Joan in Tern

BY

Douglas G. Pollard Sr.

In the spring of my eleventh year I was shown a canoe hanging

in a shed at a farm near home by a schoolmate. He wanted to buy it and

wanted me to go halvers with him. Well my half was five dollars and I

had my half from mowing lawns. A couple weeks went by and he still

didn't have his half. I dug a ditch, got ten dollars for the job, bought a

canoe and lost a friend. I have never gotten over feeling guilty about it

either.

She was an eighteen foot Old town canoe with sponson sides

She looked pretty bad with all her varnish peeling, her thin planking was

rotted in places and both tips had rotted out and needless to say her can-

vas was shot. She had been hanging upside down in a leaky old shed for

years. Thinking back I probably got robbed at ten dollars in those days. I

think the years was 1945 and ten dollars was hard to come by.

We had a basement I could work in. I by myself under my fa-

thers directions stripped her down by removing her sponsons, canvas

and mahogany trim. I replaced the rotted sections of planking with or-

ange crate wood that was about 1/8 thick, perfect for the job and had

the advantage of being free. Her frames were still in good shape except

for the tops of them up high in her ends. We took her outside and I

scrubbed her down with lye and hot water. She was varnished inside and

had several coats of paint. It was blistered and peeling. The lye soften

things up one coat at a time. We had some old window frames behind a

shed and I broke pieces of glass out of them to use as scrapers. They

worked pretty good. I could score them with a piece of tool bit from my

fathers lathe and break them pretty much to the shape I wanted. I cut

them rounded to fit the curvature of the inside of the hull. Broken glass

is sharp on all edges so I cut myself several times everyday. One of my

older friends, A buddy of mine said I was saving her by way of

blood transfusion.

Airplane dope was bought at the local airport really cheap be-

cause it was gunmetal blue, mixed by accident and so was nearly worth-

less. Many boys in the neighborhood including myself built model air-

planes so airplane dope and its ability to tighten cloth

The canvas to cover the hull was paid for by mixing mortar with

a hoe in two separate mixing boxes for a neighbor who was building a

cement block home. I will never forget the shouts at me by the cigar

chewing old Italian brick layer. Too wet, too dry, more mortar, too dry,

keep up boy or I'll get me a wop to mix my mortar. I have never done

anything harder in my life. On Monday I had been replaced by a

black fellow nearly grown with shoulders too wide to go through the av-

erage door.

The old brick layer called me puny. I guess he was right but I

got paid enough to buy my canvas and I was too excited over that to

care.

Rebuilding the tips of the canoe was a pay grade above my know

how so my older brother who was a really good woodworker and

worked part time for Owens yacht Company rebuilt the tips for me us-

ing mahogany.

By late fall the boat was covered and paint ed. She was powder blue

with white on top the sponsons. Her interior

and trim were varnished. The lye had bleached the wood and it really

was pretty. The mahogany trim was stained and set out dark against the

really light colored interior. The contrast was a real eye popper.

I was somewhat of an artist for my age so I named her Tern and

painted a flying tern, white with yellow feet and bill on each side of her

bow.

For Christmas I was given a really beautiful set of rather expen-

sive paddles for her. My father painted them blue with the varnished

wood going down in a 'v' almost to the bottom of the blade.. They had a narrow

white band around the top of the shaft and a half inch stripe up and

down the vee with the rest of the blade natural with several coats of varnish..

I was more proud of those paddles than any thing I have

ever been given by anyone. We had a warm week in January and my

father and I went canoing. And I learned to properly paddle a canoe.

We boys paddled that canoe all over bear creek and every other

nearby piece of water that summer.

The following winter my brother told me that if I would help my

uncle dig the basement for the house he planned to build in the summer

he would buy me a sail and buy the lumber for lee boards and a rudder

and I could help him build them.

Two months of that summer were spent digging a basement.

About 4 feet down we hit blue moral clay. It was sticky and a mattox

bounced back at you. A piece always stuck to the blade and often as not

fell on our heads. I got strong that summer and my paddling

speed grew by leaps and bounds.

In the fall my brother and I went to the railway station in Balti-

more and picked up my brand new lanteen sail. The spars were sitka

spruce and my brother and I put four more coats of varnish on them be-

fore bending the sail. That sail was forty sq. feet and I couldn't believe

how big it was. I was secretly scared it would turn my boat over when

the very first puff of wind hit it.

By Christmas the lee boards and rudder along with mast step

were getting there last coat of varnish. My father being a machinist

made the bronze hardware needed for the rudder in his spare time at

work.

That summer I was thirteen and slowly expanded my horizons

by crossing the Chesapeake bay to the Eastern shore to camp. We used

the sail for a tent but it showed up so well that we were afraid of railroad

bums sneaking up on us at night so after the first trip we took army pup tents that

belonged to my friends they were olive drab colored and set back in the

woods were harder to see.

