The Nautical Negro: The Adventures of a Black Waterman

Contents

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE BOOK

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Book I

IN THE BEGINNING

LET THE SKIING BEGIN!

GOING PLACES

ROCKAWAY THE EARLY DAYS

Book II

LET THE ODYSSEY BEGIN

I’M GOING BACK TO CALI

SANTA CRUZ

SOLITUDE IN SAN DIEGO

DIRTY JERSEY

READY FOR RHODE ISLAND

LONG ISLAND LOVE

LIFE IN THE ROCK!

THE VERDICT!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

My name is Brian James I was born on November 17th 1964 in the Village of Port Chester, New York, I’m the youngest of four children and have always been something of an adventurer or dreamer. From a very young age I’ve had an infatuation with the sea or anything water related, to put it simply I’m never as happy as when I’m on or near the beach or ocean. As a youngster I always sought ways to amuse or busy myself and once I had my mind set on an idea there was nothing that would keep me from its pursuit. That’s how it was with swimming, football, baseball, water skiing, etc., etc., etc, all the way to my present day passion of surfing. The one thing I was most passionate about outside of sports was photography. As a young man, I spent my entire high school career taking pictures and actually spent a year at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. Unfortunately my life took a turn that led me away from my true passion and I have never returned to photography.

Shortly after high school I began getting serious about water sports, primarily water skiing and wake boarding. It was also at that time I started selling marijuana to finance my ambitions. I’ve been through a lot since then both good and bad. As I like to say, I’ve been from Yale to Jail. The fact is this very story is being written behind the walls of the New York State Prison System. That’s right I’ve dined with Government Ministers in foreign countries, as well as men accused and convicted of murder and at times couldn’t tell the difference. The only real job I had during that time was selling real estate. Yeah, I was more disciplined and responsible at 22 than I am now at 45. my life ultimately changed the day I first put feet to deck and rode my first wave at Manhattan Beach California. That was the day that changed everything for me—the day I knew my life had a real purpose. And that was the day I knew what I would be doing the rest of my life. It really seems as though everything I’d done before that day, all the swimming, skiing, wakeboarding, etc., was all intended to prepare me for that day. It was as if God was training me for my ultimate destiny of surfing.

I’m writing this book because as a Black man in a sport dominated by white males, I have a unique perspective of that world. I’m writing this book in the hopes that other people may understand just what it is I see and love so much about the ocean that I was and still am prepared to forsake everything for its pursuit. Over the years I’ve sacrificed friends, family and ultimately my freedom to live my dreams.

Again, as one of just a few Brothers in this game I’ve seen and heard a lot of things that others just haven’t been privy too. I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about this book, because by and large I’ve been treated very well by most of the people I’ve met in this arena. It’s actually a very funny thing. in all my years taking part in water sports, I may get some odd looks from white people when I show up in a place like Huntington Beach or Wind N Sea for the first time. They may say something like, You’re the first Black person I’ve ever seen surf or ski, but believe it or not, it’s only been my own Brothers and ‘Sisters’ that have told me Black people shouldn’t surf or ski! Well I sincerely hope this book can play a small part in changing the perception on both sides and if this book can motivate someone else to pursue their dreams that wouldn’t be a bad thing either.

Around the beach I am known simply as B.J. and this is the story of "The Nautical Negro. The Adventures of a Black Waterman !

ABOUT THE BOOK

This book is the story of an African American man’s strange love and passion for anything nautically related. Book I of the Nautical Negro was written 10 years ago during my first stay in the New York State Prison system. When I took to writing Book I, I’d never written anything before that time and was learning on the fly, so the stories in Book I reflect my limited experience in the craft of writing. Book I does however, give a very clear picture of my nautical development and the progression I’ve made throughout the years.

Book II of The Nautical Negro was written during my last term of incarceration in 2009 and is a lot more comprehensive than Book I. The development of the writing of Book II mirrors in a lot of ways my evolution and development in the surf game. As you will read, they have both come a long way.

Book II also delves pretty deeply into my spiritual development and the path I believe that has been laid for me on this nautical journey I’ve undertaken.

One message I do hope this book conveys is that no matter where you come from, no matter what your circumstances were coming up; never give up on your dreams, because if you can see yourself doing it, you can make it a reality.

