An appreciation: David Ogden Douglas (1941-2016)

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He was my brother and best friend for over 65 years. You’ve heard the phrase “quality time,” well that’s what David and I had for three weeks in February in his beautiful new home in Ocala, Fla. We passed the time away mostly talking tales of yesterday. We remembered our car trip back from California when he was only 13.

We recalled sails together in Vineyard Haven Harbor in the family “Vineyard Haven 15,” still owned by this writer. I clearly remember, as did he, when he and a school chum from nearby Middlesex School, each on a swept back wing of an F-86-L, witnessed the start of and run up of its J-47 jet engine, early one evening alongside an alert hangar at the east end of the long runway at Hanscom Field, Bedford. You could talk but you couldn’t hear a thing.

We both recalled his presiding over a large aluminum pot on the stove in Shenandoah’s galley, when she lay tied to Harvey Gamage’s dock in South Bristol, Maine, shortly after her launch on 15FEB1964. David had provided a good supply of rum with which he kept replenishing the aluminum pot, and with butter and sugar and cinnamon. It was well appreciated on that cold February day. The bagpipers of the McPherson Pine Tree Band who played at the launching were showing very red knees. We remembered many joint car trips down to Maine, largely devoted to what we described as antique runs. More than a few sea chests, whaling harpoons, scrimshaw, and half models changed residency to Martha’s Vineyard.

David soon became a farmer of note, making much hay every summer, and at one time owning around 100 big, beautiful Charolais cattle. Cattle shows became a big part of his life.

And to fill in any empty moments, he became an accomplished architect while he lived in Essex. He had a modern approach for much that he drew, but he lived in a true antique, a house on the Tiasquam River, part of which was very old with gunstock corner posts. And that association obviously influenced him to design and build, with Alan Miller and Brownie Lesnikowski, a typical New England story and a half with center chimney, so accurate in all detail that many professionals thought it was an early original, not built in 1967. It had small paned windows and all flooring was hand planed, all interior walls were plastered on lath, and all doors and fireplace paneled walls were from the unlucky Roth house that was torn down in 1961.

His building and design work was multifaceted, and included new designs of modern and antique structures, redesigns of existing barns into houses, and construction of many barns from scratch, both wooden framed and shingled and steel framed with sheet metal siding. He was well equipped to handle almost any job and excelled in any area of construction and design that he undertook.

But perhaps he was equally as dedicated to the arts of the farmer, and was never more satisfied than when in the seat of one of his fine green John Deere tractors, plowing under green sod, brown weathered corn, or raking and baling freshly cut hay. He sold off the last of his farming gear only this last year and had commented to me that 40 summers of cutting hay was maybe about enough.

Another of his many accomplishments was that of mechanic, for anyone who knows farming is aware that machinery is always breaking down, and if you can’t get the baler working again quick, a lot of good hay may soon become worthless.

I almost forgot the tale about David’s 1720 saltbox on Chebaco Pond in Essex. I was returning from a visit with Maine friends on a winter day in 1967 in my old ’63 blue Ford pickup with Black Dog as my companion. Near Ipswich the snow got so bad I got stuck in the middle of Route 3, spent the night between two furnaces in a nearby motel, and didn’t get underway again ’til the next day. David’s house in Essex was my nearest available sanctuary, and after witnessing 14-foot snow drifts on the coast road, I pulled into David’s driveway early in the afternoon where I was welcomed by the owner.

There was no electricity for three days, but the house stayed warm with the kitchen fireplace in the 14-foot square chimney stack, roaring all the time. Thankfully the firewood supply was abundant, and I was comfortable with a mattress on the floor right in front of the fire.

The big fireplace had once supplied fire for cooking and was pressed into service again. Many big pots near the fireplace were utilized, making water from a plentiful new snow supply just outside the door.

The host — my brother — and I seized this opportunity for a long gam, for little could be done outside. Little did I know that the last good chance at a gam would present itself to me before the fire of David’s house in Ocala, Fla., 50 years later.

Goodbye David my friend, see you.

Capt. Robert S. Douglas of West Tisbury is the designer, builder, and master of the Vineyard Haven schooner Shenandoah and the founder of the Black Dog Tavern and associated businesses. He and his late brother David, who died Friday, March 18, were summer residents at West Chop who became devoted lifelong Islanders.