The following year I was quite good at handling the canoe and sailing. That summer was the highlight of my early teen years as I took a day sailing trip with a young lady.

I was mightily smitten by a girl in my class that I had gotten to

be good friends with. On our third movie date I asked her to go for a

sail with me. Now canoes and sailing were definitely the romantic thing

in those days and she agreed, but I had to ask her mother. Mrs. Pergavie

called my mother and asked her if I knew what I was doing on that boat.

My mother told her I sailed a lot and that I had come home every night.

She told Mrs. Pergavie that she had never gone sailing with me, So said she,

You have to make up your own mind.

Mrs Pergavie thought a long moment and finally said, “no I'm

afraid not”, and that seemed to be that.

A week later on Friday night I walked Joan home from a school

dance. She had made hot chocolate and we sat at the kitchen table talk-

ing.

Mrs Pergavie walked in and said, “Joan you can go sailing but if

you aren't home by 5 pm your Dad and I will have to come looking for

you. She turned to me and said if you know whats good for you and you

want Joan to ever go with you again be back by 5:00 and not one minute

late”.

I agreed without even thinking about it.

Come morning I knocked on the Pergavie front door and wait-

ed. After what seemed a really long time Joan opened the front door and

invited me in. Old dog Rex sat on the porch step and panted. I was disappointed,

she had on a pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt with a sweat shirt over top.

Not the short shorts and halter top that had kept me awake half the

night.

It was Saturday and her father was home and he grilled me.

Does the canoe lea k? I told him no. Did I know how

to get the water out if we turned over? I told him how I did that and that

I had done that a couple of times though I had not yet turned the boat

over by accident. Did I have a compass? Yes I answered. What would

you do if you got hit by a gust of wind. Let the sheet go I said. I always

sail with the sheet in my hand except in the small creek near home.

He said you'll do. You kids have a good time and be back at six

this afternoon.

“Mrs. Pergavie said five,” I replied. I stood waiting for an an-

swer as he read the News paper. Without looking up he said five, six ei-

ther one.

“We'll be back at five,” I said as Joan came in from the kitchen

and handed me a picnic basket.

We loaded the canoe with a picnic lunch she had brought along.

We had two paddles, two Gray Navy cork filled life preservers a wooden

bailing scoop, a fisherman's knife, hatchet and an old tin alarm clock. I

desperately wanted to keep track of time. I had a boyscout pocket com-

pass and in the bow stood my part German Sheppard, collie Rex. He

was our early warning system and horn as he barked excitedly at any-

thing closer than about a half mile. We each had a jacket and I brought

a rain slicker for Joan.

We sailed out of Bear creek through the # 26 street car bridge,

past Sparrows point ship yard and then eased along just east of Old Fort

Carol.

I had a slatted back rest and Joan used it as she set amidships on

top my jacket. The canoe ribs were hard on a persons back sides with

out some padding. Joan was having a good time. She drug her fingers

through the water as as we sailed along movie star style smiling and

looking cuter than I could ever have imagined she could be with water

all around and a white sail reflecting warm sunlight across her slightly

sun tanned and freckled face. Her red hair looked aflame in the bright

morning sunlight.

It was almost 10:00 am when we passed Fort Carrol and we

weren't making as good a time as I thought we might. I was beginning to

be concerned about time . I needed time to paddle home if I had to and

I didn't want to be late even though I had an ace up my sleeve where

that was concerned if I needed it.. The breeze was light and the tide was

running with it so there was only a little ripple running on the water.

There were rolls of clouds marching slowly across the sky with rows of

sunshine in between. The day was beautiful and perfect.

Finally after a long thoughtful silence by both of us. I said Don't

you want to know where were going. I had told her father when she was

out of the room but she had not been curious enough to ask After a

moment of silence she awoke from her daydreams and said, “where”?

I said, ”Off to your left you see that clump of trees .

“Yes” she said pointing at them.

“Alright! Just to the left of that is a big white boulder as big as a

football field. You see it” I said with with a huskiness in my voice I did-

n't recognize. “I thought we could eat lunch on top of it I spotted it last

month when we sailed down to Annapolis.

“Oh it's beautiful”, she said, “Look how the sunlight is reflecting

off of it. It's lighting up the trees and water all around. Looks like some-

thing out of a king Arthur and his knights story But why aren't we head-

ing for it?”

“Tide's going out so we are heading up if were lucky the tide will

take us right to it.” I replied with authority.

Joan turned around to face me and moved the back rest to the

forward thwart she looked at me several seconds and finally said, “Your

different out here than you are in school.”

