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THE DAILY ASTORIAN • THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 2017
Crew: ‘I would like somebody who will not get seasick’
gave up after experiencing the
workload, quitting right there
on the water.
“I do think there’s a dif-
ferent breed of people now,”
Dunn said. “In all my years
of working, I never heard of
someone saying, ‘Nope, I’m
done.’ You take a new guy out
and at the end of 18 hours, he
wants time off. Well, that’s
not the way it works in this
industry.”
Continued from Page 1A
of running a boat and fish-
ing have gone up, while the
ex-vessel value — what fisher-
men receive for their catch —
has remained stagnant.
Some permits are harder to
obtain now. In fisheries with
fishing quotas attached, many
fishermen hold on tight to their
quota, making it difficult for
new entrants to even get on the
water. Some of the traditional
channels for new fishermen
are closed or closing. Gillnet-
ting, for example, used to be
an easy way to get started on
the Columbia River. The gear
can be fished by a single per-
son and the initial, upfront
investments were relatively
low. Now, the gear itself has
spent years under intense scru-
tiny with legislation to move
gillnets off the river’s main
stem entirely.
Fishing — a job based
around resources that live in
environments in constant flux
— has always been a high-risk
job. To Dunn, it seems that
more people make their calcu-
lations and decide the risk isn’t
worth it.
“There was maybe a day
when you could say, ‘Hey, I
want to do this and eventually
buy a boat,’” Dunn said. “It’s
just a dream anymore.”
Fishing is also a field that
ends up more of a calling than
anything else, many fishermen
say.
“It’s a hard job,” said Hugh
Link, executive director of
the Oregon Dungeness Crab
Commission. “It’s very fulfill-
ing if you get into it and you’re
good at it — and you tough it
out.”
“You usually either love it
or you hate it and there’s not
much in-between ground,”
Corbin said.
Finding crew
In the Oregon Dungeness
Family wage
Colin Murphey/The Daily Astorian
Troy Malcolm and Dave Strickland work on equipment in preparation for the next fishing excursion on board the Ash-
lyne at the Warrenton Marina.
crab fishery, crews begin work
on gear early, well before the
season’s traditional Dec. 1
opener.
In the late summer and
early fall, posts start to prolif-
erate on a Facebook page for
West Coast commercial alba-
core, tuna and salmon fish-
ermen. Captains write that
they’re looking for crew. Peo-
ple looking for crab boats to
work on post to the group’s
main page and list their qual-
ifications, or lack of.
Craigslist ads go up around
the same time. The ads and
social media posts get passed
around, friends tag other
friends. Sometimes a success-
ful hire results. Or sometimes
people just bicker and joke in
the comments.
The internet — particularly
Craigslist and social media
sites like Facebook — has
become one way captains find
crew and potential crew find
captains, but it hasn’t replaced
word-of-mouth as the most
reliable, and often preferred,
method.
Commercial crabber Brian
Boudreau prefers to hire guys
he knows, or who know peo-
ple he knows. As long as he
has one experienced crew
member, though, he doesn’t
mind hiring someone who
doesn’t have experience. In
fact, he’d almost prefer some-
one without experience over
someone who has been on a
hundred boats and thinks they
know everything.
In Boudreau’s opinion,
reality TV shows about the
industry have overstated the
workload, the boasts of 70
hour days. Still, the longest
stretch he can recall without
much of a break was 54 hours
long. It certainly isn’t the job
for everyone, he said.
“It comes and goes,” Dunn
said. “It seems like you cruise
along with the same crew for a
while … then the tax man gets
them, or drunk driving, and
then all of a sudden you have
a problem.”
One of his crew members
has been with him for seven
years now. Dunn consults with
him when it comes to selecting
a new crew member to make
sure it will be a good fit, but a
new hire really only needs to
know “up from down,” Dunn
said.
“I would like somebody
who will not get seasick,” he
said. “The rest is teachable.”
For untested — “green” —
crew there’s no easing into the
work. Once you step on board
a boat, you have to be ready to
go.
