A Little Dinghy
My friend, Doug, tells of a parishioner who was a very quiet, restrained man He never said much at the church business meetings, at coffee hours or anytime they met — that is, until one day when somehow the subject of boats came up. In Doug’s words, “It was as though the spirit of boats descended on him!” The untalkative man talked on and on and on.
Although I am not quite so inspired a nautical enthusiast, I must admit that I enjoy boats very much. Reading the boat ads in newspapers is for me like having devotions. Too, I enjoy the pictures of Covenant Chris-Crafts and antique motors in Pietisten.
When I opened The Lake Forester to the classified section this last January 23rd, there was but one ad under “Boats & Equipment”:
PENGUIN SAILBOAT with trailer. Make offer. Call #, after 7 PM
I called as soon as I could to inquire where and when I could see it. John, the owner, explained that he would have to pick it up from a storage building where it had been kept, unused, for four years. Also, another man had already called, and John had promised him a chance to see it and make a bid.
For those who do not know, a Penguin sailboat is an International Class Dinghy, 11 1/2 feet long, with retractable keel and a single mast. The boat was designed in 1933 by Phil Rhodes; more than 10,000 of these sailboats have been made since. They are raced competitively in many areas, in all kinds of weather, at regattas that include a North American Championship and an annual World Championship.
I am not sure just why the Penguin bird has a class of sailboats named after it. Perhaps its upright position resembles a sail and mast. Although it is called “bird,” it can no longer fly but is at home in the water. On land, Penguins strut with an awkward waddle in their tuxedo-like splendor, but underwater they have set some amazing speed records. The Gentoo Penguin, for example, has been clocked, according to The Guinness Book of Records, at a burst speed of 17 MPH. The Penguin sailboat is as fast and graceful on top of the water as the Penguin is fast and graceful under it.
We have had a Penguin sailboat at our cabin for twenty-five years. It might seem strange to want two of these “birds,” but ours, which was a delight at least in its early years, has, of late, fallen on hard times. The sail and rudder went up in smoke when our first sauna burned some years ago. After those were replaced, the boat served us well for several more years. More recently, however, the homemade plywood hull has experienced decay and serious dry rot. Fist-sized holes in the old hull have made sailing impossible for the last two summers. Seeing John’s boat for the first time was exciting. The boat was dusty of course, but in excellent condition. With the image of our leaky, old, forsaken dinghy in mind, all I could say, repeatedly, as I looked at it was, “What a beautiful boat!” I know it is dumb to be so complimentary when one is the buyer, but under the boat-spirit’s influence, no depreciatory words came out.
The price? Well, he reminded me that he had promised to give the other fellow a chance to see it and make an offer before we could dicker. I told him I really loved the boat and only wished I had enough money to make a reasonable offer. He said that maybe he could take a tax write-off by giving it to an academic institution, and I could in turn make a contribution to that school. We would all profit — I would have the boat, he would have his tax deduction, and that institution would receive some dollars. “Could it be North Park College?” I asked. He admitted that he was thinking about the University of Chicago, but said that North Park — the basketball champs he knew about — would be fine. Before any transaction, however, he would have to keep his promise to the first caller.
In a combined state of high expectation and deep uncertainty, I drove back to Lake Bluff and explained to my wife, Mur, “It’s beautiful — a professionally made Penguin, in great shape, number 9024 on its Sobstad sail, and a self-rescuing feature that drains the water from the hull should the boat overturn. John has to show it to another party, a Medical Doctor, first. I don’t know the price, but if he doesn’t take it, I think something can be worked out.” As I was explaining the “deal,” the phone rang. It was John, saying: "This guy is an idiot — he knows nothing about Penguins and he insulted me with an offer of $300 — come over and get the boat!”
Like a kid going to pick up a new toy, I grabbed my car keys and ran out the door, Mur calling after me, “I hope it is all OK.” To which I replied, “Mur, it’s perfect! It’s a perfect boat in perfect shape!” “I know,” she said, “It’s not the boat I’m worried about; it’s the deal!”
As her words floated away into thin air, I hurried back to Highland Park, energized by the spirit of boats, to meet John. We agreed he would write out a bill of sale to me for the trailer and another bill of sale in the name of North Park College/Lindahl for the boat. I would then make a contribution of any amount I wanted to the College. He valued the boat at $1500, we signed a handwritten document, and I drove off with my boat and trailer.
That evening, my son Wes came over to see and hear about my newly-acquired rig. He, too, was elated. However, from his experience in the Office of Development at Northwestern University, he raised a serious issue: “John must fill out Form 8283 for a contribution over $500 and this would have to be countersigned by an officer of the College. You would then have to buy the boat from the College to get clear title to it.” Bad news all around!
Though I already had the boat and trailer in my garage, I knew I would have to call John and tell him about the IRS requirement and all. We would have to tear up the first agreement and start dealing again. In my mind, I figured it this way: The “idiot” offered $300; John thought it was worth $1500; I will start off at $600 and possibly go as high as $750. Strategy in hand, I nervously made the call. I told him of the problem and then said, “I’d just like a clear bill of sale in my name, and I am prepared to make you an offer of $600.” John listened, agreed that there was a problem, and then said, “No, that’s too much, let's say $400 and it’s yours.”
I hope that North Park College, although they lost something by the new arrangement, is relieved to hear that the little sailboat, which we possibly somehow owned together for an evening, now belongs solely and unconditionally to me!
Once in awhile, in the midst of vigorous, free market competition, one is lucky enough to meet someone like John. His unexpected counter offer “took the wind out of my sails” and replaced the ordinary, cold, commercial winds with a sense of grace. Whatever his personal or financial situation, I would say he had the courage to be generous. He parted graciously with a cherished possession he could no longer use, knowing that it would bring enjoyment and pleasure to someone else.
Not the spirit of boats, but the spirit of generosity motivated him, the simple thrill of being able to do something to make another human being happy. As I left, he said, “If you have a chance, send me a picture of the boat on your lake.”
He who bends to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise
—William Blake