The Last Pied Piper: How Artist Orien McNeill Redefined Waterways

It’s not often that an obituary in The New York Times recalls the life of a sailor or waterman, which is why a headline late last spring (and the array of colorful images that accompanied it) caught my immediate attention. It read: “Orien McNeill, Artist Who Made Mischief on the Water, Dies at 45.” 

The opening lines were real grabbers: “Orien McNeill, an artist and impresario of New York City’s DIY and participatory art community, whose work was experiential, theatrical and ephemeral and took place mostly on the water—think ‘Burning Man, but with the possibility of drowning,’ as one friend put it—died on May 15 at his home, a 52-foot-long ferryboat docked on a Brooklyn creek. He was 45. … He was the pied piper of a loose community of DIY artists homesteading on New York City’s waterways, which he used as his canvas and stage.”

There was also this tidbit: His godfather was the Beat Generation writer William S. Burroughs, who “baptized Orien with a dab of vodka from his afternoon drink.” If that wasn’t enough, quoted therein was one of McNeill’s good friends, who just happens to be a mate of mine: author Porter Fox (whose latest book, Category Five: Superstorms and the Warming Oceans That Feed Them, is a must-read for sailors). After reading about McNeill’s rare, singular life’s journey, I had to call Porter, who’d done some sailing with his old pal, one he called his “best friend.”

“He was a quick learner,” Porter said. “He really understood mechanics and engineering. He could fix a winch with his eyes closed, and he’d never done that before. I love him to death, but he never did learn how to dock a boat. He just aimed straight at it. When it hit, you jumped off.”

Porter and McNeill met by happenstance in a New York bar and later reconnected (by chance again) on Pete Seeger’s celebrated Hudson River sloop, Clearwater. That led to an 800-mile trip down the Mississippi River “on a homemade sculptural boat,” Porter said. “Another had a Ferris wheel on it. They were all at least two stories high. But they were all meant to be beautiful objects. He’d gone to art school and was an incredible draftsman. He created beautiful things.”

Most of McNeill’s adventures were based in Manhattan, his hometown. “He lived that life on the water because he was one of the very few people that realized he’d grown up on an island,” Porter said. But his most outlandish trips, financed by fundraisers “selling beers to hipsters,” were far afield: Building and sailing a fleet of “fantastical craft” from Slovenia to Venice. Fabricating a quintet of metal pontoon boats that he captained on a 500-mile trip along the Ganges River to Northern India. The stories are truly endless.

The obituary, however, did not address the cause of death. I suspected he took his own life (one of several men that I’m sadly aware of who ended it on a boat), and Porter confirmed that grim fact. 

“I’ve seen this in people where the light burns so bright, but there’s something opposite of that which is equally dark,” he said. “His life was not easy. Everything he did was with no money, barely any tools, no support. He had a brilliant smile and was the person who lifted everyone up, but there was a counterbalance to that, some really difficult times. 

“You know what the hardest part was for him? Living a normal life. The older we got, the more normal we became. We got cars, mortgages, whatever. Orien’s 20s and 30s? That was it, man. That was the peak. That vivacious energy of our group started to dissipate. I feel in some ways he got left behind. He wasn’t doing another big trip. There wasn’t going to be another India. I think that was tough for him. He was happiest working on an impossible project with his friends. That was the highlight of his life. And he came through every single time.”

Considering I’d never met the man (and truly wish I had), McNeill’s story hit me hard. But consider his legacy. What better than to be a pied piper beloved by many, who was followed literally everywhere by artists and mariners? Who wouldn’t want to be remembered as a dependable, honest soul who comes through every single time? 

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large.

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