DON’T TIP THE BOAT
At one time in my career, I was employed as a salesman — sales manager responsible for sales to some of the most significant and most vital clients on the company books.
The products we marketed were strictly commodities, and we were in the most competitive sector of our industry. It was challenging to sell our products as being of superior quality than our competitors. Consequently, we were always seeking new ways to keep our clientele loyal and interested in us as a supplier. The old “quality story” and superior service statement seldom held water. Pricing was only an issue if we made it an issue.
What was important were personal relationships developed through entertaining, rebates, activities such as golf, theater, and athletic tickets, junkets, and the like. In addition, I was often called on to be a father confessor and a source for payment of college tuition. We did amazing things to maintain our position with buyers.
The real selling was merely being a jack of all trades and an entertainment director for these substantial customers. My job was similar to being a political lobbyist. It was so much fun, and I was great at it. I was the genie in the bottle. YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND type of thing.
Everything I did was on a first-class basis, and my lips were always sealed. I spent tremendous amounts of money on and with my clients. After all, going first class only costs twenty percent more. But, surprisingly, there were times when I became bored with it all. During these interludes, I found it necessary to become creative. I once purchased a new car for a customer, and I sponsored a skiing trip for another where my crazy buyer actually jumped from a helicopter on a virgin slope in Alaska donned in his skis. There was just no end to it. I also sponsored fabulous offshore fishing trips.
While on one of these excursions, I hooked into a Mako shark and had the time of my life fighting and hauling it in. When we arrived at the dock, the monster was muscled up on the dock and examined.
The fish weighed at least two hundred pounds. The expression on the beast's face was menacing, and the visual of his mouth with his fearsome set of teeth was terrifying. I immediately thought about organizing a hunting-fishing expedition on the high seas. Shark fishing was in its infancy since Jaws was still being created. I decided to do some investigation.
After extensive research, I located a captain and a boat specializing in shark fishing out of Montauk Point, NY. It sounded just like what I was searching for. I called for some information and found I had struck gold, so I headed off for Montauk Point the next day.
When I arrived at the Cove Marina, the Cricket II entered the harbor, being pursued by a large flock of Seagulls. The boat was chugging along with several sharks in tow.
A large crowd appeared at the dock as the boat arrived. My guess was maybe twenty to thirty people. The captain, a mate, and a couple of dockhands started hoisting the sharks off the transom. The guests on the boat were trying to help but were at a loss. Finally, the captain called the clients idiots and told them to get out of the way. I enjoyed that. This guy was a killer.
I recall thinking how vicious and primitive these animals looked. They were so damn mean looking with their black sunken eyes and rows of murderous teeth. There was an air of danger approaching these dead creatures. There were assorted types, some Blue, a Mako, and a Dusky. All streamlined and dangerous. This sight would pump some of my daredevil clients—real blood and guts danger.
In about an hour or so, I introduced myself to Captain Frank Mundus. He was about six feet, built like an ox, well-tanned, wore an earring, and was very gritty looking. His khaki pants were rolled up, revealing his bare feet. His big toenails were painted one green and the other red. The man appeared to be every bit of a salty crazy man worthy of his challenging sport. But he was the real deal.
We shot the bull for a while, and I found he was originally from the NJ Shore and ran a charter out of Brielle for many years before taking to shark fishing. He grabbed a beer and told me that an author had recently contacted him from NY, Peter Benchley, to become a consultant on a new movie regarding sharking and a specific character. Later, to find out the picture was Jaws, and his colorful character was Quint, the Captain of the Orca.
I thought Shark Hunting would be a new addition to my bag of tricks, and I was right. The sport proved to have the right amount of danger and mystery to tempt many of my clients. The high seas, hunting wild beasts and a half-crazed bigger-than-life celebrity captain. The ingredients of fabulous adventures. It was a very macho experience, and I must admit I was hooked on the sport myself.
Over the years, Captain Frank and I had some exhilarating and fun adventures. He never failed to put on a great show for my clients. We became friends, and I often visited him in Montauk with my daughters. He loved showing off to them, especially on the dock with the dead sharks. He would try to scare them, and he did a good job of it.
In later years my career had changed, and we drifted apart. I moved from NY to Georgia, and Frank retired to the Virgin Islands and then to Honolulu, where he eventually passed away at eight two.
Frank was the KING of shark fishing, being part of the movie Jaws. Shark fishing became a trendy sport because of his reputation and his self-promotion. Frank was a real live sportsman and a man’s man. He always put on a good show and told an exciting story. I always had an exciting and fun time with Captain Frank.