The last and most important impression I hope to leave on the readers is, never let anyone talk you out of your dreams, or tell you that you can’t do something. My father always said, There’s no such word as can’t! And that’s how I’ve always lived my life. That message is especially important to get out in the African American community, because all my life I heard people say I wasn’t supposed to surf or swim the way I did because I was Black. And to me that’s the worst thing you can do to a developing young mind. Young Brothers and "Sisters’ need to be encouraged to expand their minds and indeed their horizons by letting their natural talents blossom. They must be allowed to pursue whatever endeavor their young hearts and minds desire. We have to convey the message that they can indeed be something other than a basketball player or a rapper, they can be doctors, lawyers, or even pro skaters and surfers.

So with that said, I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoy sharing with you a piece of my unique, funny, sad, at times crazy. never dull life.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all I want to thank and acknowledge my Mother for putting up with me and all my crazy ways over the years and for also being my dead-on human spell check during the completion of this book. Thanks Ma!

Next I would like to express my sincere thanks and gratitude to Lawrence Eness English and his lovely wife Lisa. If not for them this book could have never become a reality, because they not only gave me a laptop to finish the book when I was released from prison, they were also more than patient with a complete computer illiterate. Not only did they not mind me calling at all hours of the night and day in a near panic. they also encouraged me. Indeed, they have been encouraging throughout this entire process and for that I will always be grateful.

While I’m mentioning help on the computer, I’d also like to thank Disheda Davis for all her additional assistance. Disheda took over holding my hand through many of my computer problems and calmed me down when I was on the brink.

I would like to thank John Veit for his support and encouragement. It was John who when I first came home from my first state bid looked at Book I of The Nautical Negro and really thought it had potential. Indeed it was Johnny who when I was about to go back to prison, went out of his way to find me and implore me to finish my book. You are a good boy Veit, BJ owes you for life!

I would like to thank my old bunky at, Mohawk Correctional Facility, Jay Juwa. During my last couple of months upstate Jay was very helpful in bouncing ideas off, as well as proofing and reviewing my work. He was very tough in his reviews and I thank him for his honesty. The book would not be what it is if not for his help!

I owe a great deal of thanks to my surfing mentor, Arnett. If it hadn’t been for Arnett I would have never found Rockaway the way I did and this book would probably never have happened.

I have so many people to be grateful to, people like Mr. Jones who were my early inspirations and indeed made my first official swim off my father’s boat possible. At the top of any list like this would have to be my old friend and first boating mentor, Richard Swirski! To put it briefly, he taught me everything I know about boating. My oldest friend in the world, Ronnie Armstrong. Ronnie and I swam every day at the local YMCA. When we were young Ronnie knew how much I wanted a two-man rubber raft, so he pitched in half even though he knew he would probably never use it more than once. That is a true friend! I’d like to thank all the people I’ve boated and shared the waters with over the years, people like the Dutra Family, Shawn and Billy specifically. I spent a great deal of time on the Sound with Nick and John, the Sinis Brothers. They came onto the boating scene late. Nick really loved it and would indeed push me to reach an even higher level on the water. My Boy Tommy Rende. I could never count how many days I spent skiing and chillin’ with him on our boats. I would like to thank the MacPherson Brothers, Ray and Paul who I spent my early water skiing days with. Ray on the boat with Swirski and his younger Brother Paul would become one of my official boat drivers for skiing. Another one of my official boat drivers that deserves some mention is Mr. Bill ‘Billy’ Manning. Many a summer day found me plucking Mr. Bill from the street corner to drag me across the Sound. Felix Castro, Castro and my father were long time fishing partners and he knew and taught me a great deal about the water. I’m indeed grateful to all the people that made that part of my nautical life.

As I move along I’d like to remember all the people I’ve met around the world that have contributed to my nautical experience. People like Billy Frenzy and all the guys from Frenzy Performance Marine, Mr. Barrese and and his family. Mr Barrese is almost 90 and still doin 90 on his boats! my friend James from Peach Lake who took me on my first water ski course, all the Brothers on Cornwall Beach in Jamaica who showed me so much love when I was down there. And in Hawaii where in such a short time I met so many good people on the Island of Oahu that made my time there such a blessed one. People like Francine Walker, my friend William from Bowls, the big time singer, all the Waikiki Beach Boys who showed me so much love and my Samoan Angel, Piina! I can’t wait to get to heaven and see her again. My boy Ford and I could never forget, my old boss Mafi. Oh God, how can I forget my little family over at the Island hostel—we all became so close in such a short time. I could go on. I will just say Aloha to them and anyone I missed who touched my life in that truly magical place!

