I believe in life after death. I suppose it’s a corollary of my Christian raising but it’s a commonsense, philosophical thing for me as well. I mean, if this is all there is, why would it matter how we behave or what we accomplish while we’re here? If nothing really matters, if there is no plan, then there is no order or reason for anything and nothing is real. I consider this life on earth to be a test, a qualifying round, for the next journey. It matters what we do here and there are some that get it and some that don’t. The ones who get it are the ones who leave their mark for the good of us all. The ones that don’t are part of the test.

We all have heroes. You’ve got yours; I’ve got mine. Heroes come in all shapes, sizes, colors, men, and women. In my case, they are the people in my life who set an example, a high bar, and made a difference. Having reached my 70s, I watch with sadness and envy combined as more and more of them gain their wings. I believe I will see them again when my time comes. In the meantime, I will continue to struggle with doing the right thing on this earthly test. We just lost two more heroes. Capt. Stash Soltysik and Capt. Larry Hastings joined the list of hero angels this past month. I swear, it’s getting to the point where that boatyard up there has a monopoly on talent. I pray that I will have the credentials and there will still be a worn old bench for me when my time comes. The Great Ones are there, doing great work, and waiting for us.

There is a big difference between strumming a few cords and being a guitar player. There is a big difference between applying a band-aid and being a plastic surgeon. There is a big difference between driving a boat and being an accomplished captain. As time goes by, I see more boat drivers and fewer boat captains. The drivers rely on technology and other people to do their job while their salary demands and perks go through the roof. We watch them, glued to their distraction devices while shouting orders to hired help and bitching about silliness. We observe them, driving up late in their $100,000 pickups or designer Range Rovers and marvel as they mysteriously disappear after lunch. There was a time when boat captains had tools in their hands when they weren’t attending to the business side of running a sportfishing operation. There are a few with whom we work that are real captains, cut from old school cloth, who are on my present-day heroes list. These are the ones that can find Samana Cay and catch fish if the GPS, gyro, or the sonar take a dump. These are the guys who can prime an engine and get it started miles from home. These are the ones who will jump overboard and change a propeller if the need arises or keep the brightwork looking good until the next yard visit. They can sand their own decks and covering boards, change their own oil, bleed their own steering, and they can troubleshoot an electrical problem. Their engine rooms are spotless. They are entertainers, cheerleaders, confidants, and counselors to the boss and the boss’s family. I am in awe of these guys, just as I was as a kid with men like Stash and Larry. These are the Great Ones.

What is it that separates the Great Ones from the drivers? Certainly, work ethic is a big part of it. My good friend and co-worker, Al Genduso, often reminded me that “God doesn’t drive a parked car.” We were all put on this earth with a mission. When we need help, the Almighty will be there, if we are busting our ass and giving it our all. The Great Ones have that all figured out. A propensity for clear thought is also a piece of the puzzle. A brain full of weed is a recipe for laziness and feigned intelligence. Many of the drivers we deal with would never pick up a tool, but they can damn sure spew baseless theoretical naval architecture in smoke rings. These fishin’ technishins’ seem to have all the answers, the accuracy of which is inversely proportional to the diameter of the skunk cloud enveloping their skull. Cheech and Chong, boat and bong. I’m tempted to try this new high-powered stuff just to see if I can become as enlightened as the drivers. Hell, just think how much better this column would be! Trouble is, I don’t think Visine and a York Peppermint Pattie could ever hide the septic aroma and cranial vacancy associated with this modern trip weed like they did for the low octane herb of days gone by. Another distinguishing characteristic of the Great Ones is that most are products of good parenting. The majority of today’s great captains are sons and daughters of great captains and were raised right. Discipline, hard work, respect for others, and a clear vision of right and wrong were traditions, handed down by great generations. If you ask them, they will tell you with pride that the rod was not spared and the child was not spoiled. Their parents actually said “no.” Imagine that.

The Great Ones are in the yard every day, coordinating with the yard manager. They are here to work, answer questions, represent the owner, and keep the boat clean and orderly. They help keep the project moving and have the owner’s best interest in mind. The Great Ones don’t drop a boat off and go on vacation. Most days, I have to run a Great One out of here when I leave at 7 p.m. 

As I said, one of the biggest differences between captains and drivers is the condition of the engine room. Drivers never open the hatch. These boats cost millions of dollars. The heart of these magnificent machines, regardless of the brand, is the engine room. The investment in the engineering, painting, plumbing, and wiring related to this machinery space exceeds the GDP of many countries. Captains not only know their way around the engine room and all the systems contained therein, but they also respect what it took to produce and keep it maintained accordingly. Drivers can’t be bothered. Their engine rooms are a mass of corrosion, fuel, oil, coolant, and water in the bilge, obsolete wiring, and broken equipment. The quality of engine room maintenance can often be predicted by a common five-digit number, the hailing port ZIP code. If the hailing port ZIP code begins with 334, there’s a reasonable chance that the engine room is in good shape. From there, it’s a roll of the dice. To be fair, there are great hailing ports and captains from ZIP codes throughout the country. Stash and Larry were both from ZIPs well north of 334 and were both great captains. Unfortunately, there are some ZIP codes that are infested with drivers and are notoriously bad. In the interest of diplomacy, I’ll leave it to you to figure out which.

Captains like Stash and Larry were from a generation of genuine watermen. They cut their teeth on small boats in rough seas, navigating by dead-reckoning with an endowed knowledge of current, wind, and island channels. They were the Chuck Yeagers of sportfishing and were forever loyal to the cause. They trained many of today’s Great Ones and those of us who knew them are all better for it. We will miss them and what they brought to the table. I’m just an old boat builder but I know in my heart that their time here mattered, and they passed that test of life on earth. Adios, boys. Uh … when you pull alongside up there, could you put in a good word for us down here? And give us a hand with these drivers. The second-hand smoke is affecting my judgment.

This article originally appeared in the December 2025 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.