"Some you meet you soon forget.
Some you meet you can't forget,
Some you meet you would forget,
and you are one of those I've met,
among the ones I'll ne'er forget."
~Anonymous~
This is the wood-burned inscription on the cover of a guest book in my parents' home. It fits Tom.
When a guy marries, he marries not only the woman of his desires, but also absorbs in-laws and their friends into a burgeoning circle which becomes, as Zorba The Greek's Anthony Quinn once put it, "The Whole Catastrophe!" If he marries well, the new relationships are not so terribly catastrophic, after all. Such was the case in 1958 for this writer. It was then that he first met Tom.
As a middle school-age kid, he had an infectious, gap-toothed grin, and even in those tender years, was one who never knew the meaning of the word "quit". There wasn't anything he confronted that he couldn't address, then resolve. He learned much about coping with the day-to-day at his parents' feet; adopting what worked; discarding what didn't. While intellectually quite curious, he never distinguished himself academically during his school years.
Once out in the work-a-day world, Tom tried his hand at various pursuits; mostly in the field of semi-skilled labor involving carpentry.....and coaching soccer. It was through this passion for the sport the rest of the world calls "football" that our lives became more closely linked. (As an aside, he had this incredible ability to trap the ball between the heel of one foot and the toes of the other and flick it behind his back and over his shoulder!) During several Seattle to Boring trips, Tom taught this coach and his 6th grade players some drill techniques and strategies that ultimately produced some incredibly positive results.
It was the week prior to Spring Break in 1978 when I received this phone call from my soccer guru; asking what I had planned for my week's vacation, and asking if I would be open to taking a cruise with him on the family sailboat, the "Adeline G. to Victoria, BC." Would I? Does the sun rise in the east? Is the pope Catholic?
Next morning, following a night of adrenalin-reduced sleeping, we set sail for Port Ludlow on the west side of the sound. During this "shakedown" part of the cruise, I just tried to keep out of the Skipper's way, and to listen intently to instruction. The most unforgettable of his admonitions was, "Hal, under no circumstances do you EVER luff!"
Luffing happens when you allow the wind to get on the wrong side of your mainsail. Such a position can lead to almost immediate disaster, including capsizing the boat. One cannot afford to daydream while manning the tiller. I listened, heeded, as a first mate should, and never once luffed.
Our first port of call was Port Ludlow; not a tourist's paradise, but for a seafarer, it had all the necessaries. Tom and I dined Mexican at La Cantina, then wandered around town; ending up at a video game "parlor", where my mentor indulged in a game or two of "Asteroids", which was the big sensation of its genre at the time. He acquitted himself fairly well. Being a newbie to the game, I was a complete klutz.
The following day, we set sail in the early morning for the next port, Townsend by name. While out in open water, Tom turned the tiller over to me for the first time. The rush of excitement was, and is, hard to describe, but nothing compared to what lay ahead for this novice seaman.
Port Townsend remains something particularly special to me; not just because I had brought the good ship Adeline G safely into port, but because of all that followed. Great dinner. Great promenade through town, including some window-shopping at several antique shops. These stops were prompted by the fact that the Bride and I were still very much into a "mode of acquisition", and the fact that we both love old things. We capped off the evening, appropriately enough, by watching "An Officer and a Gentleman" with Richard Gere at the local bijou.
While Tom had probably never assumed the responsibilities of a captain before the Adeline G, he had grown, day-by-day, in my appreciation and admiration. He was rather matter-of-fact in his approach, as in essentially everything else I had known about him. Never quick to criticize, but quick to point things out. He could have become more than a great soccer coach. He could have been a great teacher. I forget. In one capacity or another, we are all teachers.
The final port before crossing the Straits of Juan de Fuca was Port Angeles. This is a fairly busy town, since many are not locals, but travelers wishing to catch the ferry across the straits to Vancouver Island. As a tourist, it has more to offer than Port Ludlow, to be sure, but not as much as the more romantic Port Townsend.
After our customary morning ablutions and sustenance, we were off to Victoria. The winds of the Straits of Juan de Fuca are seductive. They can play like pussy cats and be a calm, pleasant diversion, or they can become lionesque. As we pulled out of port, with Tom at the tiller, they were the former. Then, when we were midway across the straits, Tom turned to me and said, "You take over. I'm going down below to rest awhile." OK, I thought. I'm ready for that. After he went below decks, and had his badly needed snooze is when the fun began, amidships.
The winds hit the Adeline G as they had never hit before. Here we were, halfway between Port Angles and Victoria, and nothing but long waves, ocean spray, and frigate birds in sight. Based on my recollections of the Beaufort Wind Scale, we had to be sailing at a healthy 25-knot clip. As I held onto the tiller with knuckles turning white, the "AG" canted hard to port; the mast
leaning toward the water at a very acute angle. The emotional merging of abject fear and total exhilaration is still fresh in my memory. This was life on the cutting edge.
After what seemed like an hour at the helm, the captain arose from his slumber, climbed topside, stretched, and surveyed the situation. The seas and sky had returned to their best behavior, leaving him to believe, I'm sure. that nothing unusual had happened while he was "sawing logs".
