Meet the Board

Long before titles were bestowed and responsibilities ignored, legend says Matt Dearing earned the presidency of the DWYC Seamen the old-fashioned way: accidentally, on a golf course, with whiskey involved.

The story begins at dawn—or possibly late afternoon—during what historians agree was the longest round of golf ever played. Matt arrived with three clubs, a cooler that clinked ominously, and a bottle of whiskey “just to stay loose.” By the third hole, no one knew the score, the cart path rules had been abandoned, and Matt was confidently explaining maritime law despite being nowhere near water.

At hole seven (now referred to in Seamen records as The Mulligan Rebellion), Matt hit a drive that sliced so badly it crossed two fairways, a putting green, and someone’s grill. Rather than apologize, he poured a round of whiskey, declared the shot “strategic,” and convinced everyone it should count as an eagle “by spirit of the game.” This display of confidence under absolutely no pressure was the first sign of leadership.

As the whiskey level dropped, Matt’s authority grew. Disputes over lost balls were settled with coin flips and bourbon pours. Pace of play was maintained exclusively by threats of switching to cheap whiskey. When a member attempted to switch to beer, Matt gently—but firmly—reminded him that great institutions are built on consistency.

By the 18th hole, the sun was setting, the scorecard was on fire (intentionally), and someone asked, “So… who’s in charge of this thing?” Matt, mid-sip, replied, “I guess I am,” and no one was sober enough—or brave enough—to disagree.

The presidency was ratified later that evening in the clubhouse with a ceremonial toast, a missed six-foot putt, and an oath sworn over a glass of whiskey that may or may not have been top-shelf. From that day forward, Matt Dearing was recognized as DWYC Seamen President—not because he sought power, but because he managed chaos with a steady hand, a smooth swing, and a full glass.

Historians agree: no votes were taken, no rules were followed, and no one remembers the final score—but leadership was undeniable.

And that, according to absolutely no reliable sources, is how it happened.

The rise of Nick Ingerto to Vice President of the DWYC Seamen was… inevitable.

Nick didn’t join the DWYC Seamen so much as report for duty.

Having served in the Navy, Nick arrived with an alarming level of competence—an immediate red flag—but balanced it out by always carrying bourbon and a cigar, ensuring no one mistook him for management. He spoke fluent maritime nonsense, used phrases like “secure the perimeter” when someone opened a cooler, and instinctively took charge whenever chairs needed aligning or a bottle needed opening.

Legend says his vice presidency was sealed the night a crisis occurred: the whiskey was running low, the cigars were cut improperly, and morale was at risk. Nick calmly assessed the situation, produced a backup bottle of bourbon from seemingly nowhere, and lit a cigar with the confidence of a man who had done this at sea, in worse weather, with fewer options.

Then there was the mustache.

Years earlier—during what Seamen scholars refer to as The Golden Follicle Era—Nick sported a mustache so spectacular it commanded respect before he ever spoke. It was thick. It was disciplined. It had leadership presence. Some say it could silence a room. Others claim it once got a free pour without asking. Though the mustache has since retired with honors, its legacy lives on in the way Nick still raises an eyebrow before making a decision.

When the question arose, “Who should be Vice President?” the answer was obvious. 

The appointment was made unofficially, over bourbon, punctuated by a cigar toast and a brief moment of silence for the mustache.

Thus, Nick Ingerto became Vice President of the DWYC Seamen—not elected, not appointed, but trusted. A man forged by the Navy, refined by bourbon, and forever remembered by a mustache that once ruled the room.

And as DWYC Seamen tradition demands, no records exist to prove any of this—except the lingering smell of cigars and the unquestioned chain of command.

Kevin Riggs did not seek the role of Treasurer. The role found him, backed slowly away, and then accepted its fate.

A former President of the DWYC Seamen, Kevin had already ruled from the highest barstool, leading with authority, volume, and an unwavering belief that a martini is not a drink—it’s a financial instrument. As President, he was tall enough to be seen over the crowd and loud enough to be heard over the jukebox, the weather, and most reasonable objections.

When his term ended, the Seamen made a critical mistake: they let Kevin near the books.

The first incident occurred during what was supposed to be a casual financial review. Kevin took a sip of his martini, adjusted his stance, and began scrutinizing the ledger. As the numbers blurred, he leaned in and performed the now-famous Riggs Squint™—a look so intense it resembled Clint Eastwood deciding whether someone had just ordered vermouth incorrectly.

One by one, discrepancies confessed.

Rumor has it a missing twenty-dollar bill reappeared simply because Kevin stared at the page long enough. Receipts trembled. Calculators fell silent. Someone suggested “rounding up,” and Kevin responded by squinting harder and ordering another martini—cold, precise, and “for accuracy.”

It became clear that Kevin’s talents were wasted on ceremonial leadership. This was a man who could track dollars by instinct, measure pours by feel, and raise his voice precisely enough to make expenses fall back in line. His height allowed him to see over the budget. His volume ensured no one tried anything funny. And his martini? That kept the system balanced.

The appointment to Treasurer was made unanimously, mostly because no one wanted to argue with him while he was standing, holding a glass, and staring at a spreadsheet like it owed him money.

Thus, Kevin Riggs became Treasurer of the DWYC Seamen: guardian of the coffers, keeper of the martini, and last line of defense between financial order and total bar-tab anarchy.

Former President. Current Treasurer. Eternal presence.

And to this day, when the books are opened and the room goes quiet, all it takes is one squint—and the numbers behave. 🍸

Every organization needs a Regulator. Not a ruler. Not a loudmouth. A Regulator—someone who keeps order without raising his voice and somehow always knows what’s going on.

