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The Infamouus Park City of Port Jefferson
Dorothy C. Moses - 1960

    The Park City  was the ferry that used to run between Port Jefferson and Bridgeport during the first half of this century. A ferry still operates between these ports, but it is not the same. I doubt if half the people could tell you its name without stopping to think. It is just another boat.
    The Park City was different. She had personality. Like people, some boats have it, others dont. When her hoarse whistle echoed over the hills in the late afternoon, people would glance at their clocks and comment, "Must have been smooth coming over, she's early." Or, "It must have been a rough trip today, she's late."
    People referred to her by her name, or as "she," or "the boat," this in a town with a harbor full of boats - but never, never, never was she called a ferry. I think if anyone had asked me, as a child, about the ferry, I wouldn't have known what he was talking about.
    Of course, this didn't mean that there were no complaints. The Park City was the butt of a good many good-natured, and often not-so-good-natured jibes. Griping, and uncomplimentary remarks about her, were the prerogative of natives, however. Visitors and new residents who dared to imply that there was room for improvement were not received kindly.
    There were three rumors about the Park City which were commonly spread abroad in the early 20's. The first was that in rough weather she pitched in three directions simultaneously forward and back, side to side, up and down--so that anyone except a native was bound to get seasick. This phenomenon was attributed partly to the peculiarity of the tides in the Sound, and partly to the peculiarities of her structure.
    As proof of this allegation, the case of a visiting Englishman was cited, who pooh-poohed the idea that he would be affected, since he regularly commuted across the English Channel, which, said he, was the roughest stretch of water in the world. Then the narrator would exclaim triumphantly, "But the boat was scarcely out of the harbor before he was green as grass! I never did meet anyone, though, who had actually met this Englishman.
    The second rumor that went the rounds was that the life preservers aboard the Park City would sink like plummets if you threw them overboard. In fact, someone had actually done just that, so the story went, and that was exactly what had happened. This tale lent an aura of daring adventure to what otherwise would have been a routine crossing. What if a wild storm should suddenly come up and the boat be wrecked? To travel on her was to take ones life in ones hands.
    This illusion of danger and risk was enhanced by the third rumor.
    According to this one, the "Park City" had a superstructure which was too large and heavy for her keel. Thus she was top-heavy and sure to capsize if ever she were caught in a real storm. No doubt about it!
    Quite a few years later, in the hurricane of 1938, the charge of being likely to "turn turtle" was put to a revere test.
    Despite threatening weather the Park City set forth on her usual run with but six hardy passengers (including a little baby) and a crew of nine. Captain Ray Dickenson, a veteran skipper, later described the gale as the worst storm hed ever seen in his career. Vail G. Tooker then and now manager of the line, acted as first mate stated that they spent the night at anchor near Middle Ground Light and put up distress signals. Passengers have never tired of praising the fine work of the Captain and crew.
    High seas swept into the hoId shortly after three in the afternoon stopping the engines. Watar put out the generators and there was only lantern light to comfort the passengers. At 7:15 the next morning the Coast Guard cutter sighted the boat and went to the rescue towing the good old Park City back to Jort Jefferson arriving at 11 a.m. the next day.
    Meanwhile in Port Jefferson no one was surprised when the Park City didn't put in to port that evening. Everyone was sure  the captain had decided to stay in Bridgeport.
    But when the night came and went with no word of her, the folks at home began to worry. All those rumors that had been rife so many years, began to come to mind. A phone call finally went through to the Bridgeport office - quite a feat in itself, with so many wires down. "How is the Park City?"
    The Bridgeport office was dumfounded. They had assumed she was still in her berth in Port Jefferson. Thoroughly alarmed now, the home office notified the authorities at once and the search was on. Up and down the Sound; over and back.
    As time wore on, the townspeople made no attempt to conceal their anxiety. Was she still afloat or wasn't she? Finally, 18 hours later, the Coast Guard found her adrift and towed her home - all safe.
    Eventually, the day came when the Park City was declared  Un-seaworthy and ordered to be taken out of service. A shrimping company bought her and hired her crew to take her down to the Gulf to be rigged for a shrimper. She never got there. Somewhere off the Hatteras Capes, her boiler burst and she sank.
    There was a divergence of opinion, back home, about her fate. More recent members of the town said that it was a wonder the boiler hadnt blown long ago, and that it was a miracle it hadn't happened when there were passengers aboard. They were probably right.
    Some of the old-timers, however, didn't think her condition had been that bad. They were of the opinion that her crew had deliberately overloaded her boilers because they were devoted to the old boat and couldn't bear to think of her being reduced to a shrimper. That this would have been exceedingly risky apparently didn't occur to the supporters of this view.
    The more sentimental inhabitants disagreed with both of these beliefs. Their viewpoint was summed up in a poem which appeared in the Port Jefferson Times shortly afterward. The Park City, the poem said, had been built expressly for the P.J.-Bridgeport run. Her maiden voyage had been a gala affair. Berthed in one port, named for the other, she had shared the life of her people for half a century of moonlight rides, Friday excursions, and wintry gales. Now, to be banished forever from her beloved Long Island Sound was more than she could bear. No bursting boiler could sink the Park City. She died of a broken heart.
 

First appearing in the LI Forum 1960 No Copyright Information Data Found