If there is one place where I’ve been shown love like no other place in the world it’s Rockaway. There are so many people I’ve met in the Rock that I’m grateful to that time, space and a lack of memory will not allow me to mention all of them. here goes a shout out to my Rockaway family! Pep, Shane, Adam, Casey, Jose and his Brother Will, Wilbing, Omar, Cheecho, Carl and his entire family, Carl’s old room mate Carlos and that whole boogie board Crew, Two Dog, Shawn aka Rubber OP, his Sister Jade and his lovely mother Alba, Rich Hunter and Family, Simon, Big Wave Buddy, Serge, Fernando and the whole Brazilian Crew like Daniel and want to be Brazilian, Marcine. My boy Brandon, Boogie Board Brandon, Billy Berew, Gabby, Lois and Scott, Colin and his wife Bridget, Philippino Alex, Top Three and his Brother Jimmy, Alex Korinsky, Tim Hill, Jill, Little Joe Frock, Jessie and his mother Jeanie, Jason and his Brother Jessie, Barbara and all of her Sisters, my old landlord Patricia and her father Max, Thomas Brookings and his wife Jessica, Tommy Helmet, Gabe, The Turnlund Boys, Smooth Ant, Jeremy aka Gilligan Omar and Cheecho, Wilbing, Pete Hanson, stoner Pete, John the cop, a very special shout out to my boy Berto out in Hawaii, Side Show Bob, Philippino Rob and his daughter Rachel, Cheyenne aka Thirsty, Kyle, Uncle Luke, Jim Jim, Maze, Yoon and Eisha, My future ex-wife Kristy, Rob and his wife Susannah, Clair and Missy, Katrina, Lynn, the whole crew over at RBI, Robbie and Teresa, all the ‘Brothers’ at the Barber shop, especially Pep’s cousin Dario and his family. The good Brothers up at the 91st Deli, the whole family and staff over at Boarders Surf Shop, my adopted big Brother Tommy, Ty Brim and his whole family, Nick and all the people who have been so gracious over at THE RESTURANT the best pancakes in all of Rockaway!

I would also like to make mention of several good souls who are no longer with me in body. always in spirit. My boy Tommy Toriano, God never put a nicer young man on the planet. Chris Scappy Andrugetti; miss that boy to death. Jordie from the original Williamsburg Crew—Jordie, you left us way too soon Brother. My boy Mike aka Cookie Puss! Mike knows BJ loved him from our first meeting on the beach! Frankie Milika, how many days did Frankie and my family spend on our boats chillin’ on Shell Island.

My dear cousin Lizzette, who loved to joke about me water skiing behind a cruise ship. Maybe one day just for her! My Boy Charles Triano, simply the sickest son of a bitch I ever met and a man I’m gonna miss the hell out of! And my Boy William JR Armstrong—William was my oldest and dearest friend. He taught me everything from football to girls. the greatest thing he gave me was heart! He had miles and miles of it and feared absolutely nothing, or no-one.

Lastly, I would like to thank all the good people from my little town of Port Chester, most specifically, my friends and neighbors from Bush Avenue and the neighboring streets. The ones who shouted words of encouragement to the crazy young ‘Brother’ carrying a wakeboard, or waterski through the ‘hood’—the ones with the big smile and prideful looks on their faces when I drove by with my surfboard on the roof of my car. The ones who, as soon as they saw me, would cheerfully tell their friends, Hey this is the only Black Surfer! These are the people I truly try to represent to the fullest. the people who have always represented me—The Home Folks!

It’s all the people mentioned here and so very many more, that have made and continue to make my life what it is today; and my life today is simply amazing. God has blessed me with the pleasure of knowing so many good people throughout this nautical journey of mine that I can’t help but be grateful to all of them. So to all the people mentioned here and the many, many more that I’m sure I’ve left out, I just want to say, thank you all from the bottom of my heart. BJ will never forget what you have all meant to me.

"Hey little boy you can’t go

Where the others go cause

you don’t look like they do"

Bruce Hornsby and the Range

THE NAUTICAL NEGRO

Book I

IN THE BEGINNING

I was born on November 17, 1964, in Port Chester New York. My parents named me Brian Keith James. My Godfather, Mr. Mel Logan, prophetically nicknamed me ‘Flipper’, although I’m sure at the time he had no Idea how much I would live up to the name.

