Trimmings

I want a Big Blue Christmas

Here we come a waddling

Grandma got run over by a shortboard

Always Runnin At Someone's 'Eel

Wish he were there tonight.  His mates stole the show.

Ziggy and Harry

I absolutely was watching TV when this originally

aired.  I knew at that exact time who the dude was 

with Bing!  He could lick 'em by smiling, he could 

leave 'em to hang. 

Crew Trophy or Trophy Crew?

I've still got most of my crew trophies, made from silver, pewter, wood,
cotton, and this one which has actually gotten the most mileage by far.
 It's spent time in my garage, bookshelf, and summers down below in Bay
Rhumb. Sometimes your least conspicuous possessions
carry the most weight, and this piece is no exception.

Dad and I had a few good years, actually a few really good years

racing the Penguin together before I plain just got too big for the

boat.  Here I am, 11 years old and no doubt big for my age but

still shorter than my Dad.  Three years later, I would be almost five

inches taller than him, and a bit heavier.  From 1969 through '72, we 

raced all the BBYRA races, as well as Toms River Fall and Spring

 Series, Bay Head Frostbites, New Years Day on Long Island and 

Staten Island, a few memorial regattas, Downer regattas, 

Metedeconk River Yacht Club Labor Day Handicap Races around 

Herring Island. Gibson Island, Tred Avon, Severn River, Miles River,

 Choptank, Packanack Lake, Carnegie Lake for God's sake, Gobbler 

Bowl, Turkey Bowl, the frickin' Schuylkill (with Carnegie, two of the 

most God-awful places to race sailboats, but the best to row boats),

Cooper River, the Delaware, the Potomac (with a thermos of hot

buttered rum for the skipper)  Region IIs, ACs, Nationals, and one

Internationals in Babylon NY.  A local sailor, Mel Reid, won with

 South American sailors in the next few spots.  I remember being

glad that an American won, and I'll never forget the trophy 

presentation.  Somebody put one of those fake rubber puddles

of vomit in the silver bowl that Mel was presented.  One of my

most vivid memories.  I was 10.  Maybe that explains things.

Gibson Island, home of Penguin legend Len Penso.  I clearly remember
sailing there, but maybe we didn't do so well, hence the generic no 'place'
designation on the 'trophy'.  I chuckle to myself when I think what may have
been the reason that I, as an eight year old, got custody of this ashtray.
It's clear that this trophy has also gotten some serious mileage.
There may have been some foresight involved in the decision.

Following are some of the duties expected of the crew.

The crew must procure the donuts at the registration table he has

 been thinking about since 6 a.m.  Jelly and cream-filled are 

priorities. Arrival time dictates whether

 or not they will be obtained. 

The crew must fend other boats while skipper sails boat without

rudder secured in gudgeons due to the shallow water.

The crew must pull string during tacking to twist the mast so it is 

pointing toward the wind.

The crew must hike in a puff and get the hell down in a lull.

The crew shall be seen and not heard.

The crew shall not point one's finger in any direction, so as not to 

give any trailing boats a hint as to what crew's boat may do next.  

The crew shall make sure no lines are dragging overboard, so as not

to slow the boat down.

The crew shall not drag one's hand in the water as a result of being 

bored to death in light or no-wind races, so as not to 

slow the boat down.

The crew shall not move suddenly or jerkily, so as not to alter the 

course of the boat, or slow the boat down.

The crew shall be seen and not heard.

In my garage.  The two championship banners I grabbed from my

Old Man's house after he died.  The rooster and qualifier flag I got

as well.  These represent the 'cotton' trophies.  I was a part of the

two big banners, the rooster came after I got too big, and the '53

flag came when I was but a twinkle in my Dad's eye.  That one may

have been the very first year he sailed in the BBYRA.  I knew then, 

that may be one worth grabbing. 

Another Chance Acquaintance

Sean Wilentz allowed me to snap this photo on one of the last days

of Lahiere's existence.  He, among so many others, made the extra

effort to have one last meal in the place across Nassau Street from

New Jersey's most famous and one of the world's most respected 

institutions of higher learning. He's always been, like several other 

PU personalities who've come down Witherspoon Street to eat,

so gracious, so humble, so interested in hearing what someone like

me was thinking.  He, as well as at least one hundred other guests, 

showed up some nine years earlier on Tuesday evening, 

September 11th, 2001.  I clearly remember standing outside the front

door and rehashing with him the events of that day, and how we lost 

a common acquaintance; his former next door neighbor 

and one of our regular customers.

He brought with him to the restaurant some rather influential beings,

and I will always remember watching some of the VP debate of

2000 in the hallway of our main bar, while Arthur Schlesinger sat

on a wooden wine crate next to me.  Sean and George Will had a 

long lunch one Saturday while sitting at Einstein's table.  And one 

night years ago, he had to rush back to campus to introduce a

guest speaker for one of the lectures he was responsible for 

sponsoring.  Bill Clinton could not be kept waiting.  

The one thing I find most interesting is his friendship and access

to one of America's most well-known musicians, Bob Dylan.

As you may have read, Sean was from very early on exposed

to Dylan's music,  and he managed to penetrate Dylan's inner circle

and write an unparalleled account of the musician's career. 

I'm sure there are a couple of my readers who would be interested

in knowing this, and they would also appreciate this clip. Did you
 remember to bring your foul-weather gear home from the boat?