When the pandemic shut down my gym, for exercise I took to taking 6 or 7 mile walks around town. One of my favorite hikes was down to Jack London Square from Uptown, from where I’d head south, along the Bay Trail past KTVU, then turn inland toward Lake Merritt and home. Along the way, on the Estuary, behind the Jack London Aquatic Center, were five or six big sailboats moored at the foot of a dock.
The boats were in trashy shape. Some didn’t look navigable; others were dilapidated but appeared seaworthy. Flotsam and jetsam, they seemed to be occupied by homeless people, and looked like a floating Wood Street encampment. This was around 2022, after we’d started the Coalition for a Better Oakland, and I was in a pretty anti-encampment mood, so I took my camera out, intending to take pictures which I would send to some public agency with a request for a cleanup.
I was looking for a good angle to shoot from when a few people emerged from nowhere and asked what I was doing. I instinctively realized that they lived on these boats and were understandably suspicious about a stranger taking pictures. The area is quite isolated and there was some danger, I suppose, although I wasn’t at all frightened.
I explained that I just taking pictures. A man of about 45, who seemed to be their leader or spokesperson, never asked me why I wanted photos. Instead, he was quite friendly, and when I pocketed my cell phone, we began to chat. He was a little guy, muscular and good-looking, with a shaved head and lots of rings, and was quite loquacious. That was the beginning of my friendship with Liam (not his real name).
Over the next year and a half, I’d walk down to the dock once every week or two. Liam wasn’t always there. I knew he didn’t have what could be called a real job, but I didn’t know where he was if he wasn’t at his boat, where his wife, Anna (not her real name), also lived. It would have been disrespectful for me to ask Liam where he spent his time when he wasn’t at his boat. Liam told me a lot about himself, and if he’d wanted me to know such things he would have shared them. But he didn’t.
Over the course of time, we came to know each other quite well. Liam obviously lived outside the law, as the saying goes, but I never pressed him on how he made money, nor did I much care. I respected the fact that he liked and trusted me. After all, for all he knew I was some undercover popo. I’d been mistaken for that before, by Occupy Oakland folks. But Liam did trust and like me, and that meant a great deal to me.
He’d been born in Vietnam and come to California in a boat with his family and many others, after North Vietnam won the war. He described the ocean journey with great specificity, and while there were inconsistencies in his account, I liked listening to him. He was a great raconteur. I also got to know Anna and some of Liam’s friends. I liked them all, and never did cease being amazed at how easily and thoroughly they welcomed me into their world.
Last summer was when I first heard of the estuary “pirates.” The media had been reporting on them, for example in this KTVU story that said the Oakland Estuary had become “a breeding ground for what is being described as a crime spree by pirates.” I visited with Liam around this time, and he was quite indignant about these stories, with which he was, of course, acquainted, having been interrogated by the authorities, who he believed were surveilling him by land and air. It pissed him off. Liam had a temper. With me, he was as sweet as could be. He was constantly stoned on weed, and could be charming, even loving. He would hug me and give me little gifts: a cheap watch (I wondered where he’d got it), a bag of pot, a little bit of copper, his bright smile missing a tooth or two. But he also told me of his run-ins with gangsters, of the times he’d had to fight; and Anna’s body, with its bruises and scars, testified to her own precarious times. (I never thought Liam had battered Anna. She was a big, strong girl, easily 40 pounds heavier than Liam, and could hold her own. Besides, Liam clearly worshipped her.)
But, as I said, Liam had a temper. Once, when we were chatting, the owner of one of the other boats showed up. It was clear Liam didn’t like him. The two had some words, and then the other guy went down the dock ramp toward his boat. Liam and I were alone. He grew silent. As I watched, a spell seemed to possess him. His face grew dark and rigid. His eyes squinted into something only he could see. I continued to watch him and I swear I could see something unholy take over his mind. It was startling and scary. I asked if he was all right. Without answering he sprang up and raced down the dock after the man. The two squared off. Suddenly, Anna emerged between them and prevented them from fighting. “I’m your wife, Liam!” she implored him. “If you love me, go back to the boat!” Somebody, I’m sure, would have died had the men entered into combat. I had a lot of respect for Anna for the way she defused that situation.
The last time I visited Liam, which was the last time I saw him, was late last Fall. He was in his boat, and came up on shore to sit with me, as had become our ritual. He was worried he’d be evicted by the cops. They were really cracking down on the pirates, which they believed him to be one of. After that visit, I stopped going on my long walks because winter came, and as I get old I find the cold and rain disagreeable. A couple weeks ago, I read that three of the pirates had been arrested by the Oakland Police Department. The news reports didn’t mention any names.
The weather recently has turned glorious, as you know, so yesterday, for the first time in about five months, I walked down to the dock. I still had the image of the six boats in my mind, swaying on the water, at the base of the dock, their masts rocking back and forth. As I rounded the point across from Brooklyn Basin where the Bay Trail turns east, I expected, and very much wanted, to see the boats, and I hoped Liam would be there, smiling and welcoming me. But when I took the turn, there was nothing. The dock still sloped down to the water, but there was nothing there, not even a canoe. The boats, the people, Liam, all gone. It was almost obscene, as though the dock had been amputated of its vitality.
I felt very sad. I sat on the bench at the head of the dock where Liam and I had had so many talks and looked out over the sparkling water for a long time. The Spring sun was warm, and the breeze was gentle and cooling. Gulls cawed overhead, as memories of Liam swirled in my head.
I don’t know if Liam was a pirate or not. He portrayed himself as a happy-go-lucky drifter who preferred to live on his boat with his wife and smoke dope with his friends. He didn’t fit in with normal society, he said, and just wanted to be left alone to do his thing. In the end, of course, society wouldn’t leave him alone. But he was a happy guy with a good soul. Where he and Anna are, I have no idea. They might be in jail, they might be in the Pacific Northwest, they may have sailed up the Delta (where Liam had talked of going), or anyplace else. Wherever they landed, I hope Liam and Anna are doing real good.
Steve Heimoff