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Ken Crittenden dies in the arms of his father after their fishing boat hits a channel marker.
By ALEX LEARY
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 18, 2000
HOMOSASSA -- Ken Crittenden's gray Chevrolet Blazer still sits in his parent's driveway, a bushel of oranges in the back seat, several road maps in the front.
He was hoping to slip a fat trout into a cooler before driving back to Georgia on Friday morning.
Crittenden, 53, got the fish but he never made it home. He died in his father's arms Thursday after their boat hit a channel marker west of Shell Island near the mouth of Crystal River.
"His daddy was his best buddy. Whenever he had time off he came down here," Ken Crittenden's mother, Ruth, said from the living room of her double-wide mobile home.
"He was having such a good time and he wanted to go fishing one more day."
Ken and Carroll Crittenden set out at 8 a.m. It was a great fishing day and the men reeled in trout, flounder and whiting.
Six hours later, they called it a day and, with the younger Crittenden behind the wheel, began the hour-long trip to shore.
"He always wanted to drive the boat," his father said. "He was like a kid."
As their 28-horsepower aluminum boat cut through the green water of Crystal River, Ken Crittenden turned to his father with a question. "Do you think you can find that place where we fished today again?"
Before he could answer, Carroll Crittenden, 77, had his life thrown upside down. As the driver side of the boat smashed into the marker, his son was hurled into the marker.
When he came out of a daze, all the older Crittenden saw was the boat's canopy.
Underneath, his son's body was lying half out the boat. "I tried to get him back in the boat myself," Carroll Crittenden said. But his 200-pound son was too much. A crabbing boat floated by and Crittenden flagged it down.
Two people were on board the She and I, Tobin Cantler and Dawnn Allen. "Oh shoot, we have to pull somebody in," Cantler told his girlfriend.
"We went over there to them and the father was sitting on the floor. The son was lying sideways, twisted up and all. It was a mess. I almost swore he was dead."
After the men straightened Crittenden's body in the boat, Cantler sped ahead for help. Allen, meanwhile, guided the smaller boat to the dock at St. Martins Marsh Aquatic Preserve.
"I told Dawnn, drive that boat, don't slow down for no manatee, nothing," said Cantler, who is 42 and lives in Homosassa.
As he held his son's head, Crittenden was urged by Allen to pump his chest. But Crittenden knew it was over. "Hey, he was gone," he said in the interview.
"That was one of the worst days of my life," Crittenden added. "It was a horrible experience."
A former railroad worker, Carroll Crittenden is a fit man whose deep tan contrasts strongly with his white hair and white moustache. The lacerations on his arms were covered with bandages and gauze.
"I'm OK," Crittenden said. He paused then added, "physically."
It may never be known why the boat hit the channel marker, which is similar in size and shape to a telephone pole.
When Ken Crittenden was asking about the location of the fishing spot, his father turned and looked over his left shoulder. In this distance he could see the immense stacks of the Florida Power nuclear power plant.
His son, who had no known health problems and did not drink alcohol, may have been looking the same way.
"I don't think he ever realized what hit him," Carroll Crittenden said.
If there is any solace in this tragedy, it may be that Ken Crittenden died doing something he loved with his best friend.
He was the consummate outdoorsman. "His life was hunting, deer hunting, fishing," said his mother.
Crittenden, who worked at a car dealership, had taken the last week off to spend with his parents at their winter home in Homosassa. He left behind two sons, ages 21 and 25, and a wife, Mary.
Ken Crittenden and his family live on a sprawling ranch overlooking the Chattahoochee National Forest in Rock Spring, Ga. Several years ago, Crittenden's parents built a home next door. Each morning, Ken Crittenden would stop over for coffee.
"I don't think I can go back to that home," Ruth Crittenden said as she thumbed through photographs of her son and his family. One shows father and son clutching fish; another shows Ken Crittenden curled up on a couch with a Chihuahua in his arms.