The Star Talks To Capt. Al Scannella

Love Affair With Lisa Ann

PAT MUNDUS

Hannibal Scannella mends his own clothes, repairs his own rigging, and goes aloft, if he has to, on the beloved 63-year-old wooden sailboat he calls Lisa Ann. Not unusual for a boat owner, you say? Fine, except that Captain Al is 90 years old.

Conceived in the Bronx and born in Formia, Italy, in April 1908, he returned to New York City with his mother in 1911. "My mother hated America. She came from a merchant family with 30 horses and wagons, and missed her family and life in Italy. She went back [for his birth] and left my brother with my father. But my father, a stonemason, told her come back or else."

The elder Scannella, like many immigrants, learned to read and write in a two-year compulsory military program and eventually taught himself to read blueprints. He became an engineer in the booming New York construction business.

September Sail

Passing East Hampton's commercial dock, under way with family and friends aboard Lisa Ann for a September picnic sail, Captain Al curled his toes around the end of the tiller and steered with his bare foot.

As usual, he was dressed in blue. Navy blue shorts, light blue shirt with navy blue tie and tie pin, and a navy blue cap with "Captain" across the front.

There was no breeze, and the fall sun was hot. Noticing a visitor's gaze, Captain Al grabbed her hand and said, "Punch me! Go ahead, try my stomach muscles! I still have my strength."

Indeed he does.

Memories

"I learned about my father's profession at first just by watching. My mother would pack a lunch and send me to bring it to my father on the job site. I was probably 10 or 12 then, but you'd be surprised how much a kid absorbs just from hanging around," he said, somewhat distracted as he studied snappers chasing bait fish.

"At 17 I had my first job, working for my father's excavating company. Back then, foundations were still made of stone, so the stonemasons would sub out jobs to be excavated." The foreman, he said, was called the "head master," a loose translation of "chief maestro."

From 1925 to the late '30s, Mr. Scannella learned his father's trade. By the 1930s, however, foundations were being constructed of concrete.

Safe Driving

"During Roosevelt's time I worked for others, building housing projects in North Philadelphia. The Bendix factory was preparing for the war. I did mostly excavations for brick buildings. It was all Italians on the job."

As a young foreman, Mr. Scannella had a strategy for dealing with men who gave him a hard time. "I used to insult the bastards," he said.

He is a strong-willed Taurus. "I'd call in sick the first week, then tell them 'tomorrow,' or 'I'm too tired for safe driving.' " (Safe driving is trade jargon meaning driving stakes to lay out the foundation.)

"I'd get them all cranked up! By then, they'd really need me and we'd get the job done."

Mass Production

In 1938 and 1939, President Roosevelt escalated the war-supply effort and young men like Mr. Scannella were enlisted to learn drafting, welding, and pattern-making for mass production.

"I went to vocational school on 15th Street. I already had a good career in concrete, but I figured I'd apply for wood pattern making."

The long, bleached sands of Sammy's Beach slipped by as Lisa Ann sailed west toward Shelter Island. The story of Captain Al's long love affair with his wooden boat was becoming clear.

In Sad Shape

During the war years, Lisa Ann was laid up in a Roslyn boatyard while her owner was fighting abroad. She remained high and dry for five years. By the end of the war, the 1935 Colin Archer 35-foot gaff-rigged sloop was filled with rainwater and rotting away.

A wooden boat built for the rigors of the North Sea is a moving example of sturdy hand-craftsmanship. Lisa Ann miserably failed a condition report in the winter of 1945, but Captain Al let his heart rule over logic. The boat's sweeping sheer and intriguing curves had seduced him.

He purchased the deteriorated boat. She was in such sad shape she couldn't even be moved from the boatyard, which allowed her to stay as long as the new owner performed all the work himself and did not bring in outside craftsmen. A familiar tale.

Around The Clock

"Because I had worked in wood pattern making, I knew I could do the necessary work," said Captain Al. "But she was badly in need of a total restoration."

He was employed full time and could devote only weekends to the boat. After the first few weekends at the boatyard, he came home to his wife, Anna, and informed her that it would take 10 years of weekends to restore Lisa Ann.

And so, he told her, he wanted to quit his job, and work around the clock on the boat.

It was every boat-lover's wife's nightmare, but "Anna was okay. She told me, Al, if that's what you want to do, then quit your job and work on the boat."

Full-Time Miracles

Working full-time miracles, Captain Al replaced dozens of frames and completely replanked Lisa Ann with 11/2-inch long-leaf yellow pine. Since the deck beam ends were rotted, he installed new ones, along with new covering boards and sections of the deck.

We were very slowly clawing past Cedar Point Lighthouse against an ebb tide. It was slow and hot, and everyone was already thinking about lunch.

Captain Al stepped nimbly across the cockpit and pulled the engine hatch cover back. He pointed down below.

"You got to believe it! I had to replace all these after frames - in the winter, with no light or heat. I did them all by kerosene lantern!"

He Knows What's Best

Working every day, it took him just about a year to restore Lisa Ann to seaworthy condition. Today, 53 years later, her hull is just as sound.

Captain Al is Lisa Ann's guardian. He knows what is best for the hull of a wooden boat, and has made sure she is not removed from the water except for biennial hauling and painting. The boat has been in the same slip at the town dock in Three Mile Harbor for over 25 years.

Mr. Scannella went back to work when the restoration was finished, first for the Army Corps of Engineers and later for the City of New York, until retiring at the age of 67. Afterward, he and his wife sailed east from Oyster Bay and decided to make the East End their home.

We turned Lisa Ann's bowsprit into Major's Cove and readied the anchor. Like much of the gear on the boat, the anchor rope was vintage. It turned out to be World War II army surplus.

"That was the line they used to tow the gliders with," Captain Al explained, as if it were perfectly normal to have it aboard, still in good shape, over 50 years later.

Captain Al is never lacking for female company, and this picnic was no exception. His longtime companion, Connie Anderson, and the other guests traded affectionate jokes and made certain that he heard all the conversation. He has a little trouble with his hearing, not that it impedes his natural gregariousness.

"I'm sure it was from working around jackhammers all my life," he said.

No One At The Tiller

Red wine started flowing. Lunch at anchor overlooking Mashomack Preserve was extraordinary. Captain Al leaned back against the mainsheet to take it all in.

But, September days being fickle, the party heaved up the anchor to return to Three Mile Harbor before it got too chilly. A brisk afternoon southwester was just what Lisa Ann needed, and before long the boat was sailing along, perfectly balanced, with the tiller lashed.

Captain Al was clearly proud to demonstrate that Lisa Ann really didn't need anyone steering - nor did she need a fancy autopilot, for that matter. A small line made up to her stout tiller would do.

Still In Love

Captain Al stood to have a look around the horizon. Suddenly he burst out in song, looking across guests napping on Lisa Ann's substantial decks.

"I'm just a gigolo," he sang.

Still in love with life and his boat, Captain Al no longer uses Lisa Ann for cruising. But the way she is constructed, and at the rate he is going, they seem certain to enjoy a great many more Sunday afternoon picnics together.