In Bogie's Wake
Carried by a slight ebb, the schooner slowly headed down the channel to the mouth of the harbor at Newport Beach, California. Santana's
uncluttered teak deck with the companionway offset to starboard,
spotless white topsides, sparkling brightwork, and epic overhangs set
her a world apart from the modern craft surrounding her, craft in which
style had been traded for efficiency. She drew admiring looks and
compliments from all around, just as she had 60 years before, when
Humphrey Bogart sailed her out of the same port on his regular stag
cruises to Santa Catalina island, 27 miles to the west.
On this April day in 2005, however, Santana
was one of 460 entries in the 58th annual Newport-to-Ensenada Race, a
120-mile run down the coast to Mexico that attracts sailors of all
stripes, from industry titans who want to win at all costs to ordinary
folk who just want to have a good time. "Let's go yachting" was exactly
how Santana's owner, Paul
Kaplan, phrased his invitation to join the crew. On this adventure,
apparently, suffering and discomfort were expected to be minimal.
Outside the harbor, the wind was light, but traffic was heavy. In a
state of prestart anxiety, the armada of boats, from basic weekend
cruisers to high-tech supermaxis, drifted, bounced, or dashed about.
Kaplan decided to keep motorsailing, alert and ready to dodge others
who had their heads in the bilge or were simply gawking at the majestic
Santana. Even Dennis Conner, skippering Mongoose, his vintage Santa Cruz 70, found time to acknowledge her with a nod and a smile with the starting gun just a few seconds away.
I was pleasantly surprised at how easily the schooner handled in close
quarters. Only the main needed a trimmer's attention, as both staysails
were self-tending. The yankee and fisherman were rigged and ready to
hoist once the starting gun sounded.
Soon after the maxis crossed the line in a downwind start--dropping
quickly over the horizon with every ounce of "canvas" flying--it was
the Ancient Mariners' turn. Among those seven wooden classics was the
82-foot schooner Curlew, our
nemesis in the race. Fighting the current, we kept clear of the line
and found enough air to bear away at the gun to a course of 140
degrees, headed for the buoy off Espiritu Santo, 120 miles away.
"Slidin' down the pipe on the fat side" was how watchmate Billy Brandt
summarized the strategy. The schooner moved well, with the breeze just
aft of the beam. Borrowed light-air sails were stowed in bags on deck
in case conditions changed. We wanted to get there fast, but not at the
expense of style and fun.
Santana's most famous owner
would've approved of this approach. Bogart--who bought her from fellow
actor Dick Powell in 1945 soon after marrying the young and strikingly
beautiful Lauren Bacall--loved to sail and to have a good time. His
son, Stephen, wrote in his autobiography: "While most people know that
Bogie and Bacall had a great love affair, probably fewer know about my
father's other great love--sailing. Specifically, it was with his
55-foot sailing yacht. . . . The sea was my father's sanctuary." Aside
from escape, Bogart also sought competition. Commemorative plaques in
the galley, earned in the 1950 and 1951 San Clemente Island races and
the 1953 Voyagers Yacht Club Channel Islands Race, prove that he knew
how to win.
A Rich Man's Mistake
Most of her life, from 1942 to 1999, including the 12 years that Bogart owned her, Santana
was a yawl. But William Lyman Stewart Jr., son of the founder of the
Union Oil Company, had defied conventional wisdom when he commissioned
her from Sparkman & Stephens in 1934 as a staysail schooner. In the
early 1930s, racing yawls such as the S&S-designed Dorade
had proven superior to schooners--they were more easily handled by a
small crew, performed equally well on all points of sail, and were
favored by the rating rules. "He was a bit of a spoiled rich boy and
sometimes acted as if he, not his father, was the principal at Union
Oil," Olin Stephens said in a recent interview. "[But] I got along with
him fine." S&S delivered design Number 59, an elegant boat with
long overhangs, narrow beam, a fine stern--and a schooner rig.
Santana, a contraction of
"Santa Ana," was named after the hot, katabatic winds that fan
wildfires and wreak all kinds of other havoc in Southern California
during fall and winter. Built by the reputable Wilmington Boat Works in
San Pedro, the vessel was splashed on October 24, 1935, a hot but calm
day. Her deck beams and deadwood were cut from fir, and the hull was
planked with Philippine mahogany over oak frames. The construction was
elegant and solid, as her seven decades testify.
