PARTY OF THE YEAR. . . PARTY OF THE YEAR.
MARK IT ON YOUR CALENDAR AND DON'T MISS THIS ONE. . .

Saturday, August 16, 1:00pm to Midnight and beyond. SSYC does Lido Anchorage. If you go to one party all year, this is it. This is an on the water Rraft-Up/Great Dance Band/Food Fair/and Party, Party, Party. Featuring the Fabulous Nomads Band playing off the stern of Jackson Willett’s Trawler. This was the party of the year, last year, a the talk of the entire harbor. We expect an even larger turn out this year. Raft up with your own boat, kayak out, or get a ride on one of our Water Taxis. Don't miss this party.

Water Taxis will run from the club (and other locations by special arrangement.) Call Jackson at 949-400-3689 or Scott at 714-815-8557 (or email us at Scottkarlin@yahoo.com) if you need additional information or a dinghy ride out.

This year, Senior Staff Commodore Jolly Joe Walley announced special concessions to senior sailors in the “Crew of 2” ’round Catalina Island sailboat race. Walley explained that this was done to increase interest in the 50 year old race and at the same time, comply with the ADA and Elderly Anti-Discrimination Acts. The new rule allowed a third crew member if two of the crew were over 60 years old. When news of the rule change was announced, residents of the South Coast Old Sailor’s Home went wild. Salty Sam got so excited that he unpinned his pampers, spun them around his head and with the precision of a slingshot, flung it and its contents across the room, barely missing the head of nurse Helg Von Hangem. That’s when Boatswain Billy detached his ventilator, put on his speaking box, and yelled “whoopeeeeeeee, whoopeeeeeee.” Others, led by Don Oldman started to sing “My Way,” and began to dance a jig. The jig was accompanied by the constant sound of passing gas, like someone was tooting a small French horn. That’s when nurse Helga, fondly known as the “Warden,” declared with her Norwegian accent, “Dar vi no talk of sailing fer ye Boys. Das ist fer da young-old, not elderlings. Forestore du dat – Understand you that?”

All seemed calm until the night before the race. Sam put on four extra pairs of pampers and carefully detached Billy’s ventilator. Dancing Don unlocked two oxygen tanks and our three boys jumped into electric wheelchairs and made their way to Sam’s sailboat, “Cobwebs,” which hadn’t been used in over ten years. All the better Sam thought, since the sails were barely used, making up for the rather old design.

When the race committee spotted Sam and his crew, they quickly announced a rule change. Jolly Joe Walley yelled out the new rule, “If all crew are over 80, they need to sign a ‘Right to Sail’ addendum to their Medical Directive.” Walley told the trio, “It’s a standard form, sign it or you don’t race.” The addendum read:
“I understand that given my age and medical condition I will likely die during the race. I do not want to delay the race, nor do I want the aid of Vessel Assist, so just throw me overboard and consider it my burial at sea. As a concession, I understand my estate will pay half the normal burial fee.”

The three shrugged their shoulders, signed, and off they went. Sam thought the starting horn was the sound of Dancing Don passing gas again and the three missed the start. By the time they crossed the line they were fifteen minutes behind the other boats. But late in the evening the wind died down and Sam and the boys slowly began to gain on the others. It seems that all three weighed less than any two younger crew on the other boats. They knew they had a weight advantage and they also knew they could skip potty breaks thanks to Sam’s extra supply of pampers.

In the final minute before the finish, in a light breeze, Sam and the boys had almost caught the top rated boat, “Happy Sails to You.” With no more that 15 seconds to go and half a boat length behind, Sam yelled his final order. “Do it NOW Billy, Do it NOW!! That’s when Billy unplugged his ventilator, and pointed it to the mainsail, and then Don opened the valve on the oxygen tank all the way. With this new fresh breeze, Cobwebs inched passed Happy Sails and won the race.

Back at the Old Sailor’s Home, nurse Helga discovered the happy crew were missing and mounted a search party. Upon their return they were given a hero’s welcome. However, as punishment, Helga decided to cancel their subscription to “Sail Magazine” and told them they never again were allowed to sing, “My Way.”

