Sledding on the Canal—Summer of 1950

Sledding on the Canal—Summer of 1950

 The Chesapeake Boat Company at left center, west view – circa 1950

What’s left of the sea sled, with writer’s grandson, Will “Moose the Goose” Kropp enjoying an imaginary ride

            If somebody had told me that you could sled on our canal in the summertime, I’d have called them names for stretching the truth. And yet, one July afternoon in 1950 I saw it happen with my own eyes. I had just started working for Fronzie at the Chesapeake Boat Company. My pal, Joe Hotra, was working there and when I went to see him I pitched in and, by golly, old Fronzie took me on. At fourteen I was more interested in goofing off than working, so that whole summer the former won out over the latter and my meager pay was the result.

          I was given some ugly jobs, and I must tell you, discerning reader, that if your boss ever tells you to move creosote logs through the water by pushing them as you swim, well . . . don’t do it. Tell him to do it, because that creosote will burn something awful. And, another thing, if you’re forced to do it, be sure not to do it in the nude; that stuff will burn especially sensitive parts of your body.

Fronzie sure was a slave driver, and I was only able to get even with him once. According to Joe, I was moving a large battery from a boat to the pier when it slipped out of my hands and landed on Fronzie’s big toe. Joe told me that he thought he had heard all the bad words, but that Fronzie schooled him with a few new ones that day. But, most of the time, Fronzie got the upper hand. One example is when I dropped the heavy, unwieldy bilge pump overboard into ten feet of water. When that bugger slipped between the yacht and the pier and plunged in, I didn’t know what to do. It was expensive and I knew I’d be fired or worse, so I clenched the end of a rope in my teeth and dove in after it. I had to go down twice before I found it so I could tie the rope fast and haul it back up. And do you know that after a few pulls the engine actually started and ran perfectly. And, unless he reads this, Fronzie will never know how I almost ruined his pump.

I’ll bet, patient reader, that you think I’ve forgotten about sledding on the canal. Well, I haven’t, and when I get a chance I’ll tell you about it. But first let me relate, sadly, what pal Joey did to me one infamous day that summer. We were up by the boat hanger scraping barnacles off a boat’s bottom, and I must have cussed him with exceptional intensity because, all of a sudden he grabbed me, picked me up like a sack of potatoes, carried me to the canal, and tossed me in.

You know how it is when you have something awkward and offensive in your arms and you just can't wait to get rid of it? Well, that must have been how Joe felt, because he drew back and hurled me like a bag full of stinking garbage into the canal—good riddance. "There!" he said, and stalked on back towards the hanger. But, oh yeah, I outsmarted him. I only got wet up to my butt—didn't go in over my head. And yet, feeling pretty miserable, I waded on in to shore and went back to another job, as far away from Joe as possible.

I wonder if any of you ever got thrown in the river with all your clothes on. I hope not, because although it happened 65 years ago, I still feel pretty humiliated. It was embarrassing—no, not embarrassing so much . . . undignified is more like it. Joe was the only one who saw it, and I think it was definitely impolite of him to do such a thing to an innocent pal. Don't you?

Several years ago, two months before he died, we met for lunch and talked for a couple of hours about the exciting times we had growing up in the Chesapeake City area. I asked him if he remembered tossing me in the drink. He said he didn’t, although I think he lied to keep me from feeling bad, because how could a guy forget carrying his simple sidekick to the canal shore and heaving him in? I'd never forget a thing like that. Would you?

Well now, with those irritating interruptions out of the way, I can now return to the sledding adventure. Yes indeed, I can remember clearly the first time I saw that sea sled skimming jauntily across the water—beautiful! It was a Saturday afternoon and I was painting myself along with the bottom of Dave Braunstein’s cabin cruiser. As I sloshed the paint, I kept hearing the buzz of an outboard motor, so I took a breather and walked down to the water’s edge to check it out.

          It turned out to be the sea sled, with a guy having the time of his life as he sped faster than a speed boat. As I watched he pulled into shore and hauled the boat high up into the sand. He was Joe’s brother, John, and he asked me to keep an eye on it while he kept it there for a while. I noticed that the engine was only a 12 horse-power Sea King and John said that it pushed the sled about 30 miles per hour and that he made the boat himself. It was five feet wide, nine feet long, and could hold two people.

          Well, I’ll tell you, I was envious, and thought to myself, “If he could make a neat boat like that then so could I.” So, using his as a model, I wrote down all of the measurements. The next day I got my money together and swam across the canal to the E. J. Walls Lumber Yard. In 1950 it was just west of Schaefer’s Restaurant, where the condos are now. Later that day the lumber was delivered and during the next month I built, caulked, and painted my sea sled. I worked late into the night and sometimes my pop would come and make me quit.

          But the finished product was beautiful and I couldn’t wait to launch it to try it out. When I dragged it to the water I had a scare—it leaked! Geez, was I worried after all that work. But, just as Pop predicted, in two days the boards swelled together and it was fine, requiring only an occasional bailing. Then, the next Saturday, Pop took me to Montgomery Ward’s in Baltimore, where we bought a 12-horse Sea King outboard motor, just like John Hotra’s. Soon after that I was speeding through the canal in my new sea sled, the happiest teenager on the planet.

          Making that boat was the only thing I did right that summer. And Joe took notice. He also took notice of how nice my sea sled was and how cheap it was to build. He decided to build one, and to do me one better he would build it cheaper. Whereas I spent a month on mine, Joe spent only one week. And, believe it or not, he built it out of knotty pine lumber. And he didn’t even bother to paint it before the launching. And sure . . . you know what happened; Joe and I watched as it sank slowly to the bottom, never to rise again. As far as I can tell, it was the only time during that summer of 1950 that Joe did anything wrong.