Stewart campaigned Santana vigorously, but line honors eluded him. In 1936, Dorade,
three feet shorter but yawl rigged, hit the grand slam in the Transpac,
winning her class and beating the fleet on both corrected and elapsed
time, which was a triple blow to Stewart. In 1938, he brought Santana with great fanfare to Newport, Rhode Island, to take on the East Coast racers. "He put Santana
on the deck of one of his father's tankers to transport her East to the
start of the Bermuda Race," Stephens recalled. "I don't think anyone
could get away with such an act today." Santana won the schooner division, soundly beating P.S. du Pont's Barlovento, but only corrected out to ninth overall. Subsequently, Stewart commissioned the 67-foot yawl Chubasco from S&S, and in 1947 she won for him the coveted Barn Door trophy for first to finish in the Transpac.
Santana Goes to Hollywood
Over the next six years, Santana
changed hands five times as she became a Tinseltown commodity. In 1939,
Stewart sold her to Charles Isaacs, the fourth husband of Hungarian
actress Eva Gabor, who was best known for her role in the TV series Green Acres
and the observation that "marriage is too interesting an experiment to
be tried only once." Two years later, actor George Brent bought her and
had her converted to a yawl at Wilbo, recycling the old mainmast, which
was deemed a bit short in its new configuration. In 1944, Brent sold
her to fellow actor Ray Milland, who was often cast opposite some of
Hollywood's most beautiful ladies. Three months later, Milland sold the
boat to Powell. But his sinus problems required him to spend time in a
warm and dry climate, so reluctantly, he sold her after little more
than a year. On the weekend that Bogart fell in love with her, Santana
at last had found an owner who knew both how to sail and how to
maintain a boat. Bogart's agent, Phil Gersh, estimated that the actor
spent as many as 35 weekends a year aboard her. For his jaunts to
Catalina, Bogie often recruited crew from the Holmby Hills Rat Pack, an
informal club of friends known for their prodigious talents as actors,
writers, and singers and for their shared ability to consume large
quantities of liquor. He mostly sailed with guys; as he put it, "The
trouble with dames on board is you can't pee over the side."
On one such occasion, Santana,
with Bogie and fellow actor David Niven on board, was anchored off
Catalina when a powerboat carrying Frank Sinatra and composer Jimmy Van
Heusen dropped the hook close by. The evening was mild, the booze was
flowing, and Frankie gave an impromptu concert for the people on the
surrounding yachts, who rowed over in their dinghies. But there was
trouble brewing, because Sinatra and Bogart were at odds. Bogie, who
could be cruel to his friends, wanted Frankie to stop, but he'd kept on
singing. Richard Burton, who downed boilermakers and set illegal
lobster traps with Bogart that night, vaguely remembered that Niven got
caught up in the drunken rage and inexplicably tried to set fire to Santana.
Yachting in Style
Back in the present, by about 1900 our wind had completely shut off. Kaplan mounted Santana's
signal gun on the starboard primary and fired off a round to salute the
fiery sunset. With the spheres of San Onofre's nuclear-power plant
visible ashore and boats lying still all around us, the scene resembled
a giant, glassy parking lot. While progress was nil or negative, dinner
was stellar. The owner treated the watch to soup and salad, followed by
hot lasagne and accompanied by a very drinkable 2001 cabernet
sauvignon. "That's why we kept Bogie's elaborate cup holder," Kaplan
said as he brought up the bottle and the long-stemmed glasses.
At first glance, Santana's
galley looked surprisingly spartan for concocting such elaborate
entertainment, but only because the appliances were masterfully
disguised. The gimbaled stove/oven hid behind a panel of faux drawers
and under a Corian lid, the microwave was stashed away in an overhead
cabinet, and 1930s retro doors camouflaged the reefer. Two crystal
decanters dominated the well-stocked liquor locker, maintaining an
important tradition on this boat. Once, after an impressive light-wind
performance, a fellow racer asked Bogart what made Santana go fast. Bogie's reply: "Scotch."
