BCJ_SUMMER17 Digital Edition

Gregarious, quick to laugh with a wide smile, wearing his signature
white polo shirt, Mel is the sort of guy who sets the tone for
whatever scene he is in. He will give you his favorite Senko without
a second thought and show you exactly the spot to cast it into,
as well as just how slowly to bring it back in. Nat, in contrast,
takes on the role of the elder. He drills the kids on hook safety,
respect for their parents and taking care of the Meer ecosystem,
but he will always take a sunfish off the hook for a child too squeamish
to do it himself or herself. Though he can be a stern mentor,
Nat’s occasionally silly sense of humor still shines through as he
heckles his fellow Meer regulars, from kids to cops.
After spending a whole summer fishing together, I sat with Nat
and Mel “on the bench” one afternoon in late August, swapping
lures and talking about the park. “We sit on this one bench,” Nat
explains to me, “and the people know us from sitting on this one
spot.” The bench serves as their office space. From it, The Fishermen
accept rod and tackle donations, supervise the kids and communicate
with the police and parks enforcement officers assigned
to the area. They also socialize with each other.
Country, another member of the group who got his nickname
on account of his down-south accent, swings by the bench and
sits down. For Country, being a part of The Fishermen and socializing
on the bench at the Meer gave him a sense of family, because
he has no relatives in New York.
“[It’s a] tight knit community that fishes this lake,” Country
says. “Everybody knows each other. These are the people that you
see every day. White, African, Mexican, it don’t matter.”
The Meer community helped him get through his mother’s recent
passing by providing a supportive group of people for him
to talk with. For Country, the Meer also provides something of a
sanctuary. “Outside the park I be miserable, because I don’t have
nothing to do. I can’t work [due to a disability], I don’t drink. If it
weren’t for this, I’d have nothing to do and I’d be stressed out. But
I can just walk here every day.”
And even Mel, despite his cheerfulness, thinks he’d “probably
be locked up, or somewhere in the drunk tank” without the Meer.
“This pond saved me. I can come here and relax, and not worry
about nothing.”
The Fishermen community also led Mel to a construction job
when he needed work. Perhaps even more important for Mel,
however, is that all the kids know his name. “I could go anywhere
[in this neighborhood] and all the kids will know my name. Everyone
respects us when they see us – ‘Oh, there go The Fishermen!’”
This good will extends from local parents and their children
to the mostly white police who patrol the Meer. They have a
noticeable rapport with The Fishermen, characterized by inside
jokes and gear donations. Nat is confident that the park uplifts
the community. “We walk down the block and the parents say,
‘Thank you for keeping my son away from the building.’”
Spending time with the fishing community at the Meer makes
it easy to understand these feelings. Instead of being stuck in their
apartments or on their blocks with nothing to do, men like Mel,
Nat and Country have the Meer to thank for their evolution from
under- or unemployed locals, to public figures and respected mentors.
The organization is unregistered, unfunded and informal, yet
The Fishermen form an institution that provides valuable services
to nearby families and, even more so, to the men of the organization
themselves, who derive a very real sense of self worth from
what they do for their neighbors and for local kids. The Meer
gives The Fishermen a safe, green sanctuary away from the stresses
of both work and home that allows them to form long-lasting
and meaningful social networks with other regulars. Because of
these networks, the Meer becomes a place that offers Nat and
Mel more than just largemouth bass and a good time. Mel knows
when he needs it, the other Fishermen can come through with
opportunities for jobs and housing, as well as emotional support
in tough times.
As the day comes to a close the lamps above the bench light up.
The convivial atmosphere The Fishermen enjoy runs on into the
night as they chat and joke. Occasionally, one of them even catches
a fish. Mel jumps up to help a young girl who is wandering a
bit too close to the water’s edge while Nat shows me grainy cell
phone photos of the monster crappie his son caught in the Meer
last year. “It’s a big feeling,” Nat tells me, reflecting on his years of
fishing with local children. “When you see their eyes open up like
50-cent pieces when they catch their first fish, that’s what really
gets ’em. They’re hooked for life.”
Taimur grew up in New York City fishing the Harlem Meer. He
researched this piece on The Fishermen as part of his senior thesis
in sociology at Princeton University. The biggest breakthrough in his
research came from catching a big catfish that everyone at the Meer
wanted to hear about.
46 | BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL SUMMER 2017
SUMMER 2017 BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL | 47