Chapter 2

Thus began my love of boats. Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 9am until noon and Tuesday, Thursday from noon until 4pm.

The three day class was sitting in a pram identifying the ropes and pulling the right one.

"I know it's boring," said Gary ... the junior division instructor. "We want you to be able to find the right line underwater if you have to."

"Muscle memory," he called it. It all boiled down to repetitive behavior.

It Was boring.

We had drop-outs.

We had Chicago fathers with more money than sense who bought Snipes, Stars or Lightnings for their precious Timmy, Holly or Billy dropouts.

And just like a few of the newly licensed auto drivers dies because they didn't understand physics, Pentwater Lake had a drowning or two because the sailor didn't know boats.

The dead were the very best lessons.

Director Gary said, "It'll help when you move up." He said that a lot ... and sometimes the saying was part of the obituary.

The little boats were ashore and resting on their construction cradle ... hauling each boat every Thursday was the final 'water' test of our sailing Tuesday/Thursday class.

It is amazing how much muscle an eight year old kid can put on during a summer of lifting, hauling and turning 77 pounds of awkward plywood hull. What was a struggle in June is easy in August.

Tuesday/Thursday was sailing. Noon to four ... but everybody showed up at ten. There's a lot of rigging to do when the boat is upside down in the rack. Masts don't stick in the ground ... they're stored in the rack along with the boat. Lines and sails are in the clubhouse and have to be fetched. Imagine; fourteen 8 to 15 year old kids trying to claim the proper sail for their boat. Rule number two; There will be no horseplay around equipment and class area. Use of profanity prohibited.

"You little motherfucker! That's my sail!"

"Not! You tore yours Tuesday!"

WHACK

"OW!"

"Rule number two, Johnson. Gimmie laps!"

LAPS! There's no track ... but there is a trail around "The Downtown Burn," from the Club dock to the sorta park ... along the south wall of the Hancock Building, run south along the east wall of the burn, west under the Antler deck and weave the bushes then back to the dock. Run the dock from north to south turn and do it again ... and again ... until Gary figured you learned your lesson. The big kids generally got more laps than the eight/nine year old kids. Oh ... and barefoot ... keep your deck shoes free from gravel ... don't scratch the paint.

The number one reason the little kids got laps was retaliation against a big kid. That generally happened because a couple of littles pushed a big in the lake. It is one of Murphy's Laws that the deed needing retaliation for is never seen ... only the retaliation.

I was skinny at eight ... and picked on ... probably because I'm handsome and debonair and much nicer than most teenagers.

(I think I might be sick.)

And being the sterling stalwart young gentleman that I am ... the lesser element picked on me often.