I’m the youngest of four children and definitely the wiliest of the bunch. As far back as I can remember I’ve always been a little bit different from my Brother and Sisters, as well as the other kids on the block. Some people called me a little hyper as a kid; while others just called me plum crazy. I on the other hand just like to think of myself as different, or a little unique! One of the ways I was different was in my unyielding love of the sea or anything water related. (Some people, including my mother, may even say I’m ‘obsessed’.) I love everything about it, the way it looks, the way it smells and especially the way it makes me feel when I’m around it, or in it. I could never get enough. The same holds true to this day—maybe even more so I love it.

My infatuation with the water and the sea goes as far back as I can remember. As a young boy all I wanted to do was learn how to swim. I can remember being no more than three or four years old and trying my best to swim in the bathtub. If the tub had been just a little bit bigger I would have actually been doing laps! I also remember very clearly the ass whoopins’ I’d get for filling up the tub, diving in head first and completely drenching the bathroom. The truly mystifying part of my lifelong obsession with water is the fact that neither my mother nor my father knows how to swim. My oldest Sister Lisa, doesn’t even let the shower water get in her face.

In addition to my tub diving I also have fond memories of playing Deep sea diver with my next-door neighbor Craig Dempson, when we were about four or five. I acquired two diving masks, I have no idea where they came from, all I know is they gave two little Black boys from the ghetto hours of endless pleasure and definitely opened up our imaginations and broadened our horizons.

My mother has a tremendous fear of water and it was because of her fear that I didn’t get to go to the Y.M.C.A. until I was seven years old, despite all my begging and pleading. After persistent and never-ending harassment I wore her out and she finally gave in and signed me up for lessons. That was the happiest day of my life and one I’ll never forget.

At the time my best friend Ronnie Armstrong, who lived next door was attending the Y.M.C.A. Summer Camp and used to come home and tell these great stories about camp and all the swimming he was doing. How they would have lessons in the mornings and free swims in the afternoons. It was only after I shared these great tales with my mother and crying about how unfair it was that Ronnie got to go to the ‘Y’ and I didn’t, that she broke down and agreed to let me go.

My first lesson was pretty much my last. After doing so many laps in the bathtub and visualizing so long and hard about swimming, it was like I’d been doing it my whole life. I took to the water like a baby fish, or should I say Dolphin! The instructor had us standing in the shallow end of the pool, simulating our swim stroke; then we held on to the side of the pool and worked on our kicking. After a while she gave us all kickboards and told us we had to kick across the deep end of the pool, holding on to Styrofoam boards. When it was my turn to go, I started across the pool; half way over I discarded the board and swam the rest of the way on my own. The instructor couldn’t believe it. There I was twenty minutes into my first lesson, swimming like Mark Spitz! When I reached the other side of the pool, the Instructor said, Well, you certainly learn fast! From that moment on, I was allowed to swim in the deep end. The very next day I was jumping off the diving board with absolutely no fear. Hell, by the end of the week I was doing flips off the diving board.

Once camp was over, my boy Ron and I started going to the ‘Y’ everyday together for free swims and I was like a man possessed when I hit the pool.

Another very big reason for my great love or obsession with the water is the fact my father owned a boat ever since I could remember. We were one of the only Black families in town who had such a luxury! It was the mid to late sixties and things were still a little messed-up racially, so consequently our boat slip was the worst one on the dock. It was all the way in the corner where the sewer pipe emptied out and at low tide we couldn’t get in or out because of the mud. But we progressed up the totem pole and slowly moved into better accommodations. In the early days I wasn’t allowed to swim from the boat, just being out on the water was a big deal. Our first boat was only about fifteen feet and held just four people, which was very interesting since there were six of us in the family. I was small and my Brother used to ride on the front a lot so somehow we all fit and off we’d go.

As I mentioned earlier neither my mother nor father could swim. In fact, my mother has an absolute fear of water. I can clearly remember how crazy she’d get every time we went out. And even though my father couldn’t swim he didn’t have the fear my mother did. She would also complain about everything, I don’t like this it’s messing up my hair. The water is too rough. Bob slow down you’re going to fast! Etc., etc., etc.

I remember her famous last words when it came to me. Somebody better keep an eye on that boy you know he ain’t got good sense he might jump off! I’m not sure who got tired of who first, my mother of the boat, or my father of my mother. Mom disappeared from the boat scene very quickly and that’s when my father really started to enjoy his boating experience and after a couple of years he moved up and bought a bigger boat.

