Jim Briggs: Larger than Life
"Now, bring me that horizon."
—Jack Sparrow
There were literally acres of boats, from small canoes and windsurfers to huge, 105-foot oceangoing motor yachts. There were pontoon boats and kayaks. There were at least 100 RVs. Robbie and I met Jim Briggs for the first time at the Chicago Boat, RV and Sail Show. We were not in the market for a boat, but we heard about the show and wanted to see what it was all about. This was a bright beginning for a friendship with Jim and the many adventures to come.
Jim lived in Lake Forest, known for its natural beauty, located along the shore of Lake Michigan just outside of Chicago, and he also had a second home on the beach at East Hampton, New York, once named the most beautiful American town by National Geographic. He was an executive at Outboard Marine, the major manufacturer of outboard motors at that time. His employment might have had something to do with the fact that his father had founded Outboard Marine. In fact, Jim's father was the only man at that time, and maybe still is, who had founded two companies on the New York Stock Exchange: Briggs & Stratton and Outboard Marine.
Jim took us to see his parents’ home, a mansion right on the white sand beach in Naples, Florida. In those days, most people felt lucky to have a second telephone in their master bedroom. The Briggs’ house had a telephone in almost every room and a switchboard to control them.
Robbie and I were doing very well competing in our C boat on Lake Lotawana, a man-made lake east of Kansas City. Our boat was named Fin do Mundo after a bar we had discovered in the suburbs of Lisbon, Portugal. We had a series of wild nights in this bar; met some fascinating people including the future King of Spain; and a local character who insisted on taking us up in his private plane.
For some reason, Jim got an inflated opinion of my sailing ability and invited me to be part of his crew on his 46-foot racing yacht that he entered in races around the world. The premier ocean racing series at that time was the SORC (Southern Ocean Racing Circuit) and Jim invited me to join his seven-man crew on the race from Miami to West End, Grand Bahamas. We started in a fresh wind off Miami and Jim asked me to take the helm at the start. Having never sailed a yacht anywhere near this size, my heart was in my mouth. But I managed a decent, if not spectacular, start. Soon it became obvious that while a start could be very significant in small boat racing it is not in the world of ocean racing because being 10 seconds behind at the start is not significant in races that last anywhere from 18 hours to more than three days.
I never took to ocean racing for several reasons. For one, the outcome is largely dependent on the weather because certain yachts perform best in high winds and rough seas but don’t have a chance if the wind is light. My second justification was that an hour after the start you seldom see any of your competitors, so you have no idea how you are moving in comparison. To me, ocean racing is best summarized in the saying “Ocean racing is just like standing in a cold saltwater shower tearing up $100 bills!”
The most exciting part of this race was when we finished the race at 3 a.m. and entered the tricky West End harbor in complete darkness and pouring rain. That was the end of my days as an ocean racer.
A couple of years after our ocean racing adventure, Jim invited Robbie and me to meet him and his crew at the finish of the Miami to Isla Mujeres race and sail with him on the return voyage to Miami. Several of his crew had obligations and flew home leaving just six of us on board and we weren't in any particular hurry. The weather was beautiful. We were all sitting in the cockpit enjoying sea stories when someone looked up and saw that we were close enough to Havana to see the buildings. In those days, the Cubans were confiscating yachts that entered their territorial waters without permission; we were obviously way too close. We immediately tacked and headed north just in time to see a Cuban gunboat approach. He circled us, terrified us, but let us sail on our way. You can imagine our relief.
That summer, Outboard Marine was considering going into the inboard/outboard boat business. Jim sent us a 16-foot experimental boat to try; it was a neat little boat, but they decided not to go into production. Robbie and I offered to return it to the factory, but Jim told us just to keep it -- a rather nice gift. We ended up towing this boat over unpaved Independence Pass on CO-82 when we moved to Aspen, Colorado, and later Betty and I towed it all the way to Baja, California, but that’s another adventure.
The America's Cup was to be sailed on Long Island Sound, and Jim invited us to be his guests at his home in East Hampton. Our good friends, Tom and Connie Cooper offered to join us and fly us from Kansas City in their twin engine plane. That was a double adventure because we watched the races from the air which, before the days of TV coverage, was really the only way you could get a true perspective on what was happening on the racecourse. Later, Tom was cited for flying too low in restricted airspace, but we saw those races like no one else.
Another highlight was joining Jim on his friend’s beautifully restored classic powerboat. We hit a perfect day on Long Island Sound and were introduced to 12-pound lobsters. My parents had always told me that any lobster over a pound and a half would be tough, but how wrong they were. We sliced the tails of these gargantuan lobsters like a piece of prime beef; it was both tender and delicious. We bought two of the monsters and took them back in Tom's plane to impress our Kansas City friends.
Regrettably, we had very little contact with Jim once we moved to Aspen, but I always remember him as one of the most larger-than-life characters I ever knew.