Sailing To Heaven On A Comet

Somewhere, not so very far away, living in the shadows of my soul is a haunting of the finest of worlds, the best of hopes, the greatest of dreams.

It was America. It was not that long after World War II had ended and America and Americans stood both proud and tall.

I was absorbing the values and challenges of that America as I was growing up. Family was a key part of those times and once or twice every summer we would venture to see my cousins at Chautauqua Lake in southwest New York state.

There, hidden under huge towering trees right next to the lake was my Uncle John Dearing’s summer house. John was an electronics expert for RCA. John’s immediate family spent the winters in New Jersey, but my cousins and their mom, my aunt Katherine, were lucky enough to spend most of the summers at Chautauqua near the home of Uncle John Dearing’s own family.

When I was 14 or so, Uncle John was in charge of putting the TV antennas on top of the Empire State building (see photos below) and he actually let me climb the steel ladder going to the small square lid in the dome on top of the Empire State building and stick my head out to see first hand the growing antenna tower touching the sky. But he was holding my feet, cause the wind blowing across that small port could suck you right out! My memories of Uncle John are few but all are very fine. But the details and stories about Uncle John Dearing is another tale…

Just a summer after Uncle John had let me climb that ladder, when I was about 14 or 15, we piled into granddads old 1947 maroon Dodge chugging along on what seemed like an infinitely long journey. It was about 90 miles of winding along those pot hole filled two lane roads connecting Conneaut Lake to Chautauqua Lake.

Eventually we bounced off the paved road onto a deeply rutted narrow dirt road then down past a little cottage behind my Uncle John’s cottage and on down to his waterfront summer house.

Wow, first thing I noticed was that there was a red sailboat tied up at the dock and an old beat up 1930's black Ford parked behind the house.

Cousin Jack, slightly older than me, was a bright kid, like his parents and always exploring new ideas and new things. He loved Stan Kenton’s music and would sit at the piano pounding the keys making them bounce to the rhythm of Slaughter On Tenth Avenue.

“What’s the story with the sailboat”, I said. Jack’s eyes came alive and so did words describing the 2 girls that lived behind him who owned the boat, excitedly emphasizing that they even let him use it. And of course that they were very pretty!

But the mention of pretty came second; that he and we could use the sail boat were the first and most important words. Girls were important, but so were boats. And this boat was a bright red 15 foot Snipe class sailboat.

There’s noting to describe the feeling of the spay of water, the rush of the wind, the sounds, whipping and tenor of the sails. It was my first sailboat ride ever, and to me this was joy. The greatest feeling of freedom I had ever experienced.

Jack was a good sailor and a great teacher but I think we may have even turned the boat over that day. He taught me all the buzzwords, not to do downwind turns, don’t let the sails luff, what a halyard and tiller were and all the rest.

We journeyed around the lake for miles, down past Bemus Point and on and on. And that was the beginning.

The beginning of a lifelong love of sailing. The beginning of a special kind of experience, a journey of wind and joy.

Photo: Chautauqua July 2010. View of the Interstate bridge visible behind the trees.

I just had to find a way to experience the joy, excitement and freedom I felt during that visit to see Jack and family. Kids today don’t need drugs to feel high, they just need to turn off the computer and TV and hop on a sailboat and head for open water.

But back to the story…

One sunny day in late spring the very next year after I had experienced the thrill of sailing in that bright red Snipe, there was a boat for sale sign down 2nd street. In the backyard of a neighbor's yard. Just sitting there was my lifelong fantasy.

But this fantasy was very real, and for the stunning sum of $200 (a lot of money in those times), I haggled more than a bit and managed to actually buy this sailboat.

And yes it really was in need of a fair amount of work. It was a 'Comet' class boat, and had a main sail (torn a bit) and a jib both made of nylon. The number 2762 was sewn in 8 inch high letters on the giant main sail and also engraved in the wooden centerboard housing. A small brass plaque said ‘Made In Skaneateles, N.Y.’.

Above the numbers on the sail was a five pointed star with 3 lines trailing behind.

The emblem. Of a Comet. My Comet. My Comet to freedom, and to heaven. Well almost, at least to heaven on earth.

The double planked Skaneateles built mahogany hull hadn't been painted in years. The wooden mast was more than a bit warped and most of the ropes and some of the halyards and fittings were missing.

So I scurried off to Ralston’s local hardware store and bought a scrapper, some brushes, sandpaper, some varnish, some mahogany stain and some white marine paint for the sides. Also light blue paint for the decks, silver paint for the centerboard and a smidgen of bright red marine paint for the bottom. And a hundred fifty feet of manila hemp rope.