Coming off watch, it was a pleasure to snuggle into the most
comfortable and stylish bunks one could hope for in a sailboat race,
and rocked by the gentle motion of a long-keeled boat, we found
shut-eye easy to come by. The night brought a light offshore breeze
that put us on the rhumb line, and the opposite watch came up with some
very creative sail combinations to sustain the pace. "We have 11 sails
on board and lots of halyards," Kaplan chuckled.
A Transpac Episode
Bogie was faithful to Santana
even as he succumbed to throat cancer. Too weak to work or sail, he
still made trips to Newport Beach just to sit on deck with his son and
his boat captain, Carl Petersen, aka Square Head, Dumb Bum, or Bullshit
Pete, who was one of the chosen few allowed to visit Bogie at his house
when he was in the final stages of his illness.
Humphrey Bogart died on January 14, 1957. In his will, he insisted on a
service without a casket. Instead, a glass-encased model of Santana
was displayed next to the lectern from which John Huston gave the
eulogy. The estate sold the boat to Willis Short, an interior designer
who sailed her in local races. In 1960, Wally Nickell, a retired U.S.
Army brigadier general and president of the Western Hyway Oil Company,
bought her and campaigned her extensively, including in the Transpac, a
race that Bogart had never entered. In 1961, Nickell took aboard Sports Illustrated
reporter Gilbert Rogin, who later became that magazine's managing
editor. Rogin neither liked sailing nor did he get the hang of racing,
which was reflected in his story "Twelve Days Before the Mast": "Next
time they want to send me to sea, I'll lock myself in the bathroom for
12 days with canned goods, Sterno, an electric fan, and an alarm clock.
I'll sit in the tub for four hours, fully dressed, with the fan blowing
across me, taking a cold shower." Naturally, the story touched a raw
nerve with Nickell. "No wonder. That Rogin gets seasick just looking at
a Cutty Sark ad," he told the San Francisco Examiner.
Bluewater Adventures
Santana's next owner, San
Francisco attorney William Solari, brought her East again to compete in
the 1968 Bermuda Race, 30 years after her first attempt. The race
wasn't very successful, but a visit to Bert Darrell's boatyard in
Hamilton produced a souvenir of sorts, a broken spreader that had been
replaced when she stopped there in 1938. Solari sold her to Charlie
Peet, a Sausalito bar owner who sailed her around the world with his
wife, Marty, sailmaker Jim Leech, and assorted pickup crew. "Bogart's
boat was recognized by sailors and movie buffs alike," Leech
remembered. "In Ascension, a Bogie freak ran a PX that was decked out
like Hollywood. We watched movies and got provisioned by U.S. tax
dollars." The 40,000-mile trip was a blast, but it also included tense
moments. The boat took on water after a plank in the bow section opened
near Pitcairn Island, and a good blow off New Zealand carried away the
mizzen. Returning to California in the winter of 1973, Santana battled heavy winds and seas near Cabo San Lucas. Twice she was beaten back before she eventually escaped.
Renaissance and Disaster
After the circumnavigation (and the tenure of M. Lloyd Carter, a short-time owner), Santana
was tired and needed serious work. She was picked up by Ted and Tom
Eden, who would have her for 25 years, longer than any other owner. The
Eden brothers were San Francisco architects who studied Frank Lloyd
Wright and restored Victorian houses. They gave her a good makeover and
didn't forget charity. "We donated the head to a public radio station
that auctioned it for a fundraiser," Ted remembered. "It's amazing what
people buy."
In 1982, the Edens challenged Dorade, the boat that beat Santana in the 1936 Transpac, to a race on San Francisco Bay. Skippered by Tom Blackaller, Santana owed her rival seven seconds per mile but fell behind in light air. Dorade, under the command of R.C. Keefe, looked to repeat her victory from 1936. But as the breeze filled to a healthy 25 knots, Santana
took the lead. "I bet the boat was never this fast when Bogart sailed
it!" Blackaller shouted. At the finish of the 12.5-mile course, she was
ahead by more than six minutes, saving her time and-finally--getting
even with Dorade.
In November 1997, Ted Eden was looking for a buyer--his brother had
died four years before, and the boat wasn't getting much use--when fate
intervened. While Santana was
tied up at her dock outside the clubhouse of the St. Francis Yacht
Club, the automatic bilge pump came on. The discharge port was below
the waterline, and the check valve that prevented water from siphoning
back in failed, admitting the ocean into the boat. Daylight revealed
her sunk in her slip, the decks awash. Powerful pumps weren't enough to
save her. All her interior, the upholstery, and the electronics were
shot.
