The Romance of Tall Ships



The Elissa
 

An item in the local news grabbed my attention today. According to the Galveston Historical Foundation the 1877 Tall Ship Elissa, anchored in Galveston, is preparing to sail next spring. Following orientation on July 20^th, the volunteer crew will have the rare opportunity to learn to sail and maintain this beautiful square-rigged sailing ship.

This is exciting enough by itself. I’ve seen the graceful old girl any number of times while tooling along Harborside Drive. She was even among the Tall Ships to sail into New York harbor as part of the nation’s bicentennial celebration in 1976. But it also took me back to another Tall Ship experience. Way, way back.

Anyone here remember a movie called Windjammer? Probably not. First, it came out in 1958 before most of you were born. Second, it was the only film to be shot in the widescreen Cinemiracle process, which could only be shown at specially equipped cinemas. Such a theater existed in Detroit where I lived at the time, so I and my classmates were privileged to see it.  Given a seven-track stereophonic musical score by Morton Gould, its performance by the Boston Pops under Arthur Fiedler, and a deeply curved screen (100 by 40 feet) making it real enough to drown, it was a privilege indeed.

The Christian Radich

Windjammer is a documentary of the Norwegian school ship Christian Radich. With a crew of boys aged 11 to 13, it sets out from Oslo, crosses the Atlantic to the Caribbean, New York City, Portsmouth, and back home to Norway. Along the way they encounter Germany’s school ship, Pamir, and we are granted a glimpse into their program also.  

It’s no wonder our fascination with these magnificent vessels never dies. What could be more awesome than an enormous, ornately carved prow, towering masts, and billowing sails? From Roman trimarans to the Black Pearl, it never gets old.

Rigging the Elissa

Requiem for a Worthy Woman

Aunt Vivian at her 100th birthday party

High-spirited socialite, community activist, inveterate gardener; she stood ram-rod straight, walked at least 80 mph, and had a smile for everybody. She didn’t give up mowing her lawn until she was in her hundreds, and even then still worked at her flower beds.

Aunt Vivian, elder sister of my husband’s mother, died Monday morning, October 24, at the age of 103.

She was raised in Galveston, Texas, during the glory days; the days of live bands on the beach, lavish parties in wealthy homes, and a social circuit that rivaled anything on the East Coast. Even though Aunt Vivian lived in modest circumstances with her little sister and single mom – working hard to support both - she kept in the thick of things. Her gregarious nature relished the social whirl.

During WWII she met and married a Navy man, John Smith, a quiet mechanic/gunsmith. After the war, they settled in Mathis, a depressed resort community 50 miles from Corpus Christi. Even after her teenaged son, her only child, was killed in a car crash, Aunt Vivian remained involved in youth work, her church, and the community. Her tireless efforts and dogged determination to inject pride into shabby little Mathis, TX, led to an oleander-lined highway known as the Vivian Smith Parkway.

Two years ago she returned Galveston where she could go into care near kinfolk. To the end, she was a cheerful and gracious woman, aware of her dementia but pushing ahead anyway. I last saw her on Thursday, our day to go out and eat shrimp. There was no sign that she was nearing the end. She was alert, chatty, and eating well. She simply went to sleep Sunday night, and failed to wake Monday morning.

Way to go, Aunt Vivian. Seriously.