This opinion piece reflects the views of John Hazlehurst only and are not endorsed by the Pikes Peak Bulletin.
As you age, memories often flood the mind. At 84, the past is much more fun than the present, especially during miserable weather. You chuckle, you smile, you think of those who are no longer with us and you’re glad to still be among the living.
So here are some memories.
1955. I was on my first actual date with a (gasp! choke!) pretty girl that I’d known since kindergarten. I was 15, and asked Julie Smith to come with me to hear Marty Robbins at the City Auditorium. She accepted, and my dad drove us to the Aud. Did he sing his big hit, “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation?” I don’t remember, but I remember the older guys leering at Julie. I wanted to kiss Julie, but we were never alone. That was my only date with her – but we were always friends. Sadly, Julie died a few years ago.
1958. I was a freshman at Wesleyan University, and some of the cool seniors had invited Jack Kerouac and Gregory Corso to come and tell us about the Beat Generation. I had read Kerouac’s On The Road and had heard of Corso, and was enthralled. I hung around after most of the attendees had left, and Kerouac pulled out what I thought was a hand-rolled cigarette, lit it up, sighed happily, looked at me and said “Hey kid – you want a hit?” “Sure!” I said. Suddenly I was stoned and hungry.
After a while, Kerouac, Corso and I went over to my fraternity house (Psi Upsilon) and made ourselves sandwiches in the downstairs kitchen. It was fun, but I was reprimanded the next day by fraternity leaders – can’t remember their names, though.
Late fall, 1962: With a crew of three guys and a woman, I took off on my 1924 56′ wooden ketch from Rowayton (Connecticut), bound for Key West, the Panama Canal, Tahiti. None of us were seasoned sailors, but I had read lots of books about sailing, navigation, wooden ships and the dangers of the sea. We were prepared, or so we thought.
We rounded Long Island in a few hours, and close reached to the southwest until we sighted the Jersey shore. Everything was fine until the wind died, and we had to start up the auxiliary engine. The engine wouldn’t start, we were in danger of running aground, so we sent an SOS to the Coast Guard. They responded quickly and towed the old Paisano into a berth near Atlantic City. Not exactly an auspicious beginning to a circumnavigation – but we fixed problems and headed south. Did we sail around the world? Yes and no – the original crew abandoned ship in Tahiti, and I kept on going with other crews until the Paisano crossed our outbound longitude at Barbados in 1968. At last, I was a circumnavigator – but now it was time to get serious about life.
After a few days in Barbados, I sailed to Grenada, intending to stop for a day or two and then head to the States. Instead, I stayed, made many friends, sold Paisano, became a yachting delivery skipper and finally moved to New York and went to work for my childhood friend Tim Collins. His investment banking firm, Collins Securities, had offices in New York, Denver and Los Angeles. The future seemed bright until the market crashed, the firm collapsed, the money evaporated and I was back to square one.
But many more adventures awaited – after all, I was only 31. Fifty-four years later, there have been many more than I anticipated. It’s been a great ride, with three marriages, wonderful kids, grandkids and great-grands and especially my fabulous spouse Karen – and I’ll end with the lyrics of Edith Piaf.
Non, rien de rien (No, nothing at all)
Non, je ne regrette rien (No, I regret nothing)
Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait (Neither the good that has been done to me)
Ni le mal (Nor the bad)
Tout ça m’est bien égal (All that’s the same to me)
Non, rien de rien (No, nothing at all)
Non, je ne regrette rien (No, I regret nothing)
C’est payé, balayé, oublié (It’s paid, swept away, forgotten)
Je me fous du passé. (I don’t care about the past.)
Like Piaf, I regret nothing!
