The year was 1945 and the Second World War was just about over, making gasoline and the rationing cards required to buy gas, a little bit easier to come by. I was living with my parents and sister Lorna in Garden City, on Long Island, New York. My father was working to improve upon his and his brother’s invention; an electron tube that amplifies high-frequency radio waves in a vacuum tube called the “Klystron'', making radar a reality. So in 1940, we moved from Palo Alto, California to New York where my dad worked for Sperry Gyroscope Company where he built and improved on Klystron tubes for the soon-to-start WWII.

My mother and father had decided that a camping vacation would be a great choice because we could now get enough gas to go to a place called Lake George in Upstate New York. A very, very large lake about 30 miles long and beautiful as I’d seen through my nine-year-old eyes. The drive in those days took almost all of a day so my dad said “let’s just camp next to our car” as it was close to a boat rental shop on Lake George, meaning in the morning we could get an early start. The next morning after a meager breakfast my mother decided that we needed a few more groceries and there was a grocery store not too far away, so by the time we were ready to head out to one of the many islands that you could rent for a week from the state of New York, it was about 10 o’clock. Our boat was a wooden row boat but instead of oars, it was powered by a Johnson five-horse outboard motor. Now this row boat which I guess was probably 15’ long had a stern seat that was for my dad so he could operate the outboard motor. Next, there was a wider seat in the middle where my mother and I would sit and next was a seat where all our gear and food for the week was stored. Last was a seat for my sister in the bow. Oh, I can’t forget our old English Sheepdog by the name of Ditto that had to find room by my dad. The captain of this somewhat overloaded, little better than a Huckleberry Finn, raft was about to take me on an adventure that I would remember for the rest of my life and I couldn’t wait to get started.

I suppose we were probably traveling between 5 to 10 miles per hour. So according to the gentleman that had rented us his boat it would take about half an hour to get to our island.

My mother and I were looking at my dad with a look of contentment on his face and then to the disappearing shoreline behind him. My sister Lorna was also looking at the stern of the boat and the fading shoreline when from out of nowhere came a Chris Craft speedboat probably going 30 M.P.H. and in the blink of an eye, it sliced off about a foot of the bow of our boat and missed my sister by about a foot. I remember the steering lever of the outboard motor being jerked out of my father's hand by the impact sending the Johnson outboard motor rising several feet into the air and then down with a kerplunk sound as it splashed back into the lake. It was fortunate that my whole family could swim because there were no life jackets but there was a wooden boat that was not going to sink like the Titanic so all hung on to it. In all the clamor to make sure that everybody was in one piece, I looked behind me to see Ditto struggling not to drown because a lengthy chain hooked to his collar was dragging him under. I swam over to Ditto and was met by a thrashing dog with scared claws but in only a moment I was at his back and then able to unhook the chain and let it go to the bottom. This immediately let Ditto return from panic to a safe feeling dog paddle. My dad said, “we’re going to be here for a while so let's put Ditto on top of the now half-sunken boat so he can rest.” I’m not sure how long we trod water while hanging on to our floating hulk, maybe half an hour when some other boater spotted us and came to our rescue.

My mother had been raised as a proper English lady where cuss words never came out of her mouth but on this day as the speedboat turned right showing a hole in the side of its bow but above water level and headed for shore, my mother's polite demeanor turned to rage and out came several four-letter words that today are used in casual conversation without a thought, but in those days they held more meaning as my mother yelled at the top of her lungs to come back. I think it was the people who first spotted us that tossed a rope to my dad and told him to tie it to our hulk and they would toe us back to our boat dock. It seemed like it took forever to reach the shore but when we did I could no longer hold my anxiety in check. I blurted out “What are we going to do dad?!” and with not a moment's hesitation, he said “We’re going camping.” My mother then said to me that she and Lorna would look through what was salvageable and make up a shopping list. My mother and father always spoke to my sister and me with one voice. Dad said “Jack why don’t you and I go over to the boat shop and tell the owner what has happened. And what is the cost going to be to buy a Johnson outboard motor and repair the owner's rowboat?" I don’t remember how much it was going to cost, but my dad and the owner both seemed satisfied with the amount owed as they shook hands and then my dad said “We will be back in the morning” and the owner said, “I’ll have another one just like the last one waiting.”

My dad was always thinking about something and vacations didn’t slow his busy mind down one bit. He was now on the phone talking to one of his friends at Sperry asking if he could make some sort of diving bell that would be carried on a person’s shoulders and allowing his head to be inside of a clear plastic globe with an entry port for air to breathe thus allowing a person to walk around on the floor of Lake George looking for a Johnson outboard motor. The area where we were going to look for the motor was very shallow, only 10 to 30 feet deep. It turns out that while we were waiting to be rescued my dad was already doing a bit of mental triangulation to determine where we were in the lake. This was a skill he had developed during his days as a captain flying for Pan American World Airways In Central America and Mexico. It was just one day since I asked “What are we going to do dad?!” that my dad pulled the rope to start the outboard motor and as it roared into life we were on our way again.

