Scouting got me into sailing.
Sea Explorer Scouts, an advanced division of Boy Scouts for boys 14 to 18 years-old, had uniforms patterned after regular enlisted Navy uniforms. We had thirteen button bell-bottom trousers, standard blue Navy jumpers, and white “Dixie Cup” hats. The only difference from the regular Navy uniform was we had two white stripes on collar and cuffs and regular Navy had three stripes. The uniform jumpers were referred to as “crackerjacks” named after the image of a sailor appearing on the front of the Crackerjack snack food box.
Bill knew of a 18-foot sailboat needing repairs which we were able acquire at no cost. Our initial Sea Scout meetings involved working on that boat getting it ready for the water. Two of my fellow scouts had sailed on Long Island Sound before, but none of the others had ever been on a sailboat.
That summer while working on the boat, Bill learned that Mystic Seaport, a historic maritime organization in New London, Connecticut, offered a weeklong offshore sailing school to Youth organizations. Eight of us enthusiastically signed up for what promised to be an exciting experience.
The boat we would be sailing was the Brilliant, a boat built in 1932 by the renowned yacht design team of Sparkman and Stephens as an ocean-racing yacht. S&S designed the boat that won every America Cup race but one for 40 years. They also designed amphibious vehicles that would prove essential in shoreline war efforts, We were in good hands on the Brilliant. It had even set a world record crossing the Atlantic Ocean in only fifteen days.
In addition to our leader, Bill Workman, we had a captain, Mike Jones, and a first mate, Ralph “Rusty” Nale. We eight scouts stood watch while underway, spending two hours at the helm, two hours standing bow watch, and two hours working in the galley.
We sailed out of New London, across Long Island Sound to different ports on Long Island. Although we ventured out into the Atlantic, we never traveled far offshore and never sailed overnight.
Captain Mike was great with young people teaching us nautical terms and sailing techniques and strategies. The captain had masters papers to command anything under sail regardless of its size. Rusty spent most of his time in the galley overseeing meal preparation and showing us, his galley slaves, what needed to be done. Rusty had a delightful since of humor and invited as much kidding from us as he dished out. “Okay, my laddies, those pots better be clean and bright or I’ll be taking you on a ten-foot walk on an eight-foot plank.”
In the evening, with all the chores finished, Rusty would entertain us by telling stories of rich yacht owners he had crewed for on cruises around the world. I thought sailing around the world would be the most exciting adventure I could imagine. I enjoyed Rusty and I could tell he took a liking to me as well. One evening with just the two of us washing dishes, Rusty said, “You like it out here on the water, don’t ya, Jimmy?”
“Yeah, I love it.”
“Thought so. I know of some boat owners who sail out of these waters, looking for crew. They sail from here to Bermuda, then down to the Virgin Islands. Usually back in the fall before the hurricane season.
Of course I couldn’t imagine what my parents would say, but Rusty gave me his contact information and told me to get in touch with him after our cruise. I was the only one Rusty had talked to about that opportunity, and I lay awake at night dreaming about crewing on a large sailboat on the ocean.
We went ashore several times during the week. We boys would saunter into town like crusty old tars acting like we had just returned from sailing around the Horn. One of the guys, Peter, bought a sleezy paperback romance novel with a sexy lady on the cover with long legs and barely covered boobs. He found some racy passages in the book describing her sexual romps and in the evening we gathered on deck as Peter read aloud with all of us hooting and howling at the vivid images those readings conjured up.
One day under sail, I had the bow watch standing at the end of the bow sprit eight feet forward of the bow. The sprit had a hand rail for security. That day the Sound had large non-breaking ground swells that grew from eight to ten feet from crest to valley. The Brilliant would plunge into the swells at first just getting my feet wet, but soon I was wet up over my knees and holding my breath on the plunge.
The captain didn’t realize I was out there initially, but when he did was quite loud is his command to “Get that kid back from there!”
Aw, heck. I thought that was pretty exciting.
What a memorable summer experience that had been, one that previewed other wonderful sailing experiences during my life. My mother, however, always considered that summer a bad influence on me. She picked us up at the Bridgeport railroad station on our return from New London. She was shocked at the foul language I had become unaware of and accustomed to using. “Hell” and “damn” seemed to punctuate every sentence as I described our wonderful week to her.
“Jimmy, what has become of you?”
“Home from the sea, ma mere, home from the sea.”
I mentioned Rusty’s invitation to my parents some days later, and it was made clear to me that preparation for my sophomore year in Prep School was going to get first priority that summer, not sailing.
Though I didn’t take Rusty up on his offer, the fire that had been lit inside me simmered for decades. Many years later, I acquired my own sailboat, and also got to experience sailing on the open ocean when crewing for a sailboat delivery from the Virgin Islands to Texas.
In life, we sometimes get seeds planted at an early age, and those seeds can take awhile to germinate, but at the end of the day, when standing on the bow, that doesn’t make the ocean spray any less heartwarming.