Big tales told on Liar's Bench in Onancock

ONANCOCK

Just after lunchtime, Jesse Bradford walks to the bench at Onancock Wharf, takes a seat in the sun and faces the harbor.

The early October air is warm enough for Jesse to wear shorts and white tennis shoes.

A few minutes pass before Ralph Kilmon and others arrive.

The men, in their 70s and 80s, have on oversized sunglasses and white socks pulled high. They are a picture of life in this tiny town that hugs the Chesapeake Bay on the Eastern Shore.

"How's everything out at the McDonald's?" Jesse asks.

"Ain't much to tell you," Ralph responds.

"Same old thing?"

"Same old thing. Prices goin' up."

"Oh, have they?"

"Three hotcakes, bacon and coffee, it's about five dollars and 10 cents. It used to be two dollars and something."

"You're kidding me!"

The men gather here most afternoons. They watch boats go by. They tease. They talk.

They tell tales - long ones, short ones, true ones and, well...

Like the one about the woman on Tangier Island with 54 cats, each with its own name.

Or the one about the time Barbra Streisand docked at the wharf and spent the day walking around town and admiring flowers in one woman's garden.

From their wooden perch, the men have a perfect view of the harbor. Its banks are lined with tall trees and sloping backyards. People come and go from nearby Mallards at the Wharf, a restaurant that once was the town's general store. Except for the men's voices, the sounds are spare - water rippling against the wooden pier, big trucks moving gravel for a new Walmart.

Al Crockett has a story that bears repeating.

"Isaac's boy found my initials in the Eiffel Tower in Paris."

"I know, I heard you say it," Jesse says.

"He brought the picture back. I told him where to go look, and he did, he found it. All those years, my initials are still there."

"Have you been up in the Space Needle?"

"Space Needle where? There's two or three of them. Seattle?"

"Seattle, Washington."

The gang grew up nearby or on Tangier Island, in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay. They were watermen or merchants, once, and warriors, fighting in World War II. They are joined by history but have lives of their own.

Jesse Bradford, 72, doesn't own a telephone of any sort.

Ralph Kilmon, 73, made folk art out of white pine - model houses and boats - and videotaped scenery along the Eastern Shore.

Al Crockett, 77, was born on Tangier Island but traveled the world. He is the assistant harbor master. His initials are on the Eiffel Tower. He carved them there years ago and told the wharf master's son where to look when he went.

Woody Rew, 85, was busted sneaking out of a house of ill repute in Casablanca, Morocco, during World War II. He said he once saw a man on a steamboat fall in the wharf and drown.

Bob Williams, 85, was a sailor who fought in South Pacific invasions in World War II aboard the aircraft carrier Cabot. He and Rew grew up together on the Eastern Shore and tease each other about their military records. Woody says Bob served on a skiff, not an aircraft carrier.

"That boy there, his greatest battle was at Miami Beach," Bob says, firing back. "Sitting in the sand, looking up and down at girls with bathing suits on. That was his job."

They've settled in or near Onancock, an Indian village established as a port in 1680 that became a hub for steamboats from Baltimore.

"That's the boat that hung the brassieres up on his mast," Al says, looking over at a sailboat docked by the restaurant. "Remember that? Yeah, he's funny, that captain."

Jesse: "He's got 'em hanging there now!"

Al: "Look, he's still got 'em hanging."

Ralph: "They're red, white and blue, too!"

Al: "Here comes Woody."

Jesse: "Hey, Woody! Look at the brassieres on there."

Al: "He can't see 'em, Jesse. He don't even know there's a boat over there."

About the only thing the regulars at the wharf don't know is how their bench got labeled.

Woody says an earlier sign, complete with a fish under it, was stolen years ago.

About 15 years ago, a former dock employee screwed the current sign to the marina building that stands nearby. Maybe.

That's what Al remembers. But he can't recall the guy's name.

The sign reads: Liar's Bench.

Patrick Wilson, (757) 446-2957, patrick.wilson@pilotonline.com