I was extremely honored when the Editorial Director of The Fisherman, Fred Golofaro, requested I write a piece about my recently departed friend and former Montauk regular, Denny “Mad Dog” O’Connell. After conferring with Denny’s wife Maureen, and informing Fred I would be pleased to comply, fear struck me. How in the world could I write about this larger than life person that was one of the true characters, and a friend to so many, during what many consider Montauk’s golden years?
How I met Denny is an appropriate start. Traveling often from my home in southern New Jersey, I had been fishing Montauk since 1960 and had developed several friends, mostly LIBBA guys. They were all older than I and, over time, began to leave the scene. In the 1970’s, except for a few guys, I was pretty much hanging alone. Then, on a very dark and rough night, while wet suiting on North Bar, I thought I was all alone. Suddenly my line was tangled with another. Further east, and closer to the beach than I, was two dark silhouettes. One guy hollered, “Sorry pal, I’ll get it.” As the plugs were closer to me I told him I’d get them, which I did. Then, on the very next cast the guy tangles with me again. This time I allowed him to do the untangling work. It took a bit of time, so I began to wade toward them, reeling as I went. They were very apologetic and immediately I felt that these were nice guys and sincere in their apologies. A conversation started that grew into friendships that I have cherished like gold ever since. One of the guys was Denny.
It wasn’t until several years later that Denny fessed up. He claimed he and the late Bob Higgins were sitting in Denny’s camper when they noticed me leave the Montauk parking lot. He said they were aware of some of my fishing successes and decided to follow me. He said he intentionally cast over my line simply to see what plug I was using and all the apologizing was BS. We rolled in laughter. I always enjoyed Denny retelling this story to others.
Later Denny encouraged me to get a tin boat and enjoy Montauk with the Shagwong summer gang. Many joyous times were shared with this cast of characters and their families.
Then came what could be a major turning point for many of us at Montauk. Some regularly gathered at False Bar to socialize. One sunny day the gang was sitting out with adult beverages when a fisherman’s wife walked past and exclaimed, “This looks like Murderer’s Row.” That was it! Soon the location had a sign erected designating the area “Murderer’s Row.” Officers were appointed or railroaded, with Denny appointed President. As I worked for DuPont, it was felt I should be Commissioner of Ocean Dumping. Being an office holder at Murderer’s Row meant you did absolutely nothing. Sound familiar? Before long we all had Murderer’s Row sweatshirts, license plate frames, etc. The bottom line was we were now “family” and wore the Murderer’s Row label proudly.
One night Denny, John Hachadoorian and I fished with moderate success. Just at dawn it began to pour rain; more than you could pour out of a five gallon bucket. So what do three perfectly normal middle age men do? We got out the lawn chairs and a jug of scotch and sat in our wet suits in front of the trucks and waved at the buggies driving by. I am still surprised we didn’t end up in Bellevue that day.
Of course, there is the night Denny caught “Mrs. Big.” Sadly, I was not there that night, but Hach reports that he and Denny were just starting into the water at False Bar when Denny stopped to make a very short cast to be certain he was tangle free. Yep, a giant ate his yellow Gibbs needlefish that later bottomed out a 60-pound Chatillon scale. This was during the New York moratorium year and after photos were taken the fish was released back to where she had come.
I would love to participate with a few of the Murderer’s Row remaining family members to co-author a book on Denny and “Row” stories. This effort would sure be fun even if the book didn’t sell. All good things come to an end, as they say. This is certainly true with the “Row” group as age grabs us and, as in my case, some move away. Looking back to the end of my Montauk wet suiting career, I am very happy Denny was with me on my last night in the water. There were three of us fishing and we had a good night with many bass up to 25 pounds on the Back or Outer Bar (depending on how you refer to this less fished, hard to get to location).
Being friends with Denny was not all joy and laughter. There were too many very sad times. One night in his camper he poured out his heart to me about the difficulty in confronting his first wife Barbara’s illness. Denny lost Barbara to cancer at a very early age, leaving him with four great kids at home. It was at this point Denny stopped consuming alcohol for the remainder of his life. I admire his determination. Son Denny, Jr. also passed away too early, as did his brother Chip. The “Row” family was always there for our President. We hung with him during the disease that took him from us.
I know Denny’s wife Maureen and surviving children Jennifer, Chrissy and Mickey are aware of just how much Denny was loved and respected by so many. I hope this knowledge brings them comfort as life goes on. I am grateful to have known Denny and be able to call him my friend. My life has been blessed in so many ways because of him. I know many others feel the same way. So, the next time someone tangles your line, don’t be too hasty to fly off the handle. It may be your next best friend.
