A STRUGGLE ON LAND, AT SEA

For Fishermen, Drugs And Alcohol Can Be A Fatal Respite From Gritty
Work On The Boat

MADEIRA BEACH - The lives of commercial fishermen smack of danger that
most people see only at the movies or read about in books. They head
out for weeks at a time on boats loaded with fuel, food, beer, bait
and tackle in waters so treacherous that a single error can be fatal.

Three local fishermen have died in the past two months, but it wasn't
the sea that claimed them.

Andrew "Drew" Sheeran, 35, overdosed Dec. 4 on painkillers. Kevin
Poor, 35, hanged himself at home on Oct. 17. David "Super Dave" Lydic,
36, known for his loud, friendly drunkenness, stepped out in traffic
Nov. 20.

Their friends in the tight-knit fishing community don't wonder why
they died. They say drugs and alcohol await many men on the docks, and
no one knows what to do about it.

. Jack Golden, 69 and a 24-year veteran of the business, said
something needs to change.

"They're doing themselves in," he said.* * *

"Super Dave" Lydic loved tinkering with cars. When he died, he left
behind a girlfriend with a baby on the way. Friends said that when he
stepped into the intersection that day, he had a beer in his hand that
he never got to drink.

Kevin Poor moved here four years ago with his captain and good friend
Rick Naves, from Gloucester, Mass., the setting for the book and movie
The Perfect Storm . A ladies man with long, blond hair, he had fished
commercially for 10 years. The Bradenton native did it in his spare
time, as well.

"He was a dedicated fisherman," said Naves, 46. "That's all he ever
did. That's what he was good at."

Poor's fishermen friends say his death is under investigation. The
county's medical examiner's office, however, ruled his death a suicide.

Drew Sheeran would have been a hippie, if he didn't love to fish. He
wore his sun-bleached blond hair kind of shaggy and adored painting.
He loved tie-dyed T-shirts and made beaded necklaces. He told his
family he felt closest to God when he was out on the boat.

Despite getting paid $2,000 to $3,000 per fishing trip, he never
seemed to have any money, said his older sister Carolyn
Pedulla-Kovanis, 39, of Oldsmar. It all went to drugs.

His sister said his affinity for OxyContin, a strong narcotic
painkiller similar to morphine and known on the street as "hillbilly
heroin," killed him.

In 1993, Sheeran had major back surgery. His doctor prescribed 600
painkillers in 37 days, kick-starting his journey through addiction,
his sister said.

In the years after the surgery, he led the life of a wanderer. He
dabbled in painting houses for a while, before falling into fishing
seven years ago. It stuck.

He called his family every now and then, to let them know how he was
doing - and to ask for money, his sister said. A temporary restriction
on grouper fishing forced him to find work remodeling a house on
Indian Rocks Beach.

The day he died, he cooked steaks with his father. He talked about how
he would go back to fishing next April, once the house job was
complete and the grouper fishery reopened. He'd just gotten his first
paycheck from the work he'd done on the house.

After talking with Pinellas County Sheriff's officials, his family
learned that at some point that night, Sheeran and his housemates went
down to the dock behind Madeira Beach Seafood and came back with
drugs, his sister said.

"He died in his sleep, in a little bed, in a little house with $6.77
in his wallet," Pedulla-Kovanis said. "He didn't want to be helped. He
chose his drugs over his family and his friends. The results were
deadly."* * *

In some ways, Sheeran's captain and crew mates knew him better than
his own blood. They knew that he nodded off in the midst of eating and
itched like crazy from the crack cocaine he smoked.

They also knew that on the water, none of that mattered.

Bill Houghton, vice president of Madeira Beach Seafood, said once the
boats go out, fishing rules the agenda. The crews are fishermen first.

Though commercial fishing boats have zero-tolerance policies
concerning drugs, it's widely known in fishing circles that beer is
part of the fuel needed to get through weeks on the water.

For "crackers," or those with crack habits, withdrawal isn't an issue,
said Glen "Captain Dave" Davis. They deal with it with work.

"They're kind of grumpy and in a s----- mood for a couple of days,
then they work," said the 30-year veteran. "They're out there. There's
nothing else they can do."

On profitable boats, the days start before sunrise, he
said.

Before breakfast, the lines and hooks go in the water. The crew stops
to eat. They pull the gear out, take off the fish and put it back in.