“There’s no working at half
speed until they get the hang
of it,” Corbin said.
But both Corbin and Dunn
note that recently they’ve had
new crew members who just
To Link, Corbin and others,
fishing remains a viable career
option.
In August, Gov. Kate
Brown signed a bill into law
that will create a task force
to focus on maritime sec-
tor workforce development.
The Oregon Dungeness Crab
Commission worked with
the committee that presented
the bill. Eventually, the law
will make it so maritime jobs
from fishing, working on tug
boats to maritime construction
have a classification, opening
up other resources from the
state’s employment division to
people and employers in mari-
time fields.
As Link looks ahead
toward high school job fairs,
he knows fishing jobs may not
be on every student’s radar.
But, he said, “They need to
know about these opportu-
nities, and I don’t think it’s
the first choice for everybody
right away … unless it’s in
their family.”
He points to people like
Corbin who have turned it into
a career.
“I think people might have
their own impressions of what
working in a fish plant or
working on a fishing boat is,
but we want to teach them the
real-world experiences,” he
said. “It can be a family wage
job and it can be very reward-
ing for somebody to get this
opportunity.”
Winn: Ted’s fitness helped with his initial battle with cancer
Continued from Page 1A
tissue. He wants badly to beat
it, not just for himself, but for
his wife and two children.
Maybe, for you, too. Even as
doctors are now telling him he
may not make the weekend.
“You know it’s not good,”
his wife, Sandi, said, “when the
oncologist gives you a hug.”
‘Life of the party’
Both of Ted Winn’s children
play lacrosse. Cooper is 16.
He’s observant and thoughtful.
He also plays nose guard on his
high school football team. He’s
watched out for his mother
since he was a little boy. Rylee
is 13. She’s in eighth grade and
plays soccer. Those who know
Rylee say she works hard to be
successful in everything she
attempts. She’s a perfection-
ist. Combined, they are perfect
reflections of their mother and
father, who met while students
at Oregon State and made a life
together.
“He was life of the party,”
Sandi said of her first impres-
sion of Ted. “He’s a super
social guy. Everybody knows
him.”
It’s part of how he rose at
Nike, going from answering
phones and replacing defective
products in 1995 to footwear
testing and then to the direc-
tor of social media. Employees
there tell you Ted would start
his morning at work by going
desk to desk, greeting every
employee in his department.
These days Ted makes
breakfast for his family in the
morning. It’s a simple thing. A
husband, a wife, and their two
children. Brain cancer attacks
all over, though. His mem-
ory is foggy. For a while, he
couldn’t remember what day
it was or even how to figure it
out. For a time, he kept sneez-
ing, always in twos. He had a
painful bout with hiccups that
lasted two weeks. And in one
year Ted spent 26 weeks in
the hospital. But these days,
the cereal, waffles or eggs and
good conversation is good glue
for the Winn family.
Ted asks how everyone
slept. Then, the conversation
turns to school assignments,
tests and after-school activi-
ties. It’s the little questions, like
“How was practice last night?”
that act like bonding agents,
pulling the family together for
a few minutes before they scat-
ter for the day.
“That fills his tank,” Sandi
said.
Winn graduated from Asto-
ria High School in 1987 and is
in the school’s hall of fame for
basketball.
The Winn family roots for
Oregon State. They love the
Trail Blazers, too. And there
was joy this season in baseball,
when the Los Angeles Dodg-
ers, who Ted pulled for as a
kid, made a run to the World
Series. Steve Garvey was Ted’s
favorite player. In the NFL, he
pulls for the Rams. Sports have
always been a part of the hub in
the Winn family circle. Manag-
ing the social media accounts
of the world’s leading sports
sneaker and apparel company
put him right where he always
wanted to be — at the center of
the sports universe.
But now being in control of
things, even little things such
as breakfast, feel important.
“When it comes to being
sick like this,” Ted said, “I’ve
been like a passenger. I don’t
like to know the gory details.