I lost my bearings and sailed off course and my heart was pound-

ing in my ears my face felt flushed. God I hope she can't hear my heart

beating I thought.

“Your like a man out here”.

A good thing it was that my shirt didn't have any buttons on it

they would surly have popped.

I suddenly realize I had taken on a terrible responsibility bring

the small and thin girl out here in a canoe. I felt like I wanted to protect

her from something, anything. I looked around frantically for something

to busy myself with.

I took a look at my clock to see if it was time to pick a new point

to sail toward. I had been changing the point I was sail toward every ten

minutes. I would take out my compass bring Tern on course and see

how far she had been pushed down the river. Then I would pick a land

mark up river and sail towards it. I had reached a point where I was no

longer moving down river but was holding a true course across to White

Rock .

The old Smokey Joe ferry passed by us on her way to Love point

on the eastern Shore She rolled us pretty good and I believe old Rex was

feeling protective too. He set up a snarling barking fit at the ferry and

jumped overboard swimming barking and choking toward old Smokey

Joe. I rounded up slaked the sheet and paddle to him. Coming along side

of Rex I grabbed him by the collar and a big hunk of fir and pulled him

aboard. I held on tight so he wouldn't shake until a lot of the water had

drained off. He stood blinking at Joan, until she said, ”Please let him go

Doug, he looks so pitiful”.

I let go and he soaked both of us.

Joan was good natured about it and she sat and petted the wet

stinking dog until he decided to go to his perch in the bow.

He sat looking at me and every time I glanced at him he dropped

his head looked away. I believe he thought I was mad at him.

Soon we were passed by a tug pulling a barge that Rex set up a

fuss about. Then finally a ship. The ship completely cowed him and he

set ducking his head nervously and went to Joan to be petted.

We sailed in silence while Tern glided through the water a steady

gurgle at her lee board as she picked up speed in the increasing breeze. I

eased the sheet a little and let her luff slightly. She maintained her speed

and heeled a little less. Joan sat studying the distant smoke stacks of the

Sparrows point steel mills. I watched her from the corner of my eyes as

I pretended to study the set of the sail. My mind wondered to the com-

ing romantic picnic on our blanket high atop the big round stone just

ahead where a combination of my irresistible romancing, the beautiful

black silver lined clouds and the small breaking waves would surly melt

and weaken any reluctance she might have.

After a long silence Joan said, “My God Rex stinks. You don't

think he went in the boat do you?”

I laughed and said,”No he'd rather bust than do that, but your

right he does smell pretty bad!”

The farther we sailed the worse the stink got.

“Smells like dead fish,” I said.

About a dozen sea gulls flew off the rock as we got closer.

Then it dawned on me, “Holly crap I yelled out, the reason that

rock is white is it's covered in sea gull poop!”

Joan brought her hands up to her face and screamed, scaring

poor Rex half out of the boat again. Then she busted out laughing with

Rex setting there, head turn to one side eying her questioningly. As we

got nearer we could see fish skeletons laying all over its glistening white

surface along with a few dead gulls and eel or snake skeleton as well.

My hopes for a romantic picnic on a blanket where in that mo-

ment dashed by that disgusting sight and smell and then we were hit by a

breaking wave whose spray crossed over the Terns midsection. It was

then I realized the black clouds were coming our way. A distant flash of

yellow lightning confirmed my worst fear. We were in for a thunder-

storm.

I turned away from the rock toward shore. There was a break in

the sandy beach and the trees above it receded into the woods. It was a

little gut that went back into the woods. I headed for it. As we entered I

dropped the sail and Joan furled it. Rex jumped in and swam ashore run-

ning along side the stream. I spotted a place were there were small pines

along the shore. The bigger trees were far enough away that none could

be blown down on us And they would draw any lightning there was.

Perfect spot I thought and it was high ground. We drug the canoe up

unloaded it and turned it over on an old upside down skiff bottom. Per-

fect floor I told her. The squall will probably only last a few minutes. I

put the sail over the canoe stuck the boom under the gunnel on one side

and I figured I could hold the yard down by hand if the wind got up

and it would keep the wind from blowing rain under the canoe. We

opened our lunch and set on the canoe and ate as the wind kept picking

up.

The inevitable question from Joan was, “What if it lasts all day

into the night”? I informed her that thunder storms don't usually last

long.

She seemed satisfied with that.

And before she could question any more Lightning struck near-

by, a down pour of rain slammed down all at once and at the same time

we were hit buy a gust of wind. Trees cracked and squeaked against

each other but none came down. We disappeared under the canoe while

Rex stood outside and whimpered we tried to bring him in but he

wouldn't have anything to do with it. I held one side of the sail out with

a paddle and he got under it and laid down. I stuck one end of the pad-

dle in the sand under the edge of the old skiff and between it and the

gaff they held the sail out without my help.

