After years of active dinghy racing and high level competition, I found myself regularly crewing for Hank Jotz. He was one of the top racers at the sailing club, and a fledgling sailmaker. It was great to crew for someone who really knew racing and who'd give me opportunity to learn about everything. When I went away to college, the racing and sailing got displaced by term papers and studying, the lake was far away, and my dreams had less meaning.

But the sixties had a way with some of us, me included. After five years of university and no degree, I decided one sunny afternoon to drop out (Tim still hadn't suggested it yet) and try another way in the world. There was no plan. I just couldn't see to the end of my current course, or even why I was pursuing the major I was in. There was a real bad war going on, and if you weren't in school, you were drafted. But it didn't matter. I had to find out about some other things.

A few phone calls to some old sailing buddies hooked me into a grunt job at Marine Plastics. Plastic was the key word. Un-vented Styrene laced boat production was more like it. We were building Flying Juniors, an international dinghy class. The job was simply to build these boats, and three of us did it all. Spraying nasty chemical stuff, grinding the glassy fibers, crawling under the decks, dripping sticky goo, was all just part of the job. When we were done with work and walked outside the chilly warehouse in the afternoon, the clean air would knock me over, a strange bitter taste in the back of my throat. The old black guy who had been doing this for years was barely understandable by quitting time, his words slurred by the tangle of styrenes in his brain. I knew I couldn't do this for long.

One of our 'partners' in getting these boats out the door was that young local sailmaker, named Jotz. My boss had told him what a good worker I was. So when he came into our boat shop and offered me a job, I couldn't say "Yes" fast enough. I was going to be a sailmaker. Dreams did come true.

Jotz Sails was in a small loft space above a furniture repair business in the deep Mission District of San Francisco. None of the romantic harborside lifestyle was available in this case. The Mission is, and was, a tough district with a very South of the Border feel. The space was more like an attic than a loft. But we spent a lot of time on our hands and knees, so you hardly noticed. For the first months I did simple hand work or sewed sail bags to learn to use the machines. It was a real apprenticeship of instruction and practice. He had a special approach to sailmaking and life in general. Everything he did was always aimed at keeping it simple and making it work.

Hank got his learning from a guy who was in his seventies when he passed on his knowledge. That education included many things that I would barely get to learn. Building sail corners from rope and thimbles, hand roping luffs and foots, handsewing seams, and all the traditional methods of attaching the sails to the wires, were being eroded by modern solutions. Fortunately for me, Hank didn't automatically accept those solutions, so I got a decent background in the 'old ways' that has always served me well in solving problems all through my sailmaking career.