“Who goes there?” were the first words from Dana Point’s Officer Crumpkie as he shined his patrol light in my face. Crumpkie was recently reassigned from Newport Beach after an incident involving a questionable cavity search. “It’s me, Scott, your Excellency,” I responded, hoping he wouldn’t remember a certain incident about a year ago. As luck would have it, my name didn’t ring a bell. “Show me your equipment,” he ordered. Knowing why he was just transferred, I started to undo my pants, when his assistant said, “not that equipment. Show us your lifevests, boat light, and registration.” Wow, I was safe. I showed them the items, assuming everything was in order. But Crumpkie scratched his head. He thought, there had to be something, so in passing he asked, “What about your Running Lights?”

I thought for a moment and said, “Running Lights, you mean those red and green port and starboard side lights Freighters use to tell the direction of other boats when out at sea? I don’t see no Freighters here in this harbor, do you sir?” “Well,” Crumpkie said, “This here book says any boat under 40 feet in a harbor needs Running Lights.” “Well,” I fired back, “in my book, any boat under 40 feet needs a fully stocked bar, an ice maker, and two Laker Girls, but we can’t always have what we want.” “Besides,” I continued, “if I screw running lights into the sides of this rubber dinghy, the air would come out and it’ll sink.” Crumpkie was quick to respond, “Its-In-The-Book.” I muttered to myself, “Sounds a little like the ‘Just Following Orders’ routine that got our German friends in trouble a few years back.” He must have heard me. His face got red; then he jumped up and down and yelled, “Get back to your friends anchored out in the harbor. If I see any of your dinghies out tonight without running lights, I’ll seize them all!”

I sped back to the raft-up and spread the word to those who were sober enough to listen after the two hour wine “tasting.” While some dinghies had a single light, none had red and green running side lights for the reasons heretofore explained. That’s when the women started to cry and the men started to plan, or was it the other way round? You see, there were three women and one guy who didn’t have a boat at the raft-up. They had to get back to family and kids.

Two plans were proposed: Plan A - Call Crumpkie on emergency channel 16 and explain we had 4 people who had medical emergencies. When he tells us to take them to shore, we’ll remind him our dinghies don’t have running lights. Plan B - The stranded women will spend the night on my boat. (My wife was not amused, but Sally Sumo, our 400 lb guest, gave me a wink.) Just when Sally called for a vote, up jumped Dashing Dav, the son of Fearless Ed and Countess Connie. He had blackened his face and was wearing camouflage clothes with a back ski cap. “Let’s Go!,” he cried. He was ready to outrun Crumpkie.

As the stranded guests jumped into Dav’s dinghy, Tasmania Tim launched our fleet of remote controlled three foot sailboats, knowing none had “Running Lights.” Off went the toy boats, and Herr Crumpkie and his faithful band followed in hot pursuit, all singing something about Deutschland Uber Alles. That’s when Dav made his move, racing to shore, and the evening was saved. Stepping off the dinghy, Sumo Sally winked and blew a kiss to her new hero she now fondly calls “DD.”

