Everyone knows Murphy's Law - "If a thing can go wrong, it will" - but maybe not everyone has had as convincing a demonstration of its effectiveness as we have had. The drama starts on shore, just as we're commissioning the boat for the season. This is how Murphy got into the act ... It started with my daughter's graduation and her move from Chicago to Philadelphia.
We loaded her possessions into a trailer and started the journey. It rained across Illinois and Indiana; it poured across Ohio; it gushed (O Gosh!) through Pennsylvania to Philadelphia.
Then, when we had finally found a third-floor apartment and opened the trialer, a flood poured out of it - it had leaked. Not only that, but in the couple of days that it had stood waiting, there was mildew .. (O Great Scott!). Anyway, we unloaded quickly, because the next week we were due to commission the boat in Cambridge, and sail off to the first rendezvous of the season. But we were delayed a half day because the insurance adjuster was giving the poor girl a hard time.
No sweat. Lots of time to do the work on the boat, if we hurried. So my son and I left the hard work to the ladies, and barrelled off to Cambridge to do the fun work on the boat - the weather forecast had been just right for that. Got there Saturday night about ten or so. (O Boy!).
The house was still there, but it smelled funny. You just bet it smelled funny. The refrigerator had failed and everything was - well, we draw a merciful veil over that. Suffice it that between 10:30 pm and 1:30 am we threw out all of the contents and fell into bed (O Heaven!). On Sunday the lad went back to Philly as planned and what was left of the Old Man disassembled and removed every accessible part of the refrigerator and scrubbed and hosed until the screaming odors had subsided to a faint hum. No thought of boats that day, believe me. Monday at last. Took half that day to find a repairman. When he had finished his work, I finally and fully de-stunk the refrigerator. That called for all the resources of chemistry and physics - it takes a lot to counteract so evil a blow. (O Malodorous Murphy!).
Tuesday. Bushed. Pooped. Done. Had to have one day of R & R. The O.M. got sick (O a Pox on Murphy!). Mate came in from Philly (O Thanks!) and prepared to pitch in. Wednesday. Getting late in the week by now, but we would still be able to paint the bottom and go into the water by Friday. We'd be only a day late at the rendezvous. So Thursday we duly did the bottom, and on Friday at 0730 the Mate and the O.M. were on the job, getting ready for the Travelift do its stuff. We were determined to be as thorough as possible. A defense against Murphy? (O?).
While attending to the very last chores, we noticed that the yard was exceedingly busy, busier even than one might expect on a Friday. Owners were racing up and down ladders, shoring jacks were being snaked out of the way, trailers were being hustled out of sheds, and the Travelift was dropping boats into the water like a hen laying eggs. Busy is busy, but this was frantic. Yet we had heard nothing about our own turn; we asked the foreman. He allowed as how there were only about four boats ahead of us, but "we can't be sure, just stick around". And ran off, for the lift was gravid and about to be delivered of yet another boat. Impatient, we fall into a casual chat with another owner. He asks us: "Haven't you heard?" "Heard what?" "You mean - you don't know that the yard has just gone bust?"
There was a super-Murphy blockbuster for us! The yard is closing forever at 1700, and all will be padlocked! Our mast, boom, and batteries are in the shed where the padlock is already hanging on the hasp! (O Zeus! O Hera! O Migosh!). With the help of several other boatmen we get all of our gear out of the shed. The Mate takes home everything that's not essential to launching, and thank goodness we are in the slings by 1600. Meanwhile the head rigger has gone home forever and it's time to step the mast. Murphy twists the dagger; the mast is in the step when we note that someone has forgotten to cut the temporary lashings that secured the halyards and most of the standing rigging to the mast during storage. So one of the yard men climbs the partly-rigged mast and cuts the lashings. (Honor unto him!). Now all goes well, and we're in the water by 1730. But the water's in us, too. We're leaking badly at the stuffing box where a new shaft has been installed. (O Murphy!). All the mechanics have left, and our own tools aren't big enough for the gland and locknut. Blessings on the yard manager who, facing certain unemployment, scurried around and found the one remaining large wrench. He tightened the gland and saved the day. Murphy defeated at last? Ha!
The engine started nicely, but no water came through the cooling system, so we couldn't motor over to our slip in the yacht basin. And no more mechanics. Period. All we could do was to warp the boat into an unused slip and stagger home at about 1930. Twelve hours of battling Murphy! Saturday morning we managed to ascertain that the problem lay in a dead thermostat. All we had to do was to get another - trucked in, since there was no dealer in town. Meanwhile, we have tuned the rig, the boat is clean, the teak is showing its golden best; at last the end of our tribulations, for the dealer has promised to send the thermostat the same day. (O touch the teak and hope!). Did we receive a thermostat? You guessed it; instead of the unit we got a letter telling us that delivery was "indefinitely delayed". O dear! Murphy has won. We never did make the rendezvous. (O Damnation!).

Hyman Rudoff, or "Rudy" is a retired industrial chemist, active writer and photographer, who lives in Cambridge Maryland and remembers lots of fun stuff, including amazing times messing about in boats, to purloin a phrase.

April 21, 1996 Hyman Rudoff All Rights Reserved

(Email c/o Jo Campbell)

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