Once upon a time I wrote for Sailing Magazine and a recent trip down memory lane led to a simple discovery. Stuff never gets old, just people. Here’s a view from a sunny day on Block, a quarter of a century ago or so.
SAILING MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER, 1994
LIFESTYLES OF THE PARASITES OF THE RICH AND FAMOUS by Greg Gilmartin
The fog had long since burned off Block Island when the music was turned up at the end of Champlin’s Marina. The shack called Trader Vic’s was swimming in rum, beer and bumper pool, and shaved ice overflowed containers of spiked tropical punch. Jimmy Bufffet’s vote barely cracked the near visible humidity and carbon fibers framed the view on the docks.
Sailors filled the few pieces of outdoor furniture and railings and sail bags served as overflow seating. Two races were under the belt and the salt-stained weariness that accompanies a day in the fickle winds and currents around this East Coast island landmark was palatable. Another Block Island Race Week was underway. Life was good.
“I wonder what the poor are doing,” said Tim, sipping from his green bottle. A racer for only three years, he was enjoying the aura surrounding his first major regatta.
A veteran of a dozen race weeks looked at his young friend and offered his own take on the economy. “Tim, we are the poor,” he said.
Big boat racing at regattas like the annual gathering at Block Island, a half day sail south of Newport, Rhode Island, always attracts lovers of sailing competition. In June of 1994, 20 IMS boats and 68 PHRF racers signed up for the five days dancing with Mother Nature. The fleet ranged from the latest to the late, everyone hoping to grab a moment of glory.
With the 88 owners came another 800 crew, give or take a few. For most of us, the economic observation of poverty was reality. Surrounded by several million dollars worth of high tech racers with names like Full Cry, Beau Geste, Pigs in Space and Ragged Edge, we knew we were not the rich and famous who could afford such toys. Instead, we were the “potraf”, otherwise known as the “parasites of the rich and famous.”
The annual pilgrimage to Block Island is a typical highlight in the potraf lifestyle. This harmonious way of life, without which racing as we know it could not exist, created a symbiotic relationship between boat owners and crew that allows the rich and famous, with their sailing toys, the joy of giving it a go on the water.
The name of the first potraf has been lost to history, but his or her existence became a fact of life when the first captain set forth to race and realized he might be slow to take without a hand or two to help him. Note: Potrafs do not do the BOC.
Over the years, the ability to play on the water without the headaches and bills of ownership has been elevated to an art form by many portals. Indeed, there are many stories in the potraf lifestyle file, all of them beginning with the primary directive: Get a ride.
One potraf wannabe from Port Jervis, New York, found a home on the rail among the 16 or so crew on Diane, the Nelson/Marek 50 owned by Bob Schwartz. Of course, before he could be assigned a position he was assigned a crew shirt and shorts. Potraf bonus points!
Diane sailed as the scratch PHRF boat with a 000 rating and easily took home the week’s honors with five bullets, taking the gun in all seven races. She covered her time against, among others, Bob and Rod Johnstone and a flock of J/120s and J/130s. The walk-on potraf from Port Jervis had a great seat in the front row plus a new set of clothes. Double potraf bonus points!
Of course, experienced portals are looking for a position more appetizing than rail meat and plan a regular ride will in advance of regattas. But everyone has to take that first ride. Our research has shown that first time portals are usually a friend of a friend of a friend of a sailor. Sometimes that is the only credential necessary.
Interestingly, many rookie portals aren’t aware of the lifestyle they have embarked upon until the first sandwiches are passed around with a beverage or two. This is usually immediately followed by the first major test - a downwind jibe during lunch. Ducking under the boom with a mouthful of bologna and cheese, a can of diet soda in one hand and an earful of strange language emanating from the back of the boat, the neophyte potraf must quickly bring to the for all his athletic talents.
“Pull the guy! Trim the guy!” comes the shout from the rich and famous guy behind the wheel.
“What guy?” the potraf answers, looking at four sets of color laced lines at his feet.
“The #*%!! guy!” comes the clarification.
