Chapter 71

Crew is both singular and plural ‘She is crew ... she works as an ordinary maid and line handler’ “Who? Them? They’re crew. They work the boat. Far be it from me to get my hands dirty.”

“Seventy-five ... a season,” Bea said. “But ... I have certificates ... and a degree in Hotel and Hospitality Administration.”

“What does a ‘regular’ crew make?”

“Forty-five, room, board and tips,” she said.

“Tips?” I had a look.

“Generally, a crew doesn’t get tips from an owner. When the owner has guests? Up to five grand, depending.”

“Depending?” I said ... then, “Umh ... never mind, I get it.”

“Yeah ... that,” she said, “Exceptional services rate excellent tips.”

“I suppose I need to set up an account you can draw from?” I suggested.

“Purser’s Account? Probably. Are you going to do much sailing?”

“Does it matter?”

“With a boat this size? If you intend to be on the water, you’ll need a cook and a couple of line handlers.”

“My sibs and I were used to doing all the dirty work ourselves,” I said. “About five years of circumnavigation with a paid Captain and a nanny ... then mom...”

“You’re that Flintkote?”

“Yes,” I said. “One of them anyway. After mom ... we sent ‘the crew’ back to the States. We stayed in New Zealand.”

I was ‘multi-tasking.’ While I was talking to Bea ... and Junior ... and Albert, I was checking out the tipi. It was correct as far as the Laubin’s direction went. But it was typical Boy Scout’s in decor ... sleeping bags, carpet and sorta lawn chairs ... a planed down 2x12 back with a slot cut for a 2x12 seat with an extension through the slot. Two pieces of wood and a little sawing and it’s a seat.

“Nice chairs, Burt.” I was more interested in changing the subject than talking about my family ... where ever they were.

“They were easier than willow wands and sinew,” Burt said.

“Ever think about Crazy Creek chairs?” I asked.

“Yeah ... but they’re expensive.”

“Comfortable though, I’ve several in a locker on the boat. They’re great for sunset watching.”

“Bea? Monday we’ll go to the bank and set up an account. Thinking about it ... we’ll need crew.”

“Thanks, I usually have a contract ... but I like you. You’re not pushy.” Then she said, “College boys? Older hands? Girls?”

“I’m my own Captain ... if International Licenses count on the lakes?”

“We should have registered with the Coasties.”

“I was going to do that ... David knows, he’s seen my certs.”

“Monday ... after the bank.”

“Ok ... now ... party! We’re here and I wan’t to circulate.”

Burt ‘locked’ the door ... crossed a couple of sticks over the canvas door ... and off we went.

Burt’s family cottage is Piney Ridge and 19th ... not on Hamlin Lake but they used to own the whole of Piney Ridge ... Great great granddad Jamison ... about 1850 ... His son had a going situation with sailing ships and then came the proliferation of the family... 19 children and three wives ... serial wives. The kids grew and moved away. Some land was willed, some was sold, some was leased... 99 year leased ... and some was State Park.

The Jamison’s had assured Right of Way access to the lake. That’s to explain the fireworks.

It was still afternoon, getting on afternoon but still sunny and bright. The party was mellow and sorta quiet. Burt just unlocked the cabin door and invited us in. That was a surprise. Naked girls everywhere.

“Who are you and how did you get in?” That was a recurring question from everyone in the house.

“Burt Jamison ... I have my own key. Don’t tear up shit. I’m in the tipi if you need anything.”

“We’re having a party.”

“That’s why I’m here.”