The days were getting noticeably longer as
Brownbeard sailed out of Boston heading south
towards New Ferry. He felt wonderful. In fact, he
had never felt better in all of his life. He felt
totally free. And a little scared. Scared because
the ultimate responsibility for success on this new
career path lay solely with himself. Well, that
might always have been the case, whether in
college, at Snookie, Pitts and Fropenheimer, or life
in general. But now Brownbeard had no mentor to
advise him, and no regular paycheck to sustain
him. A little bit of luck would not hurt if this
venture was to prove successful. There were no
guarantees. But he felt alive. Each and every cell
of his body, from the split ends on the top of his
head to the toenails of his feet, felt as if lightening
were coursing through.
Sailing into New York, Brownbeard dropped
anchor, placed a lock on the ship’s steering wheel,
and paid the docking attendant. New York was a
big, bustling city. Some buildings were as high as
eight stories. Walking along the wharf, he entered
each and every tavern and where allowed, put up
signs advertising for men or women to come be
part of a pirating operation. That night, while
Brownbeard was dozing on the For Sale, his first
interviewee came along.
“Hello!” a man’s voice shouted.
Brownbeard stirred from his slumber and
blinked.
“Hello!”
“Yes!” Brownbeard shouted back. “Hold on a
second! I’ll be right there.”
Brownbeard scrambled to make himself
presentable, plucking any stray food crumbs from
his short, stubbly brown beard, and making sure
his hair was neatly matted down under his cap.
Brownbeard then went to welcome his visitor. The
first few minutes of their conversation was spent
establishing that the boat was not in fact for sale
and that Brownbeard was serious.
“Absolutely serious,” Brownbeard assured the
man. “I need men ready to commit to a two year
mission to hunt for buried treasure and rob
innocent ships unlucky enough to pass us by.”
“Sounds interesting,” said the man. “But I’ve
got a wife and kids. I can’t be out more than six
months without a stop to see them.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee a return date,”
Brownbeard explained.
“Of course not,” replied the man. “That’s
understandable. Say, you look kind of young to be
a pirate captain. Is this your first time leading
your own crew?”
“Why, yes it is!” said Brownbeard, beaming
with pride.
“Well, good for you,” said the man. “Whom
did you sail for before this venture?”
“Ummm, no one exactly,” answered
Brownbeard.
“Ah, you must’ve come up through one of
them fast track programs the pirating companies
have started trying to make up for the shortage of
qualified rogues.”
“I was an accounting apprentice in Charleston
a month ago,” said Brownbeard sheepishly. “I’ve
kind of leased this ship for two years.”
The man scratched his head. “So you mean to
say that you’ve got no previous pirating
experience? Not even a couple of classes?”
“No.”
“Awww! Gee willikers!” exclaimed the man,
stomping his foot down in dismay. “Why are you
wasting my time? I’m not sailing for some rookie!
For Davy Jones’ sake, you should be working for
me!”
“My cousin is Blackbeard the Pirate,” said
Brownbeard defensively.
“Well, good for you,” snapped the man. “Why
don’t you get yourself a job with him and learn
something about the industry before jumping to
CEO! Goodnight!”
With that the man turned and stormed off,
leaving Brownbeard feeling not quite as good as
he had on his arrival to New York. But he was to
get used to it. It was a taste of things to come.
After interviewing forty characters, only two were
willing to sail with a captain of Brownbeard’s
untested capabilities. But these two applicants
were not exactly what Brownbeard had in mind for
crew.
One applicant kept talking about getting out to
sea as soon as possible to continue his hunt for a
white whale. He did not seem in the least bit
interested in hunting for buried treasure or robbing
innocent passing ships. Brownbeard felt that he
and all of his crew members needed to be ‘on the
same page’ so to speak. This guy clearly had his
own agenda.
The other applicant, though quite likable and
eager, could not have been a day over ten years
old, though he insisted he was twenty-one.
Brownbeard told him he needed to finish his
education before becoming a pirate.
“Aw, ptooey,” spat the young man, whose
name was Ike. “School’s boring. I want to live a
little.”
“I’m sorry,” said Brownbeard, “but your
parents are probably quite worried about you right
now. It’s two hours past midnight.”
“Nah, they don’t know I’m not in bed,” said
Ike.
“I’m sorry Ike. I just can’t offer you a job right
now. Try me again in seven years or so.”
“Darn,” said Ike glumly. “How ‘bout your
cousin Blackbeard? Do you think he’d hire me?”
“I’m afraid not. All pirates pay strict
adherence to child labor laws,” Brownbeard
assured Ike.
“Darn,” said Ike.
Brownbeard sent Ike on his way, but not before
the two shared a couple of mugs of hot chocolate
with whipped cream on top. Just like real pirates.
