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At the end of the meal, my friend Jerry Ballow went to his armoire, pulled out an old bottle of Armagnac and while pulling out the cork he said:

“My dear Fleche, I’m going to tell you a story which is absolutely true, it happened… a number of years ago.

At that time I worked for an unsavory company on the lower side.  From Monday through Friday, along with with my 2 friends in misfortune, there was only one thing on our minds: fishing on Long Island.

One weekend was particularly memorable; we had reserved a boat and the Captan Michal Mc… (I’ve forgotten his name!). At the time this guy was known as the best guide in Montauk, he was capable of connecting you with the biggest fish in the region and fast. Fleche my friend, It’s difficult for me to describe the guy. He was a cross between Michel Simon and Jack Palance; with little eyes that could suck the marrow from your bones. He wore a kind of filthy oil cloth overalls that was covered with dried blood. He was a walking nightmare! And his boat resembled him like a twin brother. Worn out to the ropes, it was probably in top shape 200 years ago. And the odor… climbing aboard indicated tendencies of either suicide or madness; but it was saturday, the sea was calm and our office was 150 miles to the west. The captain mumbled in his beard something that sounded like: “It seems that there are big sharks strolling around out there. Get on board and let’s go.”

After a good hour of traveling in that stink, the captain announced the beginning of hostilities and started to toss buckets of fish guts, blood and other nauseous stuff over the side of the boat. I swear to you my friend, while I’m not a pussy, I had a hard time hanging on to my breakfast. It turns out, however, that all that stench attracts sharks, which only goes to prove that I’m not a real shark!

Terry took a rod first and we were off for a session of trolling. The technique is bloody boring but devilishly efficient because 10 minutes later the first bite had my friend and his reel howling. “Shark!” the captain hollered seeing the rod bend over dangerously.  A little later we saw the face of a blue shark arrive, not enormous, but really something else. We were taking turns, so then it was Ethan who took the rod. A quarter of an hour later the same thing. Ethan had a funny look on his face; on the other end of the line, something was pulling hard.

We were laughing like children having a good time watching Ethan puffing like a seal and… the second “blue” came up.  Then it was my turn to take over. One hour passed, nothing. Was I the only one coming up empty handed?  Suddenly, I had the impression of being attached to a TGV train. Damn, what force. If my friends hadn’t hung on to me, the bloody thing on the other end of the line would have pulled me overboard!  And this little game went on, and on, and on. I was exhausted, I couldn’t hang on any longer. I wanted the line to break. Then, without notice, we see “the thing” appear.  This shark was really ENORMOUS and there was no question of just pulling it up. The captain Mac Something handed me a gaff harpoon and dryly ordered me to get out on the bow of the boat and to harpoon the breast when it came up.

 

With legs like jello I hung on to the bowsprit while the captain maneuvered to get the shark within reach. Suddenly the beast was there with his mouth open, but what a mouth… it was so big and red and purple and white and pointed that I completely panicked and dropped the harpoon. You can’t imagine this monster and his head was bigger than death. Furiously the captain seized another harpoon and there we were in full Odyssey, Dracula against Frankenstein, the executioner of Bethune against the white angel, Maciste against the Vampires. To our great relief, finally, the GOOD won over the DRAGON and the big shark was on board on the port side, all tied up in the line and dripping with blood, a horrible spectacle.

The work done, the captain radioed the Harbor Master in Montauk to inform them of the taking of this incredible shark. When we got back to port there was an enormous crowd waiting. There were trucks with Television crews from ABC, NBC; there were cameras everywhere. All of Long Island wanted to see “THE BIGGEST SHARK EVER CAUGHT IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC!”

Holy shit, it’s me, Jerry, the little New York jew, hero of the day. Beer was flowing everywhere, the captain all puffed up, for once he was smiling. Made him look weird. At the end of the ceremony I went over to him and said: “Tell me, as a souvenir of my shark, I would love to keep the jaw”. And there, menacingly, the guy looked at me with his little eyes of a stone marten; he pulled his filthy jacket to the side to reveal a holster on his belt with a gun in it and he said in a icy tone: “WHOSE SHARK?”

A few years later the captain served as a model, for the character of the nasty captain, in the celebrated Spielberg film: “JAWS”.