Sticking the sandwich into his mouth, the potraf grabs a line and pulls hard, wraps it around a winch, just like he saw earlier, and suddenly feels the strain as the chute fills and the boat accelerates. A more experienced hand comes over to relieve him before he can do anything else.
“Oh, that guy,” the potraff mutters while settling on the rail. Looking back in the cockpit, he realizes he grabbed the right line. Points!
Later at the post race party, a stronger beverage in hand, the no-longer-a-neophyte potraf can legitimately discuss his or her role in a stellar sixth place finish. The final step occurs when the rich and famous owner comes over and invites him aboard next weekend. Yes! The lifestyle has begun
Some observers of the lifestyles of the parasites of the rich and famous believe the there are two different worlds on the racing circuit. One is for the glory boys, the rock stars on the IMS crafts that push the envelope of the rules and sailing budgets. The other is for those doing the parasitic thing with the nostalgic racers back in the PHRF fleet.
Admittedly, some portals believe there is a sense of glamour associated with starting in the early classes on the latest Mumm 36, Farr 50 or ILC40. Sure, the IMS boys have cooler jackets and matching shorts. An awful lot of them speak with a down under accent or have the title sailmaker printed on their business cards. Maybe they do get to travel more, stay in fancier digs at regatta sites, and they might even get two or three crew shirts.
However, as attractive as that life sounds, we suspect portals don’t get to speak much on this glory rockets. Thisis a good time to remind everyone that the “p” in potraf does not stand for professional. Besides, sixth place is still sixth place!
Potrafs also have local knowledge. For example, we crossed tacks with some of the IMS class in the Around the Island Race at midweek, showing the way through shallow water to avoid the foul currents near the Block Island North Reef. They didn’t follow and we had a grandstand seat when the Nelson/Marek 43 IMS racer Wired hit bottom briefly in a tight cluster of high tech. Like a grenade dropped in the middle of a dog pack, you never saw half a dozen boats scatter so quickly to avoid the same fate.
The Farr 50, Full Cry, with her compliment of PACT 95 ex-potrafs, edged Falcon, a Tripp 50, four races to three. The total differential on corrected time was about 65 seconds over the course of the wee. That’s about twice as close as the race committee’s decision! But, typically portals always complain about the race committee.
However, they never complain about the food, unless there isn’t any, which can become a sensitive issue. Beverages are another concern that can blow up in the face of a rich and famous sailor who doesn’t understand his or her place. Finish first or 15th, the rich and famous who don’t bring the beer and eats are going to be faced with a potraf mutiny.
In fact, one fellow potraf named Smitty hit the nail on the head during a heated confrontation between a rich and famous owner and his crew. Smitty was an impartial observer and a true potraf. He let the owner have it with both barrels.
“Willy, you could keep a crew if you bought them some beer and didn’t charge them to sleep on your damn boat!”
We know one owner at race week who had a hotel room for himself and left the boat for his crew, free of charge. Hey, some potrafs enjoy that kind of thing, though we believe age has something to do with it. Veteran potrafs are prone to enjoy a real bed if the racing lasts more than two days. Most even are willing to pay for it, but won’t complain if it’s just a part of the boat bills. In fact, that only makes them work harder to make the boat go faster and maintain harmony.
Potrafs do not look gift horses in the mouth, but that isn’t to say Theydon’t talk about owners behind their backs. that’s just one of the privileges of being rich and famous. Taking that one step further, the ultimate potraf is one who tells the owner what to do. That is not a bad reflection of the owner, because as most of us have come to learn, the ability to race a sailboat does not necessarily correlate to the amount of money or fame one has attained. That’s why the potrafs are on board in the first place.
A potraf who can get away with telling the owner to pay attention or win tactical argents with BS and even take the wheel from the owner’s hand to prevent a poorly conceived starting line maneuver has raised the lifestyle to an art form.
In the end, the underlying truth about the potraf lifestyle is the overwhelming desire to be a part of a race well sailed and a party well enjoyed - with no expenses incurred. However, the fact about many potrafs is that they would give up the lifestyle in a heartbeat to become one of the rich and famous.
THE POTRAF CREEDO
Get a Ride.
Get a Meal.
Get some Swag.
Get asked Back.