* * *
After a few days in New York with no luck,
Brownbeard continued sailing south down the
coast. In an effort to be thorough, he stopped in
every little seaside town he passed, conducting
interviews with anyone who showed interest. But
it was to no avail. Qualified pirates with
experience just laughed at Brownbeard. Those
who were willing to sail with Brownbeard were
either too young, like Ike, or too crazy.
Brownbeard was discouraged.
He sailed into New Ferry. It was high noon
when he arrived. He lay in bed in his cabin aboard
the For Sale. He was too depressed to go visit his
folks just now. He did not want to tell them about
how bad things were going. The For Sale gently
rocked as Brownbeard lay in the dim light of the
captain’s quarters. He began to doze. He dreamed.
He was writing a formula on a blackboard and
was saying in a very high pitched, very squeaky
voice, “Negative bee plus or minus the square
root of bee squared minus four aye sea all over
too aye is the proper equation for solving this
problem.”
He turned around to face the class he was
teaching. His students sat watching him in horror.
But then one, and then another, began to smile at
him. And then they began to giggle. Then more
and more students’ faces changed from
expressions of horror to ones of mocking laughter.
Their laughter grew in intensity until they were
screaming and shrieking at him. Tears were
streaming down their faces they were laughing so
hard.
“What is so funny?” Brownbeard asked the
class.
No one answered. They just continued to laugh.
“What is so funny?” Brownbeard demanded in
his high pitched, squeaky voice. This merely
egged on the class’ hysteria. Brownbeard rubbed
at his mandibles with one of his six leg-arms.
“Oh, no!” thought Brownbeard. “No! Not
again! I’m an ant!”
Brownbeard screamed and screamed while the
class laughed and laughed. Brownbeard screamed
until his large, bulbous head, his somewhat more
slender thorax, and his huge, protruding abdomen
ached. When he awoke from being trapped in an
ant’s body, he wiped at his forehead drenched
with sweat. His head throbbed and his body was
sore all over. It was very dark in the captain’s
room. A few stars peeked through a slit in the
curtains of the room’s single, small window.
Brownbeard was fully awake. Perhaps he
would put off visiting his folks until the next day.
But he was too shaken by his dream to stay here
in this quiet little cell alone. He didn’t want to be
anywhere aboard the For Sale alone. He got out of
bed, washed up, and went for a walk in the old
part of New Ferry.
Brownbeard sailed out of Boston heading south
towards New Ferry. He felt wonderful. In fact, he
had never felt better in all of his life. He felt
totally free. And a little scared. Scared because
the ultimate responsibility for success on this new
career path lay solely with himself. Well, that
might always have been the case, whether in
college, at Snookie, Pitts and Fropenheimer, or life
in general. But now Brownbeard had no mentor to
advise him, and no regular paycheck to sustain
him. A little bit of luck would not hurt if this
venture was to prove successful. There were no
guarantees. But he felt alive. Each and every cell
of his body, from the split ends on the top of his
head to the toenails of his feet, felt as if lightening
were coursing through.
Sailing into New York, Brownbeard dropped
anchor, placed a lock on the ship’s steering wheel,
and paid the docking attendant. New York was a
big, bustling city. Some buildings were as high as
eight stories. Walking along the wharf, he entered
each and every tavern and where allowed, put up
signs advertising for men or women to come be
part of a pirating operation. That night, while
Brownbeard was dozing on the For Sale, his first
interviewee came along.
“Hello!” a man’s voice shouted.
Brownbeard stirred from his slumber and
blinked.
“Hello!”
“Yes!” Brownbeard shouted back. “Hold on a
second! I’ll be right there.”
Brownbeard scrambled to make himself
presentable, plucking any stray food crumbs from
his short, stubbly brown beard, and making sure
his hair was neatly matted down under his cap.
Brownbeard then went to welcome his visitor. The
first few minutes of their conversation was spent
establishing that the boat was not in fact for sale
and that Brownbeard was serious.
“Absolutely serious,” Brownbeard assured the
man. “I need men ready to commit to a two year
mission to hunt for buried treasure and rob
innocent ships unlucky enough to pass us by.”
“Sounds interesting,” said the man. “But I’ve
got a wife and kids. I can’t be out more than six
months without a stop to see them.”
“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee a return date,”
Brownbeard explained.
“Of course not,” replied the man. “That’s
understandable. Say, you look kind of young to be
a pirate captain. Is this your first time leading
your own crew?”
“Why, yes it is!” said Brownbeard, beaming
with pride.
“Well, good for you,” said the man. “Whom
did you sail for before this venture?”
“Ummm, no one exactly,” answered
Brownbeard.
“Ah, you must’ve come up through one of
them fast track programs the pirating companies
have started trying to make up for the shortage of
qualified rogues.”
“I was an accounting apprentice in Charleston
a month ago,” said Brownbeard sheepishly. “I’ve
kind of leased this ship for two years.”
The man scratched his head. “So you mean to
say that you’ve got no previous pirating
experience? Not even a couple of classes?”
“No.”