Road to Recovery
A 62-year-old wooden boat that's sustained catastrophic damage has a
pretty good chance for a date with a chainsaw. Unless, of course, she
can find someone enthusiastic--or foolish--enough to embark on a
complete restoration. Paul Kaplan and his wife, Crissy, became Santana's
Good Samaritans. It helped that Kaplan co-owns Keefe Kaplan Maritime
Inc., one of the largest full-service boatyards on San Francisco Bay.
"We never questioned the reasons," he said. "We surveyed the vessel,
and we knew what we were in for." They tore the ceilings out and
installed new frames, and while they were at it, they resolved to turn Santana
back into a schooner. "We wanted to be as authentic as possible, so we
procured copies of the original S&S drawings from Mystic Seaport."
From the rig to the deck layout and the beveled glass doors, Santana
was restored to her original condition. Even navigation electronics
were passed over. Still, some changes were inevitable. The cockpit--now
moved aft--has a fiberglass well. The galley was modernized, and the
forward cabin, formerly the crew quarters entered by a separate
scuttle, was turned into a V-berth. The old, rusty engine was replaced
with a 75-horsepower Yanmar turbodiesel with a propeller offset to
starboard. Just about the only breaks the Kaplans got were with the
teak deck and the mainmast. "They used the original schooner mainmast
for the yawl conversion in 1942," Kaplan said. "It was a bit too short
for a yawl rig, but for us it worked perfectly. It's right back where
it was--including the boom--so we only had to build a foremast from
Sitka spruce." A creative solution was found for the bowsprit. It's
carbon fiber, anchored on a stainless-steel tenon on the boat's stem,
and has a faux wood finish. "The boat's very nice and a showcase for
good craftsmanship," said Billy Brandt. "It's just a bit more of a
project than I'd like to take on." And fellow crewmember Ken Bertino
thought that "it probably takes someone with a boatyard to do this kind
of work right." It was a monster job that took nearly a full year, but
Kaplan believes it was worth the effort. After her relaunch in May
1999, Santana again is the
perfect entertainment platform and the toast wherever she goes. And
usually, in classic races, she's the schooner to beat.
Fun, Not Fame
After we'd made good time during the night and lost Curlew in our wake, the tables turned. At 1100, 23 hours into the race, Santana
was wallowing about 30 miles from Espiritu Santo. A faint and backing
wind forced us to steer 35 degrees above the rhumb line. "Forget jibing
in these conditions," said navigator Robert Flowerman, a seasoned salt
and professional raceboat manager who'd worked on Santana
many years before. The weather report forecast light airs and a
70-percent chance of "measurable precipitation." Emerging from the off
watch, Santana's master held
an impromptu conference in the cockpit, mindful that some of the crew
had obligations the next day. If conditions didn't improve drastically,
we had at least another five or six hours to the finish and a long slog
back up to San Diego. "Let's bail" was the consensus. With staysails
and main strapped in and the engine chugging, we set course for Point
Loma, about 30 miles north. Everyone settled in comfortably as Santana
shouldered aside the swells and zigzagged through a school of dolphins.
Lunch was served, the jokes kept coming, and laughter rang throughout
the ship.
"He became lighthearted--singing, laughing," Bacall wrote of her
husband in her memoir. "He did not want to part with her. . . . If I
ever had a woman to be jealous of, she was the Santana.
Her sleek lines, the way she moved through the water. . . . When Bogie
bought that boat he was enslaved--happily so--and truly had everything
he'd ever dreamed of."
Sixty years and seven owners later, that hasn't changed.
_____________________________________________
Santana
LOA 62' 0" (18.90 m.)
LOD 55' 2" (16.81 m.)
LWL 40' 0" (12.28 m.)
Beam 12' 6" (3.81 m.)
Draft 7' 11" (2.40 m.)
Working Sail Area (1934 plans) 1,569 sq. ft. (145.8 sq. m.)
Displacement (without
wine)
50,000 lb.(22,727 kg.)
Water 66 gal. (250 l.)
Fuel 75 gal. (284 l.)
Designer Sparkman & Stephens
Boat Website www.thesantana.com