Knowing the details doesn’t
help.”
The details he prefers come
at the breakfast table on those
mornings. School is waiting.
A doctor’s appointment before
lunch. There are plans to be
made, and Ted also spends part
of his day writing short notes
to his children in the event
he’s not there for the special
moments of their lives. But
that breakfast table features big
moments he is there for. It’s
laughter, and love, and an ugly
condition such as CNS Lym-
phoma doesn’t get a seat at the
table.
“I want more than anything
to get back to life,” he said. “I
want a sense of normalcy.”
Asleep at his desk
Ted was at his desk on the
Nike campus in the spring
of 2014 when a colleague
appeared in the doorway, and
just stopped cold. Ted was
asleep.
“That was so unlike me,”
he said. “I wasn’t someone
who could sleep even when
I wanted to take a nap and all
of a sudden I’m dozing off at
work? I just looked up and saw
my co-worker in the door and
was like, ‘How long have I
been out?!”
He was also confused, his
wife said. Ted’s speech was
slow, too. In a matter of days,
what doctors hoped might
just be pneumonia turned into
a battery of tests and scans.
Then, a scheduled surgery and
a scramble to find a neurosur-
geon and oncologist.
Ted’s closest friend, Erik
Viukola, remembers the ini-
tial phone call with the awful
news.
Said Viukola: “It’s Ted
on the phone and he’s using
an Arnold Schwarzeneg-
ger accent. You have to know
Ted to get that. He says, ‘Erik,
bad news. I have a brain
TOOM-AH.’ That’s how he is,
joking around.
had just been a nap. She’s in
it. So are their children. Also,
friends, neighbors and family.
“When the cancer came
back, I just said, ‘(expletive),’”
said Sandi, through glassy
eyes.
It returned twice, in two
places, six months apart. And
now the plan is to try experi-
mental drugs that will buy him
more time. And still, for Ted, in
some small, meaningful ways,
the fight is more than ever
about being normal.
For example, at dinner
last week, Ted ordered a beer.
He can’t drink it. He took a
sip.
“It’s fun to order one,
though,” he said.
‘I WANT MORE THAN
ANYTHING TO GET
BACK TO LIFE. I WANT A
SENSE OF NORMALCY.’
Ted Winn | Nike executive and Astoria High
School graduate who is battling brain cancer
“Even in that awful moment
Ted was more worried about
how the news would affect me
and he wanted to soften the
blow.”
Ted was in great shape
before his diagnosis. He was
working out regularly at Nike.
He leaned on the personal train-
ers, such as former NFL defen-
sive back Alex Molden, who
are made available to work
with employees. Ted ran faster,
lifted more, and felt great. All
this, doctors said, helped with
the initial battle with cancer.
Along with chemotherapy and
medication, he attacked his
condition with verve.
The cancer went away. Ted
won. He went back to work.
For 2 1/2 years, his brain scans
were clear. This was a medical
victory. Everyone celebrated
it. Still, his wife, Sandi said,
“Even when Ted was in remis-
sion I never felt like I could
live without the worry.”
No one fights cancer alone.
Even if they say so. It’s appar-
ent in the way Sandi clutches
her husband’s hand, or how she
journals his progress, up late,
writing thousands of words
about a nightmare she wishes
‘Stay strong, Ted’
The first inspirational video
message arrived by text and
came from Los Angeles Rams
punter Johnny Hekker. Ted
knew him through a friend.
Hekker, a former Oregon State
player, looked into the camera
and said among other things,
“Stay strong Ted, we all love
you.”
“That just lifted me up,”
Ted said.
Then came another mes-
sage, this one from Ryan
Allen, who punts for the New
England Patriots. Allen was
born in Salem, and had once
roomed with Hekker in Cor-
vallis at Oregon State before
he transferred to Louisiana
Tech. He heard about Ted’s
fight and so Allen sat recording
a video and said, “The mind
and body is a powerful thing.
If you can beat it once, you can
beat it again.”
Some colleagues at Nike
have reached out to Ted with
notes and encouragement.
