I know. It sounds like that indy rock band I never formed. I mean, "The Agents of Moxie." And I began thinking about prototypical pieces for this portion of my undertaking. I already knew that this section should be dedicated to stories of persons, places and things that inspire us to expand ourselves. I knew it is about paying homage and giving back.
And there they were, after a few scattered hours of thought, ideas. And while there is no question that some of these topics will eventually appear in these pages, as the first article, they came and they went. Except this idea, this one idea came and it stuck. I said to myself, "I will lead with a piece about my grandfather." And in that, I realized the point. The "Agents of Moxie" is for me (or anyone else that writes here). It is in all ways self-serving, and maybe a little bit vain.
: Cedric Dellone (An Agent of Moxie)
As I reflect on the man, I realize that I really didn't know him. I guess that is just how my family is; we don't really talk about ourselves. In fact, for me, it took my wife, and through her questions to my grandmother, to finally learn what Cedric Dellone did in his lifetime.
This isn't to say, however, that I hadn't acquired the basics. I knew that at one point he was a boxer, and I knew he played soccer "semi-professionally." I knew he took my mom "on the road" a lot as a girl. I knew he owned a bar for a short period of time; I knew he had a knack for tinkering with things. And I knew, he liked boats and the water.
And this story really starts there. As early as I can remember, summers were for going to "the shore." For us, that meant Holly Neck Road; Middle River, MD. My grandfather's family, I want to say, his brother (notice how I am not really sure), had waterfront property there. But I didn't go up to the house enough to know. My time, rather, was spent on the water, at the dock, or in the "boat house."
I mean, I guess that is what I will call it, a boat house. As I remember it, it was a large garage, probably 2 wide and 3 deep. Filled with motors, miscelleanous mechanical parts and lumber; occasionally it housed an automobile, and more often than not it contained a boat pulled into "dry dock." My grandfather rented this space; it was his shop. He was making a living as a boat mechanic, and this is what I knew.
The shop had a heavily lubricated smell. It typically stopped me for a minute on my arrival. But only for a minute, because for me, it was immediately down to the dock. A small single pier, this is where he had his boat tied off. He had a few different boats in the time that I knew him. Each was different, but all were virtually the same. They were relatively big, twenty-four plus feet. They were all built in the 1950's, all had wooden hulls, and they all had "captain's decks." To me, they were "the boat."
As a boy, I remember many trips in the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. From the boat, we swam, we fished, we ate, we drank, we felt the cool air as we were cruising, and occasionally I got to steer. It was great fun for a young kid. And of all the things I should be thanking my grandfather for, these experiences have to top the list.
He maintained this boat for his family, yes, to share with us, but as I reflect, I know he kept the boat maybe more for himself. It was there, on it, working on it, he was captain and crew. It was there that he was most happy. And as any boat owner will tell you, it took much maintenance. As a kid I guess I knew it, but to me the maintenance wasn't what kept the weekend trips afloat.
As I reflect on the man, I realize that I really didn't know him. I guess that is just how my family is; we don't really talk about ourselves. In fact, for me, it took my wife, and through her questions to my grandmother, to finally learn what Cedric Dellone did in his lifetime.
This isn't to say, however, that I hadn't acquired the basics. I knew that at one point he was a boxer, and I knew he played soccer "semi-professionally." I knew he took my mom "on the road" a lot as a girl. I knew he owned a bar for a short period of time; I knew he had a knack for tinkering with things. And I knew, he liked boats and the water.
And this story really starts there. As early as I can remember, summers were for going to "the shore." For us, that meant Holly Neck Road; Middle River, MD. My grandfather's family, I want to say, his brother (notice how I am not really sure), had waterfront property there. But I didn't go up to the house enough to know. My time, rather, was spent on the water, at the dock, or in the "boat house."
I mean, I guess that is what I will call it, a boat house. As I remember it, it was a large garage, probably 2 wide and 3 deep. Filled with motors, miscelleanous mechanical parts and lumber; occasionally it housed an automobile, and more often than not it contained a boat pulled into "dry dock." My grandfather rented this space; it was his shop. He was making a living as a boat mechanic, and this is what I knew.
The shop had a heavily lubricated smell. It typically stopped me for a minute on my arrival. But only for a minute, because for me, it was immediately down to the dock. A small single pier, this is where he had his boat tied off. He had a few different boats in the time that I knew him. Each was different, but all were virtually the same. They were relatively big, twenty-four plus feet. They were all built in the 1950's, all had wooden hulls, and they all had "captain's decks." To me, they were "the boat."
As a boy, I remember many trips in the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. From the boat, we swam, we fished, we ate, we drank, we felt the cool air as we were cruising, and occasionally I got to steer. It was great fun for a young kid. And of all the things I should be thanking my grandfather for, these experiences have to top the list.
He maintained this boat for his family, yes, to share with us, but as I reflect, I know he kept the boat maybe more for himself. It was there, on it, working on it, he was captain and crew. It was there that he was most happy. And as any boat owner will tell you, it took much maintenance. As a kid I guess I knew it, but to me the maintenance wasn't what kept the weekend trips afloat.
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