eye-witness account.