Memories for the Center

by Dr. Lloyd S. Tyler III
From the Spring 1997 issue of the Crisfield & Smith Island Newsletter

Back in November, 1995, I attended a meeting of the Crisfield-Smith Island Cultural Alliance. At these meetings, we generally discuss topics important to the Alliance and, at this particular one, we learned that there was a need for benches in the new visitors Center. These benches were to be placed in the lecture area, adjacent to the TV/VCR. They were to be of sturdy construction, at least six feet long (four people?) and designed as to blend with the interior of the building. Oh - and one more thing - they should be built by a genuine Smith Islander who would volunteer his/her time on the project!

Before I had a chance to really comprehend the time and energy needed for a job like this, I had agreed to do it! So, I arranged for the purchase of the wood (over 20 pieces of 2"x12"x16' yellow pine) and picked up the necessary glue, dowel rods, sandpaper, finishing material and other items I needed. In December, I began the job. Like the song said, "I've lost count of the hours, and I've lost track of the days", but after many snowy days, weekends and evenings, the project was finally completed.

To be honest, I truly believed on more than one occasion that I had taken on more than I could handle. But soon the job became a pleasant task because it occurred to me that perhaps these benches could be a fitting tribute to the people I had loved and respected so much in my life; the family who had prodded me, encouraged me, and cheered me on since the days of my youth on Ewell. So, the plan became clear -- I would make six sturdy benches and dedicate them to these wonderful people to whom I owe so much.

My grandparents on Dad's side were Lloyd and Olivia Tyler of Rhodes Point. I can remember vividly the almost-nightly visits to their store, how Pa Lloyd gave me a skiff when I was seven or eight, and how Pa and Ma were called "Uncle Lloyd" and "Aunt Levy" by all the Islanders. They loved Rhodes Point and I believe it was a better place because of them.

Mom's parents were John Tawes and Ella Tyler. They lived "Over the Hill" and I can still remember delivering mail to them as a child, following in the footsteps of my older sisters and brother. "Ma Ellie" was one of the sweetest, most pleasant people I have ever known. I never knew her to get upset or say a cross word. And John Tawes was one of those characters you would hear tales about with regularity.

Others to whom the benches are dedicated include my father, Lloyd S. Tyler, Jr. He was certainly a bright student; he attended Wesley in Dover (when it was a high school) and started at American University when he was just sixteen years old. A child of the depression, Dad dropped out of college after more than three years of study to work on the water, which he did for over 25 years. When I asked him once why he returned to Rhodes Point from college, he said, "College graduates were standing on the corners of Washington selling pencils and apples. I knew I could do better than that on Smith Island." I never knew he was an athlete until I saw his American University yearbook, which showed him on both the basketball and tennis teams. Dad died of a heart attack in 1987 and I'll always believe his time was shortened by the grief of the death of his son, Cranston.

Cranston was my hero - nine years older, tall and good looking - I wanted to be just like him. He was a wonderful older brother. I can remember him as a high school student who used to bring me little presents from Crisfield, knock me down in one-sided pillow fights, and be just about the greatest role-model a boy ever had. Later on, we were best friends.

I remember the time we went racing from Ewell to Rhodes Point in Dad's 1951 Kaiser (Ed: for you younger readers, that was a car!) I recall (I think) going around a turn or two on two wheels. But then Cranston lost control, we went into the ditch and turned over. When we crawled out of a side window, I thought it was so cool that the wheels were still spinning on this overturned car. The rest of that summer, we rode in the only car on the Island with air-conditioning -- the accident had broken the windshield!! Cranston served as a Maryland State Trooper for 25 years. He died in 1984 of a brain tumor.

Jeanette was my big sister. Always smart, she was a very good student with so much academic ability (and a fair crab picker, too). She was the first in my family to graduate from college (Western Maryland, Class of 1959). She taught in the Baltimore County school system for 31 years - all at the same school in Dundalk.

Jeanette thought of me as her property, or so it seemed. She would come looking for me every Friday when the school boat came back to the Island from Crisfield. One time, I had been to Alice Dize's with some friends. We lost our way home, cut through the marsh and ditches, and were thoroughly wet and muddy when we got back. Just then, Jeanette came home and, of course, began to call for and look for me. I fooled her though - I hid under a fig tree in our yard until she went away.

Jeanette died in 1993 of cancer. She, Cranston, Dad, Pa Lloyd and Ma Levy, Pa Tawes and Ma Ellie are on my mind every day still. I'll always miss them, but I have such joy in the many memories I have of them. I think that it's true when they say that, when someone close to you dies, a part of you dies too.

The last bench is dedicated to my mother, Dorothy Tyler. A caring, loving person, she is evidently just like her mother. What can one say about their mother? Words certainly cannot do the job, but I do know I have been blessed to have been her son. She has given me so much more than I could ever repay. We have shared a tremendous amount of grief and sorrow, and have also shared much happiness and laughter. I think she has never really been mad at me, and we are closer than ever now. Whenever I am down, I can think of her and know I am truly blessed.

I am also blessed to have been born and raised (mostly) on Smith Island. The freedom we had as children of the Island I suppose may never be seen again. I remember putt-putting down the creek in my skiff - the one with the 5-horsepower Sea King motor. I remember paddling out to a beacon and dropping a fishing line overboard - and feeding several tiny fish to the cats when Mom wouldn't cook them. When I hear today's kids talk about their mo-peds, go-carts or four-wheelers, I can't help but think that they don't really know what fun is!

But mostly, I'll never forget the considerate, loving and wonderful people of Smith Island. My memories of my youth on the Island have never dimmed with passing time. Like the great Lou Gehrig, I consider myself to be the luckiest man on the face of the earth - because of my family, my friends, and the people of the Island.