His helmsman tried to keep the cool façade, but failed miserably. He had to receive the total briefing.
With our ultimate destination in sight, "His Nibs" took the tiller, and safely navigated us into port; having to resort to inboard motor power for the last outbound leg of our cruise. We docked, right at the foot of the Empress Hotel in downtown Victoria. That venue was totally unfamiliar to me before we arrived, and it totally blew my sox off. This was like a breath of jolly, old England....High Tea.....promenades........formal gardens.....in North America, for heavensakes!!!
As we climbed the sea-wall stairs, and headed toward the main street of the city, we spotted a local minstrel, perhaps another "old salt", who had discovered his true calling.. Not having any idea of where to alight for our evening repast, we started trekking toward a likely looking avenue, not too distant from the dowager Empress. We happened upon a little café bearing the quaint name, "Mac's Tea Room". The head waiter had the most elabo- rate comb-over I'd ever seen, with mustache match. It was quite a popular spot, but we swabbies were able to score a table, soon after ordering an amber-colored beverage, other than tea.
While dining at Mac's I became smitten with a dish called "Shepherd's Pie". To this day, whenever we dine at a restaurant with pub fare, that is the most sought-after entry. The fond memories it evokes make it all the more savory.
We then sauntered back to the "Dowager's" basement , and another, different kind of tavern; with British theme and décor, but also a welcoming smile for the "here's mud in your eye" crowd.
The next day we decided to take in the provincial museum; a truly one-of-a-kind affair with a myriad of exhibits, static displays, and a particular emphasis given to northwest coastal native Americans. It was while enjoying one particular exhibit that I ran into a colleague from the school where I was teaching. She saw me, and without smiling averred, "Hal, I've travelled hundreds of miles to enjoy my time away from school. The last person I need to see is another teacher". Gee, Mavis. Thanks for sharing that.
The hours that followed went by all too fast, and were over before the sun set on the last day. Seven days of travel and five of them spent on the high seas. Blimey! We were back in Seattle, and I was back on a train headed home of a Sunday evening. Tom, my captain, my guru, my travelling bud had given me the gift of a lifetime; the kind that when it's done right, doesn't have to be repeated. He made sure it was done right.
It was only a little over a week ago that I learned that my fellow cabin-mate had died in his sleep, long before we think of life as having served its full term. To be sure there was sadness over losing such a good and trusted friend. But I choose not to think now of what once was, and never can be again. Instead, I rejoice that Tom played a big part in my life, and profoundly enriched it. HLR
After what seemed like an hour at the helm, the captain arose from his slumber, climbed topside, stretched, and surveyed the situation. The seas and sky had returned to their best behavior, leaving him to believe, I'm sure. that nothing unusual had happened while he was "sawing logs".
His helmsman tried to keep the cool façade, but failed miserably. He had to receive the total briefing.
With our ultimate destination in sight, "His Nibs" took the tiller, and safely navigated us into port; having to resort to inboard motor power for the last outbound leg of our cruise. We docked, right at the foot of the Empress Hotel in downtown Victoria. That venue was totally unfamiliar to me before we arrived, and it totally blew my sox off. This was like a breath of jolly, old England....High Tea.....promenades........formal gardens.....in North America, for heavensakes!!!
As we climbed the sea-wall stairs, and headed toward the main street of the city, we spotted a local minstrel, perhaps another "old salt", who had discovered his true calling.. Not having any idea of where to alight for our evening repast, we started trekking toward a likely looking avenue, not too distant from the dowager Empress. We happened upon a little café bearing the quaint name, "Mac's Tea Room". The head waiter had the most elabo- rate comb-over I'd ever seen, with mustache match. It was quite a popular spot, but we swabbies were able to score a table, soon after ordering an amber-colored beverage, other than tea.While dining at Mac's I became smitten with a dish called "Shepherd's Pie". To this day, whenever we dine at a restaurant with pub fare, that is the most sought-after entry. The fond memories it evokes make it all the more savory.
We then sauntered back to the "Dowager's" basement , and another, different kind of tavern; with British theme and décor, but also a welcoming smile for the "here's mud in your eye" crowd.
The next day we decided to take in the provincial museum; a truly one-of-a-kind affair with a myriad of exhibits, static displays, and a particular emphasis given to northwest coastal native Americans. It was while enjoying one particular exhibit that I ran into a colleague from the school where I was teaching. She saw me, and without smiling averred, "Hal, I've travelled hundreds of miles to enjoy my time away from school. The last person I need to see is another teacher". Gee, Mavis. Thanks for sharing that.
The hours that followed went by all too fast, and were over before the sun set on the last day. Seven days of travel and five of them spent on the high seas. Blimey! We were back in Seattle, and I was back on a train headed home of a Sunday evening. Tom, my captain, my guru, my travelling bud had given me the gift of a lifetime; the kind that when it's done right, doesn't have to be repeated. He made sure it was done right.
It was only a little over a week ago that I learned that my fellow cabin-mate had died in his sleep, long before we think of life as having served its full term. To be sure there was sadness over losing such a good and trusted friend. But I choose not to think now of what once was, and never can be again. Instead, I rejoice that Tom played a big part in my life, and profoundly enriched it. HLR