My father and an older man named Mr Jones used to go fishing a lot. Mr Jones was actually my father’s boating mentor and a major influence on me and my love of anything marine related. Once my Brother and I got old enough, my father started taking us along on their fishing trips. the first couple of trips weren’t the greatest in the world, in fact, looking back, they were downright horrible. Sitting still fishing in a boat is a lot different than joyriding with the family—you learn very quickly what they mean by seasick. I spent most of the time hanging over the side of the boat feeding the fish than I did actually fishing. But after a while I got used to the rocking motion of the boat and got down to fishing.

I really wanted to catch a fish, or at least I thought I did, until I actually caught one, reeled it in and saw it jumpin’ and flippin’ all over the boat. You should have seen how I ran to the bow! Boy, my father laughed like hell. However, the next fish I caught was no laughing matter. My father, my Brother, Bobby and I had all just come from a long day of catching nothing. While they tied up the boat I walked a little way down the dock and stuck the end of the fishing rod into the water, not realizing there was still bait on the hook. The next thing I knew I got this little fish on the line—about five or six inches long. I only had about one foot of line out, so to catch a fish was a big surprise and very much unexpected. Once I saw what I had on the line, I dropped the pole on the dock and backed up! My father saw what was happening and told me to take the fish off the hook. I was only about six or seven years old then and I wasn’t about to touch that jumpy little sucker. It was a nice summer afternoon and as usual the dock was crowded with all the old local fishermen. Now it was bad enough I ran in front of all the old men. To make things worse—and I mean much worse—as fate would have it just as I backed up a little girl about my age walked up and said, I’ll take it off for you. And that’s what she proceeded to do without reservation or hesitation, she just reached down and grabbed the little sucker and handed it to me!

I can still hear the roar of laughter from the old geezers on the dock and even more memorable was the look of utter disappointment and disgust on my father’s face. The old men were really ‘yuckin’ it up’ and laughing. I can still hear them now, Look, the little girl had to take the fish off the hook for him, ha ha, ha… ! But it was no laughing matter to my father who turned about four different shades from embarrassment. He was so angry he pointed his finger and yelled, You little faggot! You let a girl take the fish off the hook for you! Go wait in the truck until I’m ready." I truly don’t know who was more hurt by that episode my father or me. We went fishing again the next week and as soon as we caught a fish I tried to redeem myself by taking it off the hook and showing it to my father. He gave me a half smile and seemed somewhat pleased. I knew it was too late, the damage was already done.

Once I got over my fear of touching fish that was it, I couldn’t and wouldn’t be denied and wanted to go fishing all the time. When my father was too busy to go on the boat, I started dock and bridge fishing for what they call Snappers, which was the kind of fish the little girl had so effortlessly taken off the hook that fateful day on the dock. Snappers are baby blue fish that will attack anything you throw in the water, worms, small bait fish, as well as any kind of small lure. Snapper season runs from late July to some time in September and on a good day you could easily catch anywhere from twenty-five to seventy five fish, maybe even more. I spent hours fishing for those carnivorous little suckers off the Byram Bridge that crosses the Byram River, which is the border between New York and Connecticut. I lived on the New York side in a small town called Port Chester and just across the bridge was Greenwich, Connecticut. As a feisty young kid I made several good friends on that little stretch of bridge. I can’t recall a lot of the names. even all these years later when we see each other we always reminisce about those late summer days and the big ‘snapper run’ that took place every year on the ‘Byram River’. My favorite of all those good people who used to frequent the bridge was a small Black man named Mr Washington. Boy did Mr Washington love to fish, I think the only thing he liked more was teaching me how to fish and giving me other valuable worldly advice. Mr Washington has since passed on. I know wherever he is, he’s got a pole in his hand, a line in the water and a bottle in his pocket! God bless Mr. Washington!