Broke, happy, perspiration in my eyes, my arms growing more than a bit weary, I scraped and sanded and sanded and scraped and scraped. For days and days and maybe even weeks. Bees buzzed in the apple tree branches partially shading my head. Sweat running down my face, mosquitoes buzzing, nipping, biting.

In the shade of granddad's favorite Grimes Golden apple tree, I carefully sanded and painted the outside of the hull and decks. Then I varnished the inside of the hull, then the mast and boom, tiller and rudder.

Thank goodness, things didn't cost much in those days and the sweat was absolutely free. I worked for my 82 year old granddad and he offered me not only an income but a needle, some thread and a quiet voice imbued with a quiet, very subtle encouragement. A man of great fortitude, granddad spoke few words. His heart and smile did the speaking.

Then one happy day the paint was dry, the varnish pretty hard and with my excitement floating about as high as pure joy can soar, my cousins and I lifted this double planked dream onto one of granddad's fishing boat trailers. Then pushed and shoved and pulled and strained to capture the dream. Wheeling my Comet past the grape arbors, down the long dirt driveway, across 2nd street and railroad tracks, then down the hill behind Rockwell’s house. With a final shove accompanied by a great and loud splash, my Comet slid and slipped not so gracefully into that chilly water.

I would be sailing in a little while, or so I thought, as my boyhood fantasy now became my very own, albeit tiny, yacht. Merrily it floated, wobbled and bobbed for the first time in years.

Seconds later, the water rushed in between the double planking and in minutes, my trust failed, my heart sank and my fine yacht settled very low in the water, barely afloat with only the,deck showing.

I knew better, I had helped granddad paint his rowboats for years, but had hoped the great job I imagined I had done had sealed the planking and that this great sailing ship wouldn't leak too much.

I attached a rope to a concrete anchor I had made by pouring concrete into an empty paint can, tied the other end to the boat and sat on the edge of the dock for what may have been hours just admiring my half sunken Comet. Slowly, the water did its job. The wood swelled for a few days, and then with an old wooden handled tin bucket, I bailed and bailed. And bailed some more. Lo and behold my ship was floating high in the water.

Then one very windy, happy and bright sunny summer day, I put the mast on and attached the boom then lowered the centerboard and attached the large mahogany rudder. Then feeding and sliding the rumpled main sail along the slot in the boom and feeding the brass cleats to the track on the mast. Then I attached the jib, hoisted my paint bucket anchor, then raised the jib as the boat began tacking outward between Rockwell’s dock and our dock.

The wind caught the jib and boat and in seconds and in,a startled flash I was out past the end of the dock.

Heading into the wind, now drifting backwards, I raised the whipping main sail. Shoving the tiller, old 2762 tipped to its side and took off like a rocket. Struggling to hang onto the tiller hanging over the deck, I sailed away ...

I sailed away with friends, with cousins, and fine looking girls for nearly 20 years with that old boat. When I got weary of sewing and patching the original nylon sails, I spent a little more and had Charles Thomas, Sailmaker in Chicago, whip up some new dacron sails.

Many times my dream boat nearly tipped over as it plunged ahead of high winds, sudden thunderstorms and hot summer days. Many times I and a girl friend would sail in the moonlight caught in the gentle night breezes, gliding silently toward the moon on this shooting star embossed Comet.

We counted real shooting stars and admired dancing northern lights often visible in late summer in those days. High in the brilliant clear starlit sky and darkness of those late August and early September nights.

I married one of those friends who claimed to share that fine dream. In later years my kids, nephews and others enjoyed the thrill of the wind, spray and water riding my Comet. Caught in the sounds and echoes of memories and cold waves and fresh water slapping the double planked wooden hull.

My pictures of that boat and those wonderful times, like all physical things, have faded. The few friends still alive who remember those times remind me most every day that we’re growing older and getting somewhat frail and beat up with cancer but our fine memories are alive and well.
That very special Comet's long gone too, and so are my wife and kids who somehow vanished as silently into the night as old Comet #2762.

One of these days, I guess maybe I'll vanish too, but till then, I sometimes still feel the wind and water in my face and in my mind feel the joy, memories and laughter of friends and good times.

I’ll always remember that the beginning of my ride to heaven was on my very own Comet.

Footnote:

After retiring to Florida I found myself sailing in the Gulf of Mexico, enjoying 70’, 40 ton solid teak and other large sailboats, which I certainly found to be a lot of fun and quite a challenge.

But somehow my best rides and finest sailing memories and moments were in that red Snipe with Cousin Jack on Chautauqua Lake, and my wonderful Comet 2762 on Conneaut Lake.