Years of experience have taught me that it's always best to resist the temptation to travel down memory lane, digging through the "dump" pile examining the detritus of the decades and waxing sentimental. Just keep the lids on and take it straight out. I was managing this quite admirably when she suddenly shoved out a stainless steel marine barbecue grill and said, "And FINALLY we can get THIS damn thing out of our lives! You've never once used it as long as I've known you."
"What?!" I cried, "Are you crazy? That grill belonged to Jimmy Buffett!"
It's true. It's also true that it has never been fired up since sometime before the end of my second marriage way back in the early 90s. But there's a story there and I'm loath to let it go.
Back in the summer of 1990, my second ex-wife (a.k.a., the Plaintiff) and I spent a relaxing summer aboard my original schooner Windfall on a mooring in "American Harbor" on Man-O-War Cay, Abaco, Bahamas. Upon arrival, we found ourselves surrounded by a motley assortment of fellow sailors and it didn't take long before a strong bond formed among us that carried over through our return for the following summer after an intervening winter of charter work in Florida. Most days were spent spearfishing the reefs on the ocean side of the island. Most evenings saw the entire population of the anchorage assembled on the deck of our schooner, grilling fish, drinking rum and playing guitars, banjos, bongos, what have you. At 10 p.m. the island generator shut down and it got dark. Then we'd all stretch out on the deck as a single-handed schoonerman named John, a former university planetarium director, would take us on a flashlight-guided tour of the heavens. After an inoffensively scholarly discussion of astronomy, the conversation would usually devolve into a discussion of "what's beyond beyond? Where did we come from? Why are we here?" Fun!
The senior member of our crowd was a 61-year-old single-hander by the name of H.J. Merrihue. He was living aboard the 47' Cheoy Lee Luders yawl he'd recently purchased from Jimmy Buffett and was totally refitting for a planned world circumnavigation. H.J. is among the most interesting people
I've ever known. He was not only a self-made man but a self-educated one who had amassed a fortune in commercial diving. H.J. wasn't exactly what's known as a "parrothead." In fact, as he might have put it, he wouldn't have known Jimmy Buffett if he'd bitten him in the ass. H.J. had simply found the boat, which Buffet thad named Euphoria III, through a yacht broker and had purchased her. Although H.J.'s company did major commercial diving jobs all over the world, his headquarters was in New Orleans and his bread and butter had been the maintenance of submarine cables crossing the Mississippi River. Thus the name he chose for his new purchase: Cable's Length.
I don't know how the boat looked when Buffett owned her but H.J. spared no expense. He once told me that, when discussing a brightwork job with a potential contractor, if the the latter mentioned sandpaper courser than 400 grit "that was the end of the conversation and I'd find someone else for the job."
I do remember a framed photograph on the saloon bulkhead of Jimmy Buffet tshaking hands with (then President) Jimmy Carter. Other than that, H.J., like my wife Sundae, was ready to clean house.I happened to be having a beer in H.J.'s cockpit with H.J. and John the astronomer one day when he suddenly announced: "I've got a lot of crap on here I need to get rid of. You guys want any of this stuff?" The Force 10 stainless gas grill was slightly tarnished and wouldn't do at all. I agreed to take it off his hands to save him a trip to the dump. John agreed to remove Buffett's old stereo system. I guess he can still use the radio but I don't know where he'll find 8-track cassettes!
One man's trash is another man's treasure. Since I'm thinking of taking my little schooner south this fall, I'm tempted to pack that old grill aboard. Just might have me a cheeseburger in paradise!
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