Enter Shawn Crabbe.

A former police officer, Shawn showed up to Seamen events with two things that immediately set him apart: situational awareness and a calm that made everyone else feel like they were already doing something slightly wrong. He didn’t announce rules. He didn’t enforce rules. He simply stood there, Michelob Ultra in hand, and rules started following themselves.

The appointment traces back to a legendary incident now referred to as The Cooler Incident. There were too many beers, not enough ice, and at least one questionable decision involving tequila before noon. While chaos brewed, Shawn quietly assessed the scene, cracked an Ultra, and reorganized the cooler without a word. When someone reached for a second beer too quickly, Shawn just looked at him. The man paused, reconsidered his life choices, and grabbed water instead.

Regulation had occurred.

Shawn’s love of Notre Dame only added to the mystique. Saturdays found him calmly fishing with a line in the water, the game on the radio, and the same steady patience he later applied to Seamen disputes. Like a good fisherman—or a seasoned safety—he knew when to wait, when to reel in, and when to tell someone, “That’s enough for now,” without actually saying it.

When tensions rose, Shawn didn’t argue. He adjusted his hat. When debates got loud, he took a sip of Michelob Ultra. When things almost got out of hand, they didn’t—because Shawn was present.

The title of Seamen Regulator was bestowed quietly. No ceremony. No vote. Just a nod, a handshake, and an understanding that if Shawn was watching, everything would be fine.

Thus, Shawn Crabbe became the DWYC Seamen Regulator: keeper of order, master of the calm glance, defender of good times without incident.

Because sometimes the best way to run the show…

is to never look like you’re running it at all.

Tequila is not chaos.

Tequila is power with responsibility.

Which is exactly why Lance Valle has it.

Lance entered the DWYC Seamen world with the unmistakable presence of someone who understands safety, structure, and consequences. Construction industry. Long days. Real risks. The kind of guy who reads a situation before it gets dangerous and fixes it before anyone even realizes there was a problem.

The tattoos help. They tell stories. Combined with his calm, protective nature, the overall effect has often been described as Danny Trejo if Danny Trejo ran a very responsible tequila program. Tough on the outside, surprisingly thoughtful on the inside, and absolutely not someone you want disappointed in your pour.

The legend begins at what was supposed to be a simple tequila tasting. Bottles were opened out of order. Glasses were filled with enthusiasm instead of judgment. Someone suggested shots “to keep things moving.” Lance stepped in—not loudly, not aggressively—just steady, confident, and in full control.

He didn’t just stop the chaos. He educated it.

Lance explained the tequila: where it came from, why it mattered, why this one was meant for sipping and that one for celebrating. He set the pace, adjusted the pours, and made sure everyone stayed upright, hydrated, and having a good time for the right reasons.

Safety became part of the ritual. Water appeared when needed. Food showed up at exactly the right moment. Good decisions happened naturally under Lance’s watch.

Before long, no one questioned it. Bottles were handed to Lance automatically. Questions were directed his way. When tequila was involved, Lance was in charge.

Thus, Lance Valle became the DWYC Seamen Tequila Master: guardian of the bottles, teacher of the craft, and protector of the night.

Because tequila deserves respect.

And in the Seamen, respect answers to the name Lance.

Every crew needs a wildcard. Someone with style, appetite, and just enough mystery to keep everyone guessing. In the DWYC Seamen, that man is Don Thomas.

Don is reminiscent of James Bond—but the people’s James Bond. Smooth, charming, effortlessly cool… yet down to earth enough to sit at a sticky bar, order tinned fish with reverence, and make it feel like fine dining. He moves like a man who has traveled light, slept wherever convenient, and always knows exactly how to make an entrance—or slip out unnoticed.

Of course, Don’s past has a little edge. Long before oysters became ceremonial, he was known to wander from one dive bar to another, a shadow in the neon haze, pockets often empty but confidence overflowing. There was the infamous night in Savannah where he convinced a bartender to let him sample every whiskey on the shelf in exchange for storytelling only. Or the time in New Orleans when a jukebox dispute nearly became a brawl, and Don diffused it by casually offering sardines and a knowing smile. Tales like these follow him like a haze of smoke—shady to the untrained eye, but simply experience in preparation for greatness.

His reputation grew the night of the first DWYC seafood tasting. Oysters lined the table, raw and glimmering like tiny trophies of the sea. Most men approached with caution. Don? He approached with confidence, a casual hum of indifference, and a grin that suggested he had seen—and survived—worse in questionable bars across the country. One by one, oysters were swallowed with the elegance of someone who could make even the most ordinary evening feel cinematic.

But Don didn’t just eat oysters. He taught. He guided. He showed the hesitant how to hold the shell, how to savor the brine, and how to pair them with tinned fish like a master chef of the low-key rogue lifestyle. Between bites, he told tales—brief, colorful, and often borderline unbelievable—of nights spent navigating smoky bars, chasing improbable connections, and always landing on his feet. Each story added gravitas to his title. Each sip, a reminder that oysters and adventure are best enjoyed responsibly… but never without a little flair.

By the end of the evening, there was no debate. Don Thomas had claimed the mantle of Seamen Oyster Swallower: master of raw seafood, mentor in brine etiquette, and the man who makes oysters, sardines, and life itself feel like a story worth telling.

Because in the Seamen, some men lead, some men guard, some men pour…

and some men swallow oysters like the people’s secret agent—elegant, roguish, and ever so slightly dangerous, with a past full of dive bars, neon lights, and just enough mischief to make it unforgettable.