Today�s profile�

LENNY ONE-ARM

A few years back, when the Keelhauler and I were still living on land, we bought a sailboat together. It wasn�t much�a 26-foot Columbia from 1969. The previous owner had let her slide into disrepair and a smudgy film of crack residue, so we got her cheap (a story for another time). We soon learned that the boat, named Too Close For Comfort, was well-known in the marina, and everyone was willing to share his story. We heard about the time the barbecue burnt through the cockpit sole�the mark still visible; the time Jack had jumped off the bow while holding the anchor; the time Duke had sex in the v-berth. All the story-sharers were men, men who were always hanging around the docks during the day, wearing trusses or arm braces for carpal tunnel syndrome, eager to offer advice on how to polish the stainless steel, or re-fiberglas the deck. Men who lived on tiny, decrepit boats that never, ever left the harbor. They were our neighbors, and any romantic illusion I�d fostered about life aboard was soon shattered. �Didn�t you know?� the Keelhauler whispered to me as I carried the v-berth cushions to the trash, �They call marinas �floating trailer parks�!� Clearly, my education was incomplete.

Luckily, Lenny surfaced to act as tutor. Another of the daytime layabouts, with a big black brace on one arm, Lenny managed to be everywhere you didn�t want him. He was always ready with bad advice, criticism, or a long-winded story about his plans to sail to Palmyra or Hawaii. �Ha! Sail to Hawaii!� snorted his long-suffering girlfriend Cora, �he left twice already to sail to Hawaii, and both times he didn�t make it a mile past the harbor entrance!� Despite that, Lenny held his dream close. He�d stop me on the dock and say, �I hope you�re ready to say goodbye to the Keelhauler!� and pause, expectantly, mouth frozen in a half-smile and waiting for my reaction.

�Why is that, Lenny?� I�d answer in just the slightest sing-song tone.

�Because him and me?� another pause, �We�ve got big plans!� and another pause. I knew there were no plans, and his method of engaging me in conversation was instantly irritating, if only because I submitted to it repeatedly.

�What plans are those, Lenny?� And then he�d tell me. Hawaii! Palmyra! And beyond! I would stare at him while he talked, his carpal-tunnel brace gesturing in the sunlight as he described the route he and the Keelhauler would take across thousands of miles of ocean in our 26-foot boat. (Owing to electrical problems, he explained, they wouldn�t be taking his boat.) �RIGHT!� the Keelhauler would exclaim when I�d tell him about his latest plans with Lenny.

Lenny acted as unofficial mayor of the dock, explaining the history of every boat as the Keelhauler and I scrubbed moss off the deck of the Too Close For Comfort, or repainted the hatchboards. He pointed out the biggest boat on the dock�a sloop named Glory, down at the end. �That one�s owned by a rich kid,� he said proudly, as if the knowledge conferred status on him. �Cost $600,000!� He glowed, describing the beautiful woodwork, its long fin keel. We admired it and went back to scraping and washing, ignoring Lenny's hints that it was "Beer-thirty." Later, we became friends with Paxton, the owner of Glory, and in time, bought the boat from him�at a sum substantially less than Lenny's imaginary $600,000.

We�d been sailing only once with Lenny, when he hopped aboard, uninvited, as we left the dock on a day sail. It wasn�t our boat, and so not our place to say anything, but in the two-hour trip, he managed to accidentally jibe 14 times; injure his knee at the start of a planned jibe, which caused him to let go of the wheel; and instruct the helmsman to sail directly between a barge and its mooring ball. (For non-sailors, I�ll just explain that those are things you do not want to have happen.) He remained blissfully unaware of his mistakes, even when the Keelhauler and I, silent up til then, yelled simultaneously, �Do NOT sail between the barge and the mooring ball!� He just shrugged, sat back on the cabin top and nursed his injured knee. �You got a nice boat here,� he called to the owner. �There�s just one thing wrong with it��

Lenny was asked a while back to leave the marina for reasons he didn�t explain and I didn�t ask about. Even absent, he remains a prominent feature in stories like �Lenny Takes a Dive,� �Lenny�s Sea-Lion Pal,� and, most unsettling, �Lenny�s Afternoon Delight.� The other day, the Keelhauler called to say he�d run into Lenny, and I asked him how it went. The Keelhauler slipped into a nervy Lenny impression. �I hear you bought Glory!� he said as Lenny, �That�s a pretty nice boat, but there�s something wrong with it�� the pause� �It�s too big! It can�t go anywhere!�

The Keelhauler answered, �It got here from New Zealand�I�d say it can go just about anywhere I need it to.�

�But with that long keel?� Lenny persisted, �It can�t go the places I want to go!�

And suddenly, that seemed to be exactly the point.