The island that we had rented I think was about a half acre in size and had a couple of trees on it and was quite rocky. It was going to be our home for the next five days and I loved it. After we had all found places to put our sleeping bags and put up a small tent so we could all gather under in case of rain, we were ready to go exploring. But about that time a middle-aged gentleman approached in a Chris Craft speedboat and yelled that he was the father of the boy that had run into us and would like to take us on a tour of the lake and maybe do some water skiing. My father gave a nod of yes as I watched our new friend throw a boat ladder over the side. My mom went first and swam the few yards to the ladder and climbed up and in. So in no time at all, we were all loaded and off to see just how big Lake George was to a nine-year-old. I could hear over the roar of the motor that my dad would accept the amount he had to pay to the rowboat owner and say “This was more than fair, for the reality of the collision was that probably both boat captains were at fault.” My dad smiled shook our new friend's hand and said “no harm no foul.”

It turns out that our new friend was the president of New York Life Insurance Company and kept a house on the lake. After about an hour of cruising around the lake. Our friend asked if Lorna and I were ready to learn how to waterski. I went first. I started in the middle of the lake, so as I waved ready I saw the boat jump up on top of the water. I felt like my arms were going to come out of their sockets as I was under the water rather than on top. After a few pointers on how to get out on top of the water rather than under, on my third try, I was up and feeling the exhilaration of speed and as the boat turned I found myself on the outside of the turn going almost at the speed of sound. All in all, it was quite a day as I swam back to our little island and from our shore, we all waved goodbye to a very nice man that treated us to a memorable day.

Back in those days when you caught a fish, there was no “catch and release” for that was part of dinner most nights. Dad’s friend arrived about noon the next day with his wife and this funny-looking diving bell and supplies to stay and vacation with us until we would leave the following Sunday. The next day was going to be salvage day and learn by doing day, as nobody knew if this diving bell was going to work. But first, dad had to do some more of his transecting and dead reckoning to get us to approximately where we might find the motor. After twenty or thirty minutes my dad said “this is the spot” so I dropped our anchor. It was decided by dad and his friend (Fred) that Fred would go first. To make this contraption work it had about a hundred feet of air hose and a rope tied to the top of the plastic bell jar so that we could retrieve it. The air was supplied by an old-time tire pump that you put a foot on each side of the pump, grab the handle then you would start pumping. The idea was to make sure we saw air bubbles coming to the surface at all times so Fred would have enough air. Fred slid into the water and held to the side of the boat while my dad lifted the bell onto Fred’s shoulders and with a little adjusting and a smile from Fred he let go of the side of the boat as I watched the air hose and rope play out when the rope and air hose stopped uncoiling and Fred gave a couple of jerks to the rope that meant that everything was okay. Dad told me to watch for air bubbles while he pumped air. Everything was going fine when my dad said “son you're going to have to pump for a while, I’m giving out.” So I became the pumper man and dad caught his breath and watched for bubbles.

I don’t remember how long Fred was on the bottom looking for the motor, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes when he floated to the surface. He had lifted the bell off his shoulders and it was now dad’s and my turn to pull up the diving bell. Fred told us that it was not that easy walking down there twenty feet to the bottom. Then dad said, “What we need is an air compressor, our tire pump was exhausting!" With that, my dad said, “It’s time for a beer” and a Coke for me. With the beer all gone it was time for my dad to go down to the bottom and look in a different area. Now I knew that I would be a pumper man so I volunteered to pump first and when I pooped out Fred took over and soon he was beginning to work up a sweat. But just then I saw my dad rise to the surface. Fred, dad, and I agreed that the newness had definitely worn off of this adventure. So I was not surprised when dad said “This is not how I want to spend my vacation.'' It didn’t take long to load the diving bell. Dad pulled the rope to start the outboard motor and in a short while we were back at our island. I threw our tie rope to my mom as she asked, "Did you have any luck?” I said no and my dad said “It was too mucky down there to find anything.” That was the last thing that was said about any more searching for an outboard motor. As for the diving bell, it was put in an obscure place and I don’t remember us coming home with it.

During the remaining days, I got to learn how to start the outboard motor and with Ditto as my companion we had great fun exploring other islands, fishing, and swimming. For me, our trip ended all too soon but for our soldiers in arms it couldn’t be soon enough. On September second, 1945 the war ended and on September 7 I turned 10 years old. It was time for me to go back to school, but I had one more lesson to learn. As I heard my dad talking to a neighbor about our trip, the neighbor asked my dad if he was going to sue for physical and emotional harm. My dad answered “Why? There was no harm done and we had a wonderful time.”

See Ya,

Jack