Thursday, July 15, 2004

My Dad, with his Dad Earl, and older brothers

Pierson and Gordon. Nice knickers, Uncle Gordy!

At 829 South Drive with unidentified dog.

  As far as I know, Earl was not at all a sailor,

but a fisherman. He had a great motorboat,

Mike II, for which  he had arranged a friend as 

 captain so he and the rest of his friends could fish 

and drink.  My Dad preferred sailing.

Earl died when Dad was 11.   

 2 minutes before the gun.  This was

  Lightning "Vision",  #5805.

It's definitely honking there. 

La Salle College Crew, Varsity Heavyweight 8.

Dad Vail Regatta Champions, 1957.

Schuylkill River, Philadelphia, Pa.

Way before Rocky.  And the steps.

Dad got to stand next to legendary coach

"Bear" Curran.  Coach left his houndstooth

hat at home that day.

Hell's Bells, Jet 14, #475.

Beautiful varnished wooden hull.

It always blew hard on the Metedeconk River.

Tough as nails, they had worms for breakfast and

dirt for dinner.  And they politely asked for more.

Probably Easter, 1964, Jenkintown, Pa.

To this day I wear shorts every day of the year.

I don't plan to ever change that habit.

1966.  Hans is really getting a kick out of the kite. 

A boxkite,  always a boxkite.  

That raft to the left floated up during a storm

and spent the entire summer there.  It was

another imaginary ship for our cousins and

us to play on.  We rarely had nothing to do.

Penguin  #5158, "Vapor".  She preceded "Wassail",

#8839, a Christmas punch-red boat in which

I first started to crew for my dad.

Dad and I did well in Wassail, and I still have lots

of crew mugs to show for it.  34 years later, this silver bowl

was filled with beer and we drank from it

 before sifting his ashes into the Barnegat Bay.

The banner is hanging over the workbench in my garage.

I suspect he spent hundreds of hours at the Sultana

Shipyard in Chestertown, Md.  It really was great

therapy for him in that very difficult time of his life.

Customized business card.

Master Gunner Emeritus

 He was aware of his mortality.  And it was

a huge plus that the guy who was to arrange 

his cremation not only sailed, but raced a J-24

at Havre de Grace. 

Sultana's tribute.  If you have a minute,

it's worth a read. Thanks to Dave and Lucian.

And every other soul at Sultana.

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar.

Crossing The Bar
Alfred Lord Tennyson

My Uncle Gordon's funeral program included 

this poem, and Dad's did as well.
  I fully believe they have both seen their pilot.

Dad, you were never as content as when you were

sailing.  And if it weren't for you,

I may never have had my love for sailing like I do.

  We all miss you as much now as we

did six years ago, which is a whole hell of a lot.

Sail on, Sailor.  We love you.