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My art production editor
and staff photographer Matt Helminski and I started off that morning last
August at Red’s Sandwich Shop, reportedly the best spot in Salem,
Massachusetts, for bacon, eggs, home fries, hot, black coffee, and toast.
The day looked like it was going to be a beaut. Golden shafts of sunshine
slanted through the maples outside, presaging superb meteorological conditions.
Folks were already strolling towards Hawthorne Cove Marina, site of the
20th-Annual Boston Antique & Classic Boat Festival. And John McGee
had just cellphoned with a jovial all’s well!
“Boat’s ready
to go,” I relayed to Helminski, grinning. He nodded, politely declining
to talk with his mouth full. Chris-Craft, via one of its dealers—Bosun’s
Marine of nearby Mashpee on Cape Cod—had agreed to loan us a brand-new
25-foot Open Launch in which to drive around the festival. McGee, a sales
guy for Bosun’s, had just called to let me know what slip the Launch
was parked in. He’d also asked if he, his wife Michelle, and their
kids Cody and Michael could spend at least part of the day driving around
with us. He was obviously psyched about the festival. But then, so was
I. The prospect of using a long, lithe, two-toned bowrider to cruise the
fairways of one of the most genteel antique boat shows in the world was
alluring. But even more alluring was the wild juxtaposition that the adventure
promised. Several vessels bearing the famous Chris-Craft logo were going
to be on hand, some darn near as old as me. How cool would it be to skim
past in a modern fiberglass speedster with the exact same logo?
Once our party of kids
and grownups was comfortably stowed onboard, backing the Launch out of
her slip proved easy enough, thanks to the bite of a Volvo Penta Duoprop
drive and the quiet oomph of a 420-hp V-8. Shortly the festival began
to unfold dead ahead, a bright panoply of flags and streamers, motes of
sunlight glancing off varnished mahogany, and hundreds of folks crowding
onto the docks, some wearing period costumes, some wearing conventional
clothing, and some adding Tilley hats, belt knives, earrings, and tattoos
to whatever ensemble they’d come up with. A lone bagpiper strolled
amid the throng in Scottish rig, his booming tones competing manfully
with the strains of what sounded like—at least from afar—a harp.
After dropping Helminski off on an obliging finger pier so he could begin
shooting, we continued on down the main fairway looking to confirm this
rather odd observation.
Next page >
Part 2: Boston Boat Festival > Page 1, 2,
3, 4, 5
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