One day on that old bridge I’ll never forget was the day I was supposed to be going to Little League practice, because the fish were biting so good I’d made up my mind not to go. It was my third year on the team and I had never missed a practice or game. I was actually the Team Captain, that particular day I wasn’t leaving the bridge. Our town is very small and everybody knows everybody. One of the kids on the team, whose father was our Assistant Coach, had a grandfather named Reverend Smith. Having played on the team for three years I played with several members of that family and had gotten to know Rev. pretty well and he also knew the team very well, so well in fact that he knew I should have been at practice. Rev. was a short, very dark-skinned man who always sported a stingy brim hat with a colorful feather on the side. Well old Rev. strolls up just as cool as he wants and asked how the fish were biting. I told him, Good, real good! He looked in my pail and saw all the fish I’d caught, shook his head in approval and said, That’s nice. I turned back to the water and continued to fish like nothing was wrong. Stupid me figured, ‘Old Rev. don’t know I’m skipping practice; he can’t know.’ So there we were, Old Rev. and me elbow-to-elbow, leaning over the railing of the Old Byrum Bridge, when all of a sudden he asked, Brian, don’t you have practice today? I thought to myself, ‘Damn, how’d he know?’ Then looking this man of God right in the face I lied and said, Yeah Rev., I’m going. Rev. just looked at me, then at my bucket of fish and said, O.K. Brian, if you say so! Just at that moment, my coach pulls up and sees me and Rev. chillin’ on the Bridge, shootin’ the breeze. He yells across the car and asked if I was going to practice. Rev. gave me this real funny look and I said, Yeah, of course. Then he says, Come on I’ll give you a ride; it’s late. Well, what could I do except get in the car and end one of the best days I’ve ever had fishing on the Old Byrum Bridge. What a bummer! However we did win the Village Little League Championship!

My earliest memories of boating are all about just that—boating and fishing, it wasn’t long before I was pestering my father to let me swim off the boat. I used to see all the white kids swimming and water skiing and it made me very envious. Being adventurous by nature I used to look and say to myself, I can do that. Then I’d turn to my father and ask how come I can’t go swimming? I knew the answer even before I asked. I still had to ask. And the answer was simple my father couldn’t swim. He would always say, One day I’ll bring Mr Jones, he knows how to swim. Then you can go." But heck, with my father who knew when that day would come.

One day, when I was about nine or ten, my father and I were out cruising just off of Playland Beach in Rye N. Y. That’s when I decided I couldn’t wait for Mr. Jones. So, while my father was driving along at a pretty slow speed and I was half leaning, half hanging over the side of the boat, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I waited for my father to go over a small wave and then I acted like I lost my grip and fell in the water. I couldn’t believe it, there I was little ole Brian James swimming in the middle of Long Island Sound all by myself. My father halfway panicked. I say halfway, because he knew me very well and knew damn well I didn’t fall off the boat, I let go and went in on my own. My father had never seen me swim, so when he turned the boat around to pick me up I was more than eager to show him how strong my stroke was. When he reached me he was a little pissed off and yelled, Your little ass just couldn’t wait ha. You just had to get in that damn water! I said, But dad, I fell in! He says, Fell in my ass, get in this fucking boat! Once I got back on he saw the look of exhilaration on my face. Seeing just how happy I was he couldn’t get mad. I guess he realized how bad I wanted to get in that water and how I would have done anything to finally make it happen. He just shook his head and couldn’t help from smiling when I asked him, Dad, did you see how good I can swim? Once he realized I was willing to do anything to get in that water, even risk one of his ass whoppins’, he couldn’t hold back any longer and finally invited Mr Jones out to watch my Brother and me while we swam off the boat.

Well, the day came when my Brother and I were to take our first official swim off the boat and wouldn’t you know it, that day in the middle of July was cloudy, cold and miserable. After all that whining and crying about wanting to swim off the boat, neither of us wanted to go in the water. Here my father goes out and recruits Mr. Jones, buys us swim masks and floats and for some reason we were afraid to go in. I don’t think we were so much afraid of the water, as we were of the cold water. After a little procrastinating my father got a bit upset and said, After all your bitchin’ and moanin’ you’re scared to go in? At that point he grabbed one of the masks and floats and proceeded to heave them overboard. He then told us, If you want them, you better go get ‘em! After a second of shock and total disbelief we looked at each other then dove in after our new toys. Well, I guess you can say that was the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life and another day of many that I’ve spent on the Long Island Sound that I’ll certainly never forget.

As I’m sure you’ve already figured out, I love water and anything related to it. at the same time I really didn’t like going to the local beaches. I hated hearing all the lame ass jokes about Black people not needing a tan, or being able to swim, so I saved my pennies and purchased one of those one man rubber rafts that I could launch right next to the beach. All I can say is it was truly liberating. I was still able to enjoy a nautical experience, only this way I could do it without the rude and insensitive comments. As I recall, those were some of the happiest days of my young life. I would stay on that little raft all day just pitching a bitch by myself.

