Some Notes, In Passing

My first time sailing was aboard a Morgan 22 my father bought when we were visiting family in St. Petersburg.  The wind was light, 3-5 knots, and Tampa bay seas that morning 2' swells. In my father's excitement to take out his new purchase, we set off despite not having winch handles on board. Mercifully the wind stayed light, but sheeting in the head sail was still a chore. We spent 2 hours tacking back and forth. And I was hooked. At the time I was 12, my father 31.

My father's death came as a shock--an accident. He was 91. A very big number, I think.

The boat had to be shipped to our home port--Duluth, Minnesota. We built a small dock on an undeveloped spit across from Hearding Island. 

My father's standing request was there would be no formal funeral, no public notice, no obituary. 

One Saturday morning my father and I took the boat out into the harbor and before we were halfway to the lift bridge, a thick fog rolled in off Lake Superior. We were floating more than sailing. Behind us came the sound of mechanical equipment. Suddenly, to our shock, an ocean freighter came steaming by us no more than 50' on our port side. "Mother would be upset if she were here." I understood the message, loud and clear.

At a small family gathering, we shared stories and thoughts about my father and his life. Dutiful was the word I offered. He was a dutiful husband--72 years. He was a dutiful father for the 3 of us. He was dutiful in his efforts as an architect for his clients and as a college teacher for his students. 

And there would be no grave. No headstone. No epitaph. His body was to be cremated. I spread the ashes in a small garden he maintained at my parents' condo. 

Sometimes when sailing we would find ourselves close to other boats. There were 3 Cal 25s my father was keen to keep an eye on. Without much fuss, we would tack onto their heading and all engaged understood an informal race was underway. One time my father reported one of the other skippers merely said to him "Fast boat". He was pleased.

I envied my father's architectural career, to be able to in a real way see the fruit of his labor. Folks living in a residential building he designed, audiences enjoying performances in a theater of his, and the schools--all levels--full and thriving. But, I think he took just as much satisfaction from teaching architecture, and even simpler drawing classes. 

He was smart--very. He was capable. And he could cut to the chase. When I turned 16, he told me I was old enough to spend the night in jail. I understood that message too, loud and clear. As for going to college, he advised that by the end of the effort I should be something. 

He was bold. When he was 30, he moved us from Sarasota, Florida to Duluth. When he was 40 he left a successful private practice with my mother and younger brother and took up teaching at LSU in Baton Rouge. At 50, he accepted a teaching slot in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. He and my mother were in residence there for 5 years. He returned to architecture,working in Savannah, and then finished his career in Macon.

I believe he was as pleased for me when he stood in the companionway of my Pearson 26 as we raced in Charleston Harbor as when he skippered his own boat. 

He was a good man. To my way of thinking, his was a life lived.