Virginia Oliver, a feisty, salty-tongued lobster boat skipper who fished off the New England coast wearing earrings, hot-pink lipstick and an occasional scowl for more than 80 years, until she was 103, died on Jan. 21 in Rockport, Maine. She was 105.
Her death, in a hospital not far from her home in Rockland, was confirmed by her sternman, Max Oliver Jr., who was also her son.
On the frigid and crustacean-filled waters of Penobscot Bay, Mrs. Oliver was known as the Lobster Lady. She was a folk hero to Mainers — an enduring, if fading, emblem of the state’s hardy, matter-of-fact work ethic.
“She represented that no-nonsense Mainer who just got up every day and did what they had to do,” Barbara A. Walsh, the author of a children’s book about Mrs. Oliver, said in an interview. “It’s grit and determination.”
During lobster season — from June to December — Mrs. Oliver would wake up at 2:45 a.m., put on overalls and drive her four-wheel-drive pickup truck to the dock. After loading her boat, the Virginia, with bait and gas, she would head to sea before sunrise, hauling lobster pots until lunchtime.
“It’s not hard work for me,” she told The Boston Globe in 2021, when she was 101. “It might be for somebody else, but not me.”
Mrs. Oliver fished for more than 60 years with her husband, Maxwell Oliver Sr., known as Bill. After he died in 2006, Max Jr. took his spot. “I’m the boss,” she would occasionally remind both of them.
As a general rule, her authority was not to be questioned on land or at sea.
“She was a hard worker, a lovely lady, but you definitely didn’t mess around with her,” Dave Cousens, a lobsterman who knew Mrs. Oliver for several decades, said in an interview. “She had a mouth like a sailor. A lot of things she said you couldn’t print in a newspaper.”
Mr. Cousens recalled an unfortunate incident two decades ago when a fellow lobsterman sped too close to her boat.
“She really let him have it on the dock,” Mr. Cousens said, recounting several unprintable phrases that Mrs. Oliver used that day (and on many other occasions). “We all started laughing. The guy that she was hollering at didn’t start laughing, though. He just hung his head and said, ‘Sorry.’”
Virginia Rackliff was born on June 6, 1920, in Rockland, Maine. Her parents, Alvin and Julia (Buttomer) Rackliff, were lobster dealers and owned a general store on Andrews Island.
Ginny sold bait and pumped gas at the store. When she was 8, she started fishing with her father. Back then, lobster pots were made of wood and weren’t easy to sink like the metal ones that eventually replaced them.
“You used to have to take rocks to sink the wooden ones, until they soaked up,” she said in “Conversations With the Lobster Lady,” a 2020 PBS documentary. “It’s a lot more work than it is now because these will sink right off.”
The sea got a hold of her.
“She loved how the sun sparkled on the water and how the sky changed colors like a beautiful painting at sunrise and sunset,” Ms. Walsh wrote in “The Lobster Lady” (2022), illustrated by Shelby J. Crouse. “There was always something special to see, like the seals that popped up from the waves and snorted a hello.”
After marrying and raising a family, Mrs. Oliver worked in a paper factory for many years but ultimately quit the job. “I got tired of that,” she told Down East magazine. “Decided lobstering, I wouldn’t have to work half as hard, and I could be my own boss.”
She joined her husband on his lobster boat. His days in charge were over.
“Someone’s got to be the boss,” she told him, according to Ms. Walsh’s book. “Might as well be me.”
As she got older, Mrs. Oliver let her husband and then her son do most of the heavy lifting. She measured the lobsters and banded their claws shut, sometimes getting nicked in the process.
A few years back, she needed stitches after a particularly obstreperous lobster sliced her finger.
“What are you out there lobstering for?” the doctor asked.
“Because I want to,” she replied.
For Mrs. Oliver, lobstering wasn’t just a way of life; it was a way to continue living.
“You know, if you don’t keep moving, then you’re not going to be able to do nothing,” she told Down East. “And that’s not even living.”
Besides her son Max, she is survived by two other sons, William and Charles; a daughter, Margaret Hilt; and two grandchildren.
Mrs. Oliver intended to fish forever — or at least until she died — but a fall two years ago ended her career.
In the documentary, she lamented that she was among the last of her kind.
“I’ve probably lived a different life than most,” she said. “Now they want to watch TV all the time, be on the computer and texting and all that stuff.”
Around town, people would often wave and say, “There’s the lobster lady.”
Mrs. Oliver enjoyed the attention, even if it embarrassed her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think I’m anything too special.”
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