It's just before dawn. Paul Sullivan, a buyer for Captain Marden's Seafoods, left his home in Malden at around 4 a.m. to get to the Boston Fish Pier at 5 a.m. By now it's 27 degrees outside and a strong smell of fish - both new and old - fills the air, as does a flock of gulls the size of pterodactyl chicks. Filled with families, friends, and longtime rivals, the pier is a microcosm of Boston intrigue. But this morning, we're not here to choose sides. We're here for the fish.
6 a.m. | "My brothers went into the trades - carpenters, plumbers, electricians," says Paul Sullivan. "Me? Fish." As a buyer for Captain Marden's Seafoods for the last 15 years, it is Sullivan, 47, who week after week must buy, at a favorable price, the fish that will hook the chefs at dozens of New England restaurants, buyers for Roche Brothers supermarkets, and shoppers at the Wellesley retail store.
6:07 | At Atlantic Coast Seafood Inc., the captain and crew of the Nobska are sorting cod and haddock. One guy in the hold beneath the deck pitchforks the fish into wobbly plastic buckets that are then hauled onto the pier. Captain Jeff Hatfield's boat fishes all year, often in Georges Bank. "Six to eight days out at sea and then two days off," he says. "We bring in about 40 to 50 thousand pounds of fish each trip." Sullivan gets his pick from the catch, which he says is a result of more than timing. "You've got to be a little bit aggressive," he says. "Get your ground and put your name on it."
6:17 | Sullivan has what he needs. "The haddock's beautiful," he says. "Nice and fat." It's time to move down the pier. "Moving fast also keeps you warm." En route, Sullivan gets philosophical: "The best thing about this job is I get to see the sunrise each morning." He shows off the shots on his cellphone camera, and they're beautiful. If he ever quits this job, the guy might have a future as a nature photographer.
6:20 | Inside a huge refrigerated room at John Nagle Co., frozen tuna, swordfish, and escolar are stacked against the wall. No heads, no tails. It's a fish morgue. "From Puerto Rico and the Marshall Islands," says manager Peter Klein, by way of a sales pitch, gesturing toward the escolar. He lifts the tags on several fish. "And these are a few Africans." But Sullivan bought escolar yesterday. Klein reaches over to a tuna and jams a long, hollow metal device into its flesh. He pulls out a sliver of meat. "Great fat," he says. "See that red blood line?"
"Nice," Sullivan says. Though he's a regular customer at Nagle, he doesn't need the tuna and, at 6:47, has to keep moving.
6:53 | F.J. O' Hara & Sons Inc., a fish merchant, and Araho Transfer, a trucking company, are owned by the same person. "Araho is O' Hara spelled backwards," Sullivan explains. Inside, there are hundreds of boxes filled with John Dory, Idaho trout, barramundi, tuna, oysters. The labels on the tilapia destined for Whole Foods read "No Carbon Monoxide." "It's harmless, used as a preservative, but their stores won't allow it," Sullivan says. It's what keeps fish from losing its color. Japan, Canada, and the European Union have banned the practice as it could hide spoiled fish. There's nothing Sullivan needs here today, either, so he keeps moving.
7:02 | "It's got to be at least 10 to 15 degrees colder here," says Sullivan, back at Atlantic Coast Seafood Inc. to finalize the day's order before he spends another two hours loading his truck and getting back to Captain Marden's. He'll be back in the morning - most mornings, in fact, for the foreseeable future. "Eventually they're gonna get everyone out of here," Sullivan says of the pier, which opened in 1914 and which he says is losing tenants as their leases end and aren't renewed. "Imagine what they will charge for condos."
Scott Haas is a clinical psychologist and a food writer. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.![]()