The itinerary goes something like this: Before breakfast, the lines
and hooks go in the water. The crew stops to eat. They pull the gear
out, take off the fish and put it back in. They stop to eat dinner.
Pull the gear back out, ice the fish and go to sleep for four to six
hours in quarters tight enough to make a rat feel claustrophobic.

Same thing happens every day for about two weeks, Davis
said.

The living conditions aren't luxurious, but "it's not a cruise. You're
out working," he said.

"I tell people it's the dirtiest, wettest, most uncomfortable thing,"
Davis said. "You poke holes in your hands all the time. You can't
hardly sleep or eat sometimes, it's so rough. It's back-breaking work.
I love it."

The problems begin once the boats come back in.

All around the harbor in this old fishing village, the same story is
repeated from fish house to fish house: Fishermen do fine at sea, but
ruin themselves during the brief stints they have between trips.

"Most of them call fishing "sea-hab,"' Houghton said. "When they come
to shore, they do their partying and whatever they do. But while
they're fishing, they're working. ... For the most part, they're like
fish out of water when they're on land."

When told Sheeran likely came to his dock to score drugs the night of
his death, Houghton said he doesn't doubt drug trafficking goes on
there, or at any dock or bar on the beach.

Ray Brookman, office manager at Double D Seafood, agrees.

"There was always pot and pills, but now, crack is the devastation of
choice," he said. "They binge whenever they come in."

Often, drug dealers are there to greet the boats when they come back
from trips, he said.

"We try to run 'em off," Brookman said, "but a boat comes back at 3
o'clock in the morning, there's a good possibility somebody will be
here to meet 'em with some dope."* * *

In this culture, fishermen fall mostly into two groups: the floaters
and the fixtures.

There are those like Sheeran, who drift in and out, free of
responsibility and living only for the trips. Then, there are those,
like Lucian and Andrea Zaleski, who call themselves "the straight
people." They maintain homes and have children and pay their bills and
generally take care of the floaters.

The Zaleskis have owned the Lilly Anne , a commercial vessel they
named after their little girl, for nearly 10 years. They play foster
parents to many of the crew members, letting them sleep on their couch
if they're between homes.

Sheeran spent last Christmas with the couple and their two kids.

"We were good friends," said Lucian Zaleski, 39 and a captain for
eight years. "We tried to help him out when we could. We got sick of
him asking us for help and then coming down here and getting messed
up."

His wife says fishing is a rough way of life.

"They live hard and die young," she said.

The family has held onto the belongings of three dead fishermen,
including one who died of cirrhosis of the liver.

"I got a pile of dead fishermen's clothes in my garage," Lucian
Zaleski said. "I got David's stuff. I got Andrew's stuff. He (David)
brought my kids Christmas presents last year." Andrea Zaleski said if
you looked at Sheeran, you knew. He wore his addiction all over him -
kind of like his friend, Mark "Black-Eyed Mark" Francis.

At 23, Francis wears the sun-hardened, wrinkled skin of someone at
least 10 years older. A fisherman for seven years, Francis knew
Sheeran for three years.

They worked hard together on trips, and partied hard when they came
home.

"We clicked together at work," he said. "We didn't argue. Everything
we did was like clockwork."

"Everything" included drinking beers, smoking pot, doing crack, he
said.

Why did they turn to drugs?

"Depressed," Francis said. "You've been out there two weeks and you
ain't partied. You got that large sum of money."* * *

For every fisherman who struggles with addiction, there's a Terrance
Britton who has overcome it. At 44, he has been a fishing captain on
and off for the last 20 years. For 10 of those, he wrestled with crack.

Three years ago, he cleaned up. He kicked his habit without the aid of
rehab, weaning himself slowly from the drugs. He didn't want to find
himself strung out and penniless 10 years from now, Britton said.

When asked his reasons for starting, his answer sounds as fuzzy as
that of Black-Eyed Mark.

"Who knows? Drunk and some guy says, "Hey, try this,"' he said. "If
you've done it twice, three times, you're done. It's got you."

Britton says fishermen's issues mirror those shared by society at
large.

"It could've been fishing or a neighborhood guy in St. Pete who
OD'ed," he said. "All it takes is one time to make a mistake and
you're gone.