The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

The Piranha Brothers, those fly-by-night, fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants itinerant carpenters of the South End, hammered their last nail back in 1980 or thereabouts. Cascade Lumber had just opened their new location coming onto the island, and while they knew us by name and reputation, they also knew we flew under the radar of the state business licensing and the county regulations. Permits? Our motto was: We don’t need no stinking permits.

My partner in crime and carpentry was up this 4th of July, so we toured a few of our illegal structures, most still standing, albeit a few are leaning slightly, but then, so are we. Joe had moved to various places before settling down in Seattle and Gomorrah where he bought a 1923 bungalow. Needless to say, he put the Piranha skills to work and doubled the size of his house, now worth about a cool million. He even got permits — or so he claims. In his spare time he built boats, sailboats and kayaks. The Piranha Brothers aren’t just landlubber contractors.

Me, I stayed put on the South End. Built some small buildings, a woodshop, boathouse (yeah, I built kayaks and sailboats too), greenhouses, saunas and finally built our mansion on the hill. With a permit. To save a marriage. Joe’s mizzus really hadn’t heard tell of the Piranha boyz, probably couldn’t imagine us slamming additions together with used lumber and nails we’d pulled and straightened. We were poor and untrained but we didn’t let that stop us. Or the building inspector either.

When Joe drove off, I decided maybe retirement was premature. Got a knee replacement that’s hobbled me physically and spiritually, but it’s time to strap on the tool belt, I figure, and let the Piranha Brothers ride once again. Today I tore off the old deck. Tomorrow I start framing a bigger one. The Piranha Brothers, legends in their own minds….

Back before the building booms when Camano was discovered by the denizens of Seattle and California seeking low cost gated communities, the Piranha Brothers plied their trade in the South End backwash. Their motto, We Don’t Need No Stinking Permits, explains why they worked after hours, on weekends, often times in the gloom of night, anything to avoid the dreaded building inspector. They worked fast and they worked cheap, hammers strapped to their construction belts slung low the way a gunfighter hung his .45, safety off, trigger filed.

They used recycled materials gleaned from tear downs and salvaged structures, not so much out of environmental concerns as a strategy to building on the cheap. Sheds, garages, chicken coops, artist studios — no job was too small, no building too demeaning. They moved surreptitiously from site to site, word of mouth spread to prospective clients the way a virus travels by stealth and speed. The jobs they turned down were those that might arouse the neighbors or were visible from the highway. Cash only, the Brothers demanded. Leave no trace.

It was only a matter of time, of course, before the long reach of the Island County Building Department tracked the two men to an unpermitted barn south of Tyee Store where Jimmy Kennedy found the pair hammering rafters into place three stories above ground. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. ‘I’ll need to see a building permit, boys,” the lawman shouted above their hammers’ racket, ‘and I’ll need to see it now.’ Even though they’d never laid eyes on the county’s agent, they knew who this was and they knew too the jig was up now that their cover was blown. It was, Josh told his partner Pete over a long afternoon of beers at the Stanwood Hotel after paying their fines and receiving their reprimands, inevitable.

‘You aren’t suggesting we go legit, are you?’ Pete asked bleary-eyed. ‘No way, partner, that’s for other construction outfits, not the likes of us.’ And so, maybe sad to say, maybe not, the heyday of the Piranha Brothers seemed at its end.

There are some who say the Piranha Brothers never really existed, just a rumor from the scofflaw days of the island when we built our own homes without permission or permit, us pioneers of Camano. Others claim they retired, drifted back into time and the backwash where even today they construct odd buildings that defy gravity and the law. But if truth be told — and it seldom is down here at the end of the island — the boys drifted into legend. Even if it was only in their own minds.