The Commodore’s Song

FBYC History....

Recently I was lamenting to our newly minted Commodore that we did not have a written copy of Mac Welford’s traditional ditty sung at our Annual Meetings for 50 years. Mac was a founding member of our Club in 1939 and served as Historian until his death in the 1990s. His musical presentation was based on the old sea chanty “Blow the Man Down,” and was sung in his unforgettable sonorous baritone with the accompaniment of the band playing the tune and the audience singing the chorus after each verse.

The preamble to the “Commodore’s Song” explained that it was hypothetically based on all of our Past Commodores being becalmed aboard a sailboat with a large quantity of rum. Each year the club members waited eagerly as a new verse was added. Unfortunately, as the years dragged by, so did the song lengthen and interest in its recital waned. I believe the tradition mercifully ended by mutual consent between Mac and the Board about 1989.

After searching Mac’s club papers that FBYC recovered after his death, we have now located a partial version covering the years 1939 – 1974 which is being reprinted below. If anyone can fill in the blanks for the remaining years, please let me know.

Cocktail Hour has Begun Said Commodore Reid Dunn

Chorus: Way, Aye…
Blow the Man Down}

Don’t take me to Dry Land
Begged Commodore Ryland

Batten the Hatches Down
Cried Commodore Hutcheson

And we’ll all Stay Merry
Said Commodore Day Loury

I’ll drink all you’ve Got
Bragged Commodore Scott

Oh! I’m feeling so Rosy
Beamed Commodore Moseley

Oh! Down with the Jibson
Cried the Captain to Gibson

Throw away the Propeller
Urged Commodore McCullough

Oh, I’m making Leeway
Cried Commodore Jean Ray

To drink you must Say Less
Warned Commodore Bayliss

Oh! I’ve taught the Club Lots
Bragged Commodore Herb Potts

So we’re all in a Fix
Sighed Commodore Hicks

My drinking I’m Flouting
Said Commodore Roughton

Then stop and have a Few
Invited Howard McCue

Let’s join in a Song Fest
Urged Commodore Converse

I’m logging my Noggin
On a curve said Jack Hoggan

Then set your course Leeward
Warned Commodore Hubard

A toast to this gay Bunch
Cried Commodore Ray Munsch

Dunk a fair weather Sailor
In brine, said Chuck Raynor

Hand me a drink in the quart-style
Cried Commodore Schwarzschild

We’re one Club in Millions
Bragged Commodore Fred Williams

Oh! Don’t let the Bar Rove
Urged Commodore Frank Hargrove

Let’s sail on to Paris
With the girls, said Bill Harris

Our Club is the Tops
For Sailors, cried Potts

We’ve drunk a case and a Fifth
Bragged Commodore Mason Smith

Oh, how I dread Dawn
Cried Commodore Fred Warne

Then take some rye and mix it
Prescribed Dr. Hiram Pritchard

Then fill the Commodore’s Bowl
It’s empty I’m Told

(A Note of Reassurance: For those of you who believe that your current Historian may be tempted to resurrect the Commodore’s Song at our Annual Meeting, fear not. It won’t happen on my watch.)