Yes, I am a pirate. “We knew we were in Indian country.” Third Engineer John Cronyn, Maersk, Alabama, taken by Somali pirates in April 2009. Domestic piracy is a niche market. Really, who would expect a ship to get hijacked right off the South Jetty? This guy right here. That’s who. After receiving my first Merchant Mariner’s license, I hooked up with Tidewater. What’s a nice way to say this? It wasn’t my favorite job. It was August 24, 1992. I reported to my boat in Houma,

Galvestonians who call this place home, by birth or choice, view their island as a refuge. To them, it’s not so much a plot of silty sand elevating from the bed of the Gulf of Mexico but a floating galleon of rebel life protected from life’s musket balls by the waters insulating it from the mainland establishment. We know that the pretty painted pillars of aquatic scenery flanking the causeway are chiefly there for tourists. If it were up to some of us, we would just as so

Galveston’s past is a treasure trove of colorful tales, where pirates, a thriving red-light district, and a web of criminal activities intersect. Among these stories, one figure stands out—Jean Lafitte, a privateer whose influence on the island in the 19th century remains one of the most fascinating chapters in our island’s history. Jean Lafitte was no ordinary pirate. Known for his charisma and cunning, he carved out a unique niche on Galveston Island, turning it into a bust