Open sea beckons to senior mariner

Man tosses plans and builds boat his own way

A. Austin Dorr is scheduled to launch his 24-foot boat, Dog Star, in Gloucester on Saturday, after building the vessel over 18 months. "It's more than what I bargained for," he said. "I'm happy I built it, but I would never do it again." (Mark wilson/globe staff)

GLOUCESTER - Noah did it to save the animals, two-by-two. Columbus did it to discover the New World. As for A. Austin Dorr?

"People said I was crazy, I was too old," said the 79-year-old as he put the finishing touches on his wooden boat. "I don't like to lose."

Almost every day for the past 18 months, Dorr has been on the docks at Beacon Marine Basin, building his own motorboat, all 24 feet long and 8 feet wide of it. His hands are weathered, his heart is full, and he is ready to launch the boat Saturday.

"I built every [expletive] bit of it," he said. "Some days, I wish to Christ I never started."

"It's more than what I bargained for," he added. "I'm happy I built it, but I would never do it again."

The boat is named Dog Star, another name for Sirius, the brightest star and a useful navigation tool. There is a 150-horsepower engine and the bow has a Ram's head from an old Dodge truck that died 15 years ago.

Dorr started with blueprints from a boat designer in Maine, but he grew frustrated with the design and stopped using the plans after two months.

"I like things rugged," he said, banging on the boat to demonstrate its strength.

He could have been explaining himself.

"There's no toilet," he said. "Just a 5-gallon bucket."

Dorr wears ratty jeans, work boots, and a green flannel shirt, a pack of Marlboro mediums in his front pocket. He has a stern handshake, crusty hands, and curses like, well, a sailor.

He wears a Yankees hat not because he likes the team but because he enjoys antagonizing the Red Sox diehards around him.

Dorr is a legend in the gun community - in 1967, he set the world record in trap shooting, knocking down 995 out of 1,000 clay pigeons, including 730 in succession - but he refuses to join the National Rifle Association because he thinks the group is too extreme.

Dorr grew up in Waterford, Conn. He fought in the Korean War, and was awarded Bronze and Silver stars and the Purple Heart for his bravery and his wounds. He owned Eastern Testing and Inspection Co., a New Jersey-based nuclear technology company, and later became a commercial tuna fisherman.

He has always been more comfortable outside. He hunts in New Hampshire, rides a snowmobile with his buddies, and connects with everyone around him.

"Hey, Double-A!" shouted one man at the docks last Saturday. "Hey Austin, you're a one-of-a-kind in your own mind!" yells another. Both pledged to be there when he launches his boat.

Dorr keeps a room at the Chelsea Soldiers Home, but he is just as comfortable in a tool shed by the dock, which can only be described as a pigsty.

"Go ahead and laugh," he said as he opened the door. "I don't mind."

There are four hot dogs and little else sitting in the fridge. He has a single shirt in a filing-cabinet drawer, and a tattered sleeping bag where he rests. There is a George Foreman grill in the corner, and a propane tank to heat water for his coffee, black.

"I've got everything I need," he said. "Sometimes I change clothes, sometimes I don't."

Dorr spent $21,000 on the boat, using savings, Social Security checks, and favors from friends.

"All my bills are paid," he said. "But I'm back on peanut butter and jelly, if you know what I mean!"

This weekend, he will put the boat in the water at a ceremony with his daughter, other men from the boatyard, a cadre of local police officers, and several politicians and businessmen. Hot dogs and hamburgers will be served.

Then, in a few weeks, Dorr will load the boat up with a couple of fishing rods and some ham sandwiches. He'll stick a mattress and pillow in the hull, and launch for weeks at a time, by himself, motoring up to Maine and down to Florida.

"Every day, I wake up and appreciate the day," he said. "I never had a bad day in my life."

Matt Viser can be reached at maviser@globe.com.