I lay propped up on my elbow laying my other hand across

Joan's waist. We kissed several times and she seemed eager. I slid my

hand up along her ribs and she pushed it away roughly and said If your

going to act like that I won't go anywhere with you again. I took her at

her word and acted the gental man though I was disappointed and at the

same time felt proud for her.

After a while, the wind switched around out of the northwest

cold and clear.

I said, “Joan a cold front is coming through we are not going to

be able to go back the way we came. The wind will blow maybe until

morning and its probably going to get really cold”.

She looked shocked and bit her lip.

“It's alright,” I said.

“Alright for you I'm gonna get killed,” She looked into my face

and said, “And you might too.”

No, No its alright there is a street car track runs down along this

river to Stony point from Baltimore. We'll catch the street care and I'll

take you home.

“What about Rex? We can't take him on the street car and you

can't leave him she demanded.

“I'll tie him to the canoe then I'll come back and sail home

tonight,” I told her.

We got ourselves together tied up Rex, left him some dog food

and water and we were off.

We walked the quarter of a mile to the tracks and waited for a

street car and when it did come, I stepped out onto the track and waved

the motorman down. He stopped and we boarded at the back end pay-

ing the Conductor and getting transfers. Joan wanted to pay, so I let her

with a slight loss of pride on my part.

While riding I was thinking about that dark night trip across the

Potapsico river. I had sailed in the creek alone at night but not in open

water in strong winds. There was no doubt about it I wasn't looking for-

ward to it. I thought about leaving Rex until morning and instantly felt

ashamed. Suppose wild dogs found him, he wouldn't stand a chance tied

to the canoe. Then I began to worry about him tied there helpless.

We arrived down town on Fayette St. went into Reads drugstore

and she called her parents. She told her father the whole story all except

kissing under the canoe. I could hear them laughing as she told them the

white rock story. She told them we might be a little late and her father

wanted to speak to me. I took the phone nervously bracing for the

chewing out that was to come.

“Hello Mr. Pollard” he said.

“Ah,” Was all I manged to get out. I was taken aback Nobody

ever called me Mr. Pollard before.

“Mr. Pollard,” he said again.

“ Yes Sir,” I answered dreading what was coming next.

“I'd like to sail home with you tonight if you don't mind,I mean

if your willing”? he asked.

“Be glad to have you sir,” I said hopping relief hadn't crept into

my voice, “But it's going to be rough have you sailed before?

“ Oh Yes,” he replied I sailed me families boat in Scotland all

around that rocky coast as a lad. I'd like a lot to take me own trick at the

helm as well, if you were so inclined.

“I'd be glad to have you Sir,” I answered with true enthusiasm. I

was really beginning to like this man. Joan had told me that her father

played Bag pipes and dressed in kilts of his clan in Scotland. I conjured

up a mental picture of him short, bow legged and broad shouldered

dressed in kilts marching down the street playing bagpipes. It could have

come right out of a painting.

“ OK, You two wait where you are and Joan's mother and I will

pick you up and we'll drive to the boat.” he said with a charge of excite-

ment in his voice.

Joan said she would call my parents and let them know I would

not be home until late.

Her father and I watched the car until it was out of sight.

We went to the boat and I introduced Mr. Pergavie to Rex and

we loaded then shoved off.

Mr Pergavie sailed all the way back and I was glad to have him

do it. The wind had swung around and was hard on our bow. When we

started out we were in three foot seas but they got smaller as we got

closer to the north shore of the Potapsico River. It was a good thing to

as we took green water a couple of times and I was glad for the scoop.

We tacked our way into bear creek sailed under the highway

bridge and turned to port heading for home port. The place were I kept,

Tern was a creek called Snake Hole by the Local folks. Back in the sail-

ing ship days sailing ships were anchored there to set for a month or so

to kill the worms in their hulls. The creek was too fresh for the worms.

Mr Outabridge the owner of the property where I kept Tern

turned on the outside light so we could wash her down and stow her in

her shed.

Mr. Pergavie and I walked together to the point where I was to

go one way, him another. We stopped under a street light and he took

my hand grabbing my fore arm with his other and said. “Mr. Pollard I

sure did enjoy my sail with you like nothing I've done in years”.

“I enjoyed it to,” I said. Usually I'm teaching the other boys to

sail and there all over the place. Your the only one I ever sailed with and

I learned some things from you. It was fun.

Crossing our driveway I could hear the big Air king radio play-

ing soft music in the living room. I looked in the window and dad was

setting in his chair, mom on the sofa and the girls were setting on the

floor close to the radio.

Rex and I were glad to be home.

Joan Pergavie and I dated through the winter and in the spring

they moved away. We wrote letters a few months and finally they slowed

to a stop.

The End