“I zee by your outfit you must be a yachtsman,” said Moshe as he signed the guestbook at South Shore’s Opening Day. He was right. The directors and offices of the club were all dressed alike, with their blue blazers, white pants, blue ties, and various club patches. The visiting Commodores, Sub-Commodores, and other club members all looked the same. “I’m here from the Tel Aviv Yacht Club in Israel ,” Moshe said. “Just checking to see how you guys are doing.”
I was impressed we would be visited by member of a club half way across the world. He told me, “Vat’s so unusual? Va Den, ve invented da Yacht Club.” He continued, “Don’t you remember, Moses. Ve have opening day in the spring because ve remember Moses when led his people across the red sea. That vas da start of the first Yacht Cub.” “No,” I said to Moshe, “He ‘parted’ the sea.” Moshe laughed, “Yes, but that was for those who arrived on time. Mosses told his people, come at 2ish. Not 1400, not 1401, but 2ish. So naturally, many of our people came at 2:30, 3:00, vatever. That’s when they found the sea open, then closed, and they quickly gathered boats of all kinds, and, of course, started the first Yacht Club. This, they called the South Shore Flabluggeda (“Lost”) Club. One tribe traveled east and one vent vest, all in search of Moses who, himself, vas valking in circles for 40 years, not having the best sense of direction. Some called them the lost tribes, but we know they were the lost Yachtsmen. And that’s how the Vorld’s Yacht Clubs were formed - 40 years of lost sailors looking for Moses.”
After our opening day ceremony I asked Moshe what he thought of our rituals. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “So what’s so different? We all read the same basic script. We call it the ‘Hagayacht.’ That proves the vorld is a very small place or there must have been a bunch of flabluggada sailors looking for Moses.” “Ve also ask our youngest Commodore to ask this very important question: ‘Why is dis day different from all other days,’ and ve answer: ‘On other days we go out to our boats, set sail, and then we drink. On this day, we drink, and then go out to our boats.’ ” Moshe continued, “Also, just like you ve invite important people, Commodores, from surrounding clubs. So this year we had Osama Sama, commander of the Hamas Yacht Club, and Yasir Yamen from the PLO Yacht Club. Ven ve announced their names, Oy Vey, did ve have cannon fire. Da building shook and ve all ducked under our tables. That’s when ve all hugged. And then ve drank and went our for a day sail. Vat-a-day! So you see, the vorld is a very small place, and ve truly are a close brotherhood.”

He was dressed in a loose fitting bathing suit from the 1920’s, wore a floppy seaman’s cap and had ears that made Osma’s look small. I called him Captain Goofy. He could see by my swagger that I was a yachtsman, and with a grand wave of his hand, he pointed to an old castle-like building with a sign that read, “World’s Greatest Yacht Club.” I raised my eyebrows in a skeptical way, and then showed him my shiny new SSYC yacht club card. When he saw the card, he did a back flip, spun around, danced a jig, and with a smile and a wink, he offered me a tour.

The yacht club was in a large park surrounded by rivers and inlets that was protected by a large fence. As we approached, the guard recognized the Captain, gave him a salute, and let us in. The Captain led me to a large group of buildings which were not of the usual Cape Cod architecture, but were a hodgepodge of different styles ranging from futuristic to old western to fanciful. Along the waterway, he pointed out numerous boats used by the club, including a small submarine. He saw the surprised look on my face and so he took me aboard. We went below, and he pulled a lever. We slowly descended to ten fathoms, and as the bubbles cleared Capt’n Goofy showed me the amazing undersea world surrounding the club.

After our assent we returned to the dock and boarded an old Pirate Ship that the club had restored and named “Columbia.” Next, he took me onto an old Stern-Wheeler which looked like it dated from Mark Twain’s day. On it, we slowly traveled upriver while the two of us sipped mint juleps. When we returned, a Dixieland Band was playing at the dock. Now this was a yacht club.

Meanwhile, the club’s cruising committee had organized a trip into the nearby swamp. The Captain and I joined the cruise and boarded a boat named “Get Ahead.” It reminded me of Bogart’s small engine coughing boat, “African Queen.” As we snaked slowly through the bayou, Capt’n Goofy pointed out crocs, elephants, tigers, and other exotic wildlife. Wow, this yacht club had its own zoo!

Goofy pointed out boats of all types and sizes available to the club’s members. He showed me a a list of 14 cruises available each day, no matter what the weather. His big ear to ear smile told me that Capt’n Goofy was among the happiest of sailors.

As the day came to a close we jumped aboard a restored old runabout from the fifties. Capt’n Goofy gave me the helm. I will always remember the club’s children singing these words, over and over, as I steered the boat along a narrow canal, “It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all . . .it’s a small, small world.”

As you may have suspected, the World’s Greatest Yacht Club is none other than our own Disney Yacht Club, located just a few miles away. It is said to be the happiest yacht club on earth. I have asked our Commodore to add a Disneyland Cruise to next year’s calendar. Thank you Goofy, for a wonderful day.