developed most of present-day Haven Beach.) Since there were always three keepers employed at a time, night watches were usually divided into three equal shifts—and, from sun down to sun up, it was each keeper’s job to ensure that light remained lit all night long while simultaneously keeping a close watch over the horizon. Overnight responsibilities included hauling oil buckets up the staircase to ensure it never ran out of fuel and winding the clockwork mechanism responsible for turning the lens every hour (and if that fine piece of machinery malfunctioned, which it often did, you can bet they had to hand crank that five-ton lens manually). Other factors in keeping it well-lit included trimming the lantern wicks and cleaning the lenses and lamp itself every single day, first dusting it with a feather brush, then wiping it with a soft linen cloth, and lastly polishing it with a buff-skin. Perhaps one of the lesser known, yet equally important civic duties of a lighthouse keeper, was more that of an unofficial lifeguard, as it wasn’t uncommon for them to make water rescues regularly. In fact, one nightshift in 1918 it was the Flynns’ grandmother, Mrs. Edna Thompson, who had spotted an explosion and then a ship sinking out in the horizon and a small lifeboat struggling to make it ashore—so she waded waist-deep into the ocean and their lifeboat in singlehandedly. The keeper’s wife later learned that the ship, Chaparra, was actually a freighter making its way north from Cuba with a cargo full of raw sugar and accidentally detonated an underwater German mine left over from World War I— which consequentially ended up sinking the ship about 7 miles from the coast. Often referred to as the graveyard of the Atlantic, it was a commonality for the families who inhabited the three-family keepers’ home to encounter bodies that had washed up onshore from shipwrecks out at sea. A regular chore for the wives and children even included collecting the dead ducks around the perimeter of the lighthouse, as the Flynns’ grandmother used to do, since it was common for water fowl and shore birds to fly violently into portions of the lighthouse structure. More often than not, especially after a big storm, it meant they were having duck for dinner.
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