“Awww! Gee willikers!” exclaimed the man,
stomping his foot down in dismay. “Why are you
wasting my time? I’m not sailing for some rookie!
For Davy Jones’ sake, you should be working for
me!”
“My cousin is Blackbeard the Pirate,” said
Brownbeard defensively.
“Well, good for you,” snapped the man. “Why
don’t you get yourself a job with him and learn
something about the industry before jumping to
CEO! Goodnight!”
With that the man turned and stormed off,
leaving Brownbeard feeling not quite as good as
he had on his arrival to New York. But he was to
get used to it. It was a taste of things to come.
After interviewing forty characters, only two were
willing to sail with a captain of Brownbeard’s
untested capabilities. But these two applicants
were not exactly what Brownbeard had in mind for
crew.
One applicant kept talking about getting out to
sea as soon as possible to continue his hunt for a
white whale. He did not seem in the least bit
interested in hunting for buried treasure or robbing
innocent passing ships. Brownbeard felt that he
and all of his crew members needed to be ‘on the
same page’ so to speak. This guy clearly had his
own agenda.
The other applicant, though quite likable and
eager, could not have been a day over ten years
old, though he insisted he was twenty-one.
Brownbeard told him he needed to finish his
education before becoming a pirate.
“Aw, ptooey,” spat the young man, whose
name was Ike. “School’s boring. I want to live a
little.”
“I’m sorry,” said Brownbeard, “but your
parents are probably quite worried about you right
now. It’s two hours past midnight.”
“Nah, they don’t know I’m not in bed,” said
Ike.
“I’m sorry Ike. I just can’t offer you a job right
now. Try me again in seven years or so.”
“Darn,” said Ike glumly. “How ‘bout your
cousin Blackbeard? Do you think he’d hire me?”
“I’m afraid not. All pirates pay strict
adherence to child labor laws,” Brownbeard
assured Ike.
“Darn,” said Ike.
Brownbeard sent Ike on his way, but not before
the two shared a couple of mugs of hot chocolate
with whipped cream on top. Just like real pirates.
* * *
After a few days in New York with no luck,
Brownbeard continued sailing south down the
coast. In an effort to be thorough, he stopped in
every little seaside town he passed, conducting
interviews with anyone who showed interest. But
it was to no avail. Qualified pirates with
experience just laughed at Brownbeard. Those
who were willing to sail with Brownbeard were
either too young, like Ike, or too crazy.
Brownbeard was discouraged.
He sailed into New Ferry. It was high noon
when he arrived. He lay in bed in his cabin aboard
the For Sale. He was too depressed to go visit his
folks just now. He did not want to tell them about
how bad things were going. The For Sale gently
rocked as Brownbeard lay in the dim light of the
captain’s quarters. He began to doze. He dreamed.
He was writing a formula on a blackboard and
was saying in a very high pitched, very squeaky
voice, “Negative bee plus or minus the square
root of bee squared minus four aye sea all over
too aye is the proper equation for solving this
problem.”
He turned around to face the class he was
teaching. His students sat watching him in horror.
But then one, and then another, began to smile at
him. And then they began to giggle. Then more
and more students’ faces changed from
expressions of horror to ones of mocking laughter.
Their laughter grew in intensity until they were
screaming and shrieking at him. Tears were
streaming down their faces they were laughing so
hard.
“What is so funny?” Brownbeard asked the
class.
No one answered. They just continued to laugh.
“What is so funny?” Brownbeard demanded in
his high pitched, squeaky voice. This merely
egged on the class’ hysteria. Brownbeard rubbed
at his mandibles with one of his six leg-arms.
“Oh, no!” thought Brownbeard. “No! Not
again! I’m an ant!”
Brownbeard screamed and screamed while the
class laughed and laughed. Brownbeard screamed
until his large, bulbous head, his somewhat more
slender thorax, and his huge, protruding abdomen
ached. When he awoke from being trapped in an
ant’s body, he wiped at his forehead drenched
with sweat. His head throbbed and his body was
sore all over. It was very dark in the captain’s
room. A few stars peeked through a slit in the
curtains of the room’s single, small window.
Brownbeard was fully awake. Perhaps he
would put off visiting his folks until the next day.
But he was too shaken by his dream to stay here
in this quiet little cell alone. He didn’t want to be
anywhere aboard the For Sale alone. He got out of
bed, washed up, and went for a walk in the old
part of New Ferry.
The Adventures of Short Stubbly Brownbeard
Alan J. Levine
* * *
Chapter Fourteen - To Hire or Not to Hire
Buy yer hard copy
at . . .
at . . .
Want to support
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
children's literature?
That's great! But
instead, why don't you
go to the followin'
links to buy yer own
miserable copy of
Brownbeard and
support Pirates
Anonymous? We've
been assisting pirates
with mental health and
hygiene issues since
1633. Brownbeard is
also available to
schools and libraries
through wholesalers
like Follett, Ingram,
and Baker & Taylor.
