Times were good in the summer of 1964, when my father decided to look for a vessel large enough for our nine-nemember family. Our 19-foot Bristol was proving too small and had other problems—last time I saw it, she was under-water, sunk at the marina.
With the help of a newspaper classified ad, Dad found a 45-foot, wooden party/work boat at a dock in Pawtuxet Cove, R.I. One afternoon, we met with the owner on board. Dad asked questions as I followed along, keeping my distance. I liked the boat as it was, simply because it was a boat and floating. Dad liked it too, but he had a vision, $6,000 and a plan. We bought her that day.
The maiden voyage took the boat