He loves to hear from them.
Sometimes people don’t know
what to say. He forgives those
who don’t. And both Ted and
Sandi said it’s uplifting when
people let them know they’re
thinking about them. In fact,
Sandi gets a short written note
of encouragement every week
from a woman who had a fight
with cancer herself.
Said Sandi: “She said
somebody did that for her,
and it helped her a ton to get
through it.”
Those videos on Ted’s
phone are his on-call encour-
agement. Technology has
done that. People say all the
time, “We’d be lost without
our phones.” That’s Ted. Not
because he wants to make a
call. But because when he’s
down, he pulls out the phone
and watches those videos.
Oregon State men’s bas-
ketball coach Wayne Tinkle
recorded a video message and
sent it to Ted, telling him to
keep fighting. Then, quarter-
back Derek Anderson of the
Carolina Panthers sent one. So
did former Rams running back
Marshall Faulk. Then, Ore-
gon Ducks point guard Pay-
ton Pritchard gave a heartfelt
video speech for Ted. So did
the entire Oregon State foot-
ball team. The Beavers, in the
locker room, cut a video mes-
sage of encouragement. There
have been well wishes from the
Trail Blazers, and from Holly-
wood, and from politicians.
Why do they do it?
“I feel like if I can lift some-
one’s spirit, even in the small-
est way, why not?” Anderson,
a former Oregon State quarter-
back, said. “It takes just a little
bit of your time.”
Pritchard, point guard of
the Ducks basketball team,
said, “It’s more about just
knowing that you’re there and
that you’re praying for him
and him knowing that every-
one supports him.”
Go. Fight. Winn.
That’s the rally cry now.
It cuts across the Civil War
rivalry. It spans across the
country. Ted received a mes-
sage from director and pro-
ducer Steven Spielberg, who
was overseas and told him he
was thinking of him and to
keep battling. Another came
from former Vice President
Al Gore, who quoted from the
film “Chariots of Fire.”
Said Gore in his video mes-
sage: “In Chariots of Fire, one
of the characters says, ‘When
I run I feel God’s pleasure.’ …
feel God’s pleasure, Ted.”
Not this weekend
Ted Winn knows his story
will be about different things
to different people. Some will
relate to being a father, fight-
ing and faced with leaving
a family behind. Others will
cast themselves as the signifi-
cant other, smothered by an ill-
ness she can’t touch or see but
wants so badly to punch in the
face. Others will see the strong
Winn children, or the support-
ive co-workers, or the celeb-
rities, politicians and athletes
who took a small moment to
try to help lift a big soul.
“It’s that horrible dream
that doesn’t seem to end,”
Sandi said.
Ted squeezes her hand and
drinks his coffee. There’s talk
about the children. Also, about
his disability pay. A family
friend created a fund to help
the family bridge medical bills
and expenses. We all accept
that there are no guarantees in
life. But after you have holes
drilled into your skull, you
never see it quite the same.
Brain cancer, remission, then
cancer twice again. As much
as the Winn family would
love to organize the events of
the last three years into some-
thing orderly, and chronologi-
cal, their life in the last three
years feels like a pile of ran-
dom strands of yarn, unraveled
on the table.
Then, Sandi speaks.
“Every day is a gift,” she
said, “I realize now we should
all be living that way.”
Ted is a father. A husband.
A friend. He’s sick, too. But
what he isn’t? Alone. The
Winn family finds joy in the
little things. Breakfast. Hold-
ing hands over coffee. Those
simple video messages. And
they look for hope in the big-
ger things.
Ted’s responding well to
the experimental medicine.
Doctors put a port in his body
on Thursday with the hopes
that he’ll have sustained suc-
cess. He looks energetic and
sounds optimistic. Instead of
preparing for the end of life,
this family is treating it like
something else.
A beginning.
Ted was told he might not
last the weekend, remember?
Said Ted: “Ya know, it
just doesn’t feel to me like
it’s going to be THIS
weekend.”