A Survivor of Dad's Killer Hobbies

Killer Hobbies welcomes Peter Green, author of a Word War II biography of his father, Dad’s War with the United States Marines, and his mystery series with architect-sleuth Patrick MacKenna. He’s stopped by today to give away a copy of his new mystery, Crimes of Design, and to talk about his father’s favorite killer hobby.

Photo of Peter Green by David Ulmer

Ben Green, my fascinating father, not only had a killer hobby, he lived it. He practically killed the rest of us in the process.

After the interruption of the Second World War, Dad got his old Chicago job back and took his place among the noble captains of the ad industry. Current television viewers call them Mad Men. Dad, a self-made city kid, got his first opportunity ever to take a family vacation. His South Pacific war odyssey, which scared the daylights out of the rest of us, had nurtured his love for fishing and the sea, not to mention whetting his thirst for death-defying adventure.

On our first Cape Cod jaunt – on the ocean side of the peninsula, mind you, not in the protected bay – Dad took me fishing in a rented rowboat. Since we weren't catching anything and the sky clouded up, Dad left me on the beach with Mom and my little sister and set out to return the skiff to the dock a half mile to the north. The breeze stiffened and the surf rose, complicating this simple process. In buff condition from the war, Dad cheerfully redoubled his efforts to row back to shore. But in a rising gale and an outgoing tide his craft was carried in the opposite direction and further out to sea. At last a fisherman with an outboard motor, fleeing the building nor'easter, took pity on Dad and towed him back to the boat landing. I can still hear Mom’s frantic shouts, my little sister in tow, as we followed his backward progress along the beach, his boat looking smaller every minute.

But the lure of the sea again proved irresistible. On another Cape Cod venture in 1957, one day when it was too rainy and dark to enjoy the beach, Dad decided to take us up to Provincetown, that charming artist’s colony at the tip of the Cape. When by noon strong winds and rain came up, we learned on the car radio that Hurricane Carol had just crossed Montauk Point on Long Island and was making straight for Cape Cod. In the stiffening wind and rain we took a wrong turn toward the seashore. Water assailed us in horizontal sheets. The approaching tempest buffeted and rocked the car. We parked and staggered toward a lone seaside inn, gripping the car doors frantically to prevent them from blowing off. To keep our footing we had to lean into ninety-five mile-an-hour winds at a 45-degree angle.  Inside, the frantic innkeepers warned us that the entire town had been submerged in the Great Hurricane of ‘38, and advised us to run for our lives to higher ground. A frantic race, dodging falling trees and missile-like airborne rocks, brought us back safely to our cabin in Chatham,  the car suffering only a few dents and a cracked windshield.                            

Another of Dad's fishing adventures got included in a scene in my new mystery, Crimes of Design. With my checkered past, it's no wonder I'm driven to write tales of the dark and dangerous to free my troubled soul.

—by Peter H. Green

Peter has graciously agreed to give away one copy of Crimes of Design to a lucky commenter. You have until Wednesday to share your comment and be eligible to win.

For more of Peter’s thoughts, visit www.peterhgreen.com/blog