At that point in my life I’d had several very unforgettable experiences with the water and the sea. However, the biggest turning point in my life and love of the sea occurred completely out of the blue. It happened when I was a fourteen-year-old ninth grader at the Port Chester Junior High School. It was there that I met the person who has been the greatest influence in my nautical life and still to this day a man I consider one of my best friends. His name is Richard Swirski. If it hadn’t been for Rich I doubt very seriously that I’d still be as deeply involved with the wonderful world of water sports as I am today.

I’d lived in the small town of Port Chester all my life and being as outgoing as I was, having played both football and baseball, as well as being involved with various other activities in and out of school, I pretty much knew all the kids in town around my age. But since Richard had gone to Catholic school up until eighth grade and didn’t play organized football until he came to public school in the ninth grade, he had somehow slipped through my vast network of friends. Even though he played football for the Junior High team, we still didn’t really get to know each other because I played at the High School for the Junior Varsity. It wasn’t until one fateful day in our ninth grade science class that I had the incredible good fortune of really getting to meet Mr. Swirski. During a break in Mr. Kramer’s science class, I happened to be talking to another classmate about my father’s boat. It was late April or early May and I was saying to my friend how much I was looking forward to the upcoming summer and hanging out on my father’s boat. After a few minutes of listening to our conversation Richard politely interrupted us and joined in the discussion, telling us that his father also owned a boat. One thing led to another and after a few minutes he asked me, Hey Brian, have you ever been water skiing? Very sadly I told him no. I always wanted to learn. Before I could say another word he says, Meet me down at the marina this weekend and I’ll teach you. I was very shocked and caught off guard, since I hardly knew him. at the same time I was very happy. I couldn’t believe it, out of the clear blue sky I was being given the opportunity to live out a dream. At first I thought he was bullshitting me so I asked him, Really, you want to go? He replied, Yup. Be at the dock this weekend and we can go.

Well my dream had to wait an extra week, because as fate would have it, it rained that weekend. But, we wouldn’t be denied and the very next week my life took a turn, from which I have never looked back.

LET THE SKIING BEGIN!

My first day of water skiing wasn’t anything I’d want to brag about, in fact it was downright terrible. In all actuality I didn’t even get up. I spent most of the day just trying to get the skis on in the water. I thought it would have been easier to put them on in the boat. Richard had this tradition of putting the skis on in the water on your first day. So consequently I had this day-long battle of just getting in the skis, then another battle getting them pointing up and in the right position.

As I mentioned earlier, that was probably the first weekend of May and, as anyone who’s ever been in the waters of Long Island Sound that time of year will attest, the water is absolutely bone chilling. I’d been in the Sound before but never that early in the season. My bright yellow butt just about turned blue I was so cold. I was lucky I didn’t go into hypothermia from being in that frigid water so long. Richard made several attempts to get me up that day and a few times I came very close but to no avail. Between the cold water and my fight with the skis by the time I was ready to go I was spent and too tired to get up. However we didn’t give up and were at it again the very next week. After getting used to the cold-water temperatures and figuring out how to put the skis on I was ready willing and able to tackle the task of water skiing. As a matter of fact I got up on my first shot of that second day. I didn’t realize it then and I’m sure Richard didn’t either but that single event in the early part of May would drastically change my whole life.

As time went by, my friendship with Richard, as well as my love of the sea, continued to grow. I could never truly express the love and respect that I have for Mr Swirski. I have met a lot of very good people in and around the boating, fishing and surfing communities since my days on the Old Byrum Bridge, not forgetting about all the good folks I’ve come in contact with at the Y.M.C.A., but my boy Rich has to go at the very top of that list. It would be easy to say that Richard taught me how to ski, but that is only the tip of the iceberg when trying to explain all the things I learned from him over the years. I’ve always had a lot of respect for myself and most of the people I meet, but Richard really reinforced those qualities, as well as giving me immeasurable knowledge of boats and the sea.

Richard Swirski is Polish-American, so we spent many a long summer day sitting on the boat cracking Polish and Black jokes. One of our favorite backhanded compliments was that Richard was probably the smartest ‘Pollock’ alive. We’d always tell him if he moved to Poland they would make him an Admiral in the Polish navy as soon as he got there! At the time we would all laugh and have a