Fifty years ago, the President of the United States of America, Lyndon Brains Johnson, phoned his Chief of Staff, Jack Somebody, and said “Git me some of them boat racing magazines”. “Right away, Sir”. Two days later, Lady Bird Johnson, First Cowgirl, said “Lyndon, what the heck are you lookin’ for in all those magazines. You already have a nice boat, and you have it on your own private lake. What else could you want?” “I want some privacy. I can’t even take a piss on Lake LBJ without having one of them goddam secret service guys shake it off for me. I want to buy the secret service a couple small boats, faster’n hell, that can lay in the weeds, heavily armed, and only come out to take care of bidness if the them Ruskies pull some crap”.

The Prez had a 24 foot Glastron (Texas built, get it?) with a pair of big block Mercruisers. It would run about 50 mph, and Johnson used it a lot. What chapped him was the proximity of two other, similar boats, which had to stay nearby in case some “bidness had to be taken care of by the guys in black suits and Raybans. They were not fast enough to hide in the weeds. In 1965, if you picked up a boating magazine, you were bound to see something about Donzi Marine. Aronow had a PR firm, John Crouse, and an advertising firm who had elevated him to the highest level of boatness. It was inevitable that LBJ and Aronow would do some “bidness”.

LBJ had a Navy chief in charge of his little Navy. His name was Jim something, but we never used his last name. We called him “Jimbird”. One hell of nice guy. Jim explained the security situation on the lake, and asked our recommendation. We had a target speed of 75 mph, so we recommended an 18 foot Donzi boat with a High Riser, High Winder, Side Oiler NASCAR 427 inch Ford engine on a vee drive. Damn few pleasure boats had ever seen 75 mph in those days, but we were confident that we could do it. We had just built a remote controlled 70 knot Donzi 19’ “Hornet” with a Turbo Daytona for the Military (ours) to use as a missile drone at Point Mugu, California. We all raced boats in those days, so we took the deal for one boat and one to follow. Jimbird stayed the entire time, and he and I tape-measured a one half mile straightaway course to verify the speed. After a couple of propeller and gear ratio changes, we were running 75+. We had an official test, with Navy folks who intended to go boat riding at government expense (until they saw the boat galloping down the cut at break-neck speed).

Strangely enough, they had chosen a white hull, with a dark red deck stripe and dark red upholstery (not to show blood?). We got our check, and an order for another boat. Jimbird and I had become good buddies over the boat building period, and I invited him to ‘last supper’ at Tony Roma’s restaurant. He had not had a single beer in the weeks that he attended to business, but he had a few pops with dinner. We finished a couple of racks of Tony’s famous ribs, and kicked back. “What’s the old man like, Jimbird?” “Well, he is a real Texan. He doesn’t hide much, and he tends to piss off a lot of important people”. “Give me a story”.

“When NASA got up and running in Houston, he threw a Texas Barbeque to introduce the Astronauts to the cowboys. He was a stickler for making things go his way. On the evening of the barbeque, he called the nearby Air Force base. He got the CQ duty officer at the base and said “Git me two Airmen in dress blues to accompany Linda Bird and Lucy Brains to the barbeque, and DON’T SEND ANY OF THEM GODDAM WETBACKS!” Right on time, at 7PM, the Airmen showed up at the Johnson’s front door. They were tall, handsome poised young black men. LBJ hit the roof. He called for the CQ, who was not available. He got one of the junior officers, and really chewed him out for the mistake. The junior officer said “I don’t believe it was a mistake, Sir. Lt. Rodriquez don’t make no mistakes.”

Years later, I met some of the Secret Service guys who manned the Donzi boats on Lake LBJ. He said that he had personally lost both his guns, some radios, sunglasses and hats, trying to hold on and drive the boat at the same time. Most all the agents “went swimming” one time or another. They never ever had to respond to an emergency. I think the Russians actually wanted to keep LBJ alive, but that’s just me.

The Union of International Motor Boating is the governing body for boat racing around the world. In the interest of harmony, and larger, more competitive racing fleets, we led the UIM in maintaining fairness in the rulebook. The UIM offshore world championship commenced in 1964, with Jim Wynne taking the prize for the most points accumulated in a series of races around the world.

While offshore racing was never inexpensive, the world offshore tour required a “big bucks” approach, with races in the US, England, the Bahamas, Sweden, Cyprus, and other less famous sites. It finally became a logistics championship, requiring at least two boats, and crews all over the world. In 1977, The UIM changed the format of the championship, now down to one “Really big showwwww” at Key West, Florida in November. The new format would level the field, somewhat, in that a man (or woman) could win the title despite the fact that they only had a titanium spoon in their mouth.

In 1977 I was chief engineer at Magnum Marine, on the just becoming famous 188th Street, in North Miami Beach, Florida. Magnum was owned, at that time, by Ted and Katrin Theodoli. They had been Magnum and Cary Marine dealers in Italy, and when APECO (Ape Co?), sold Magnum back to Aronow for 2 cents on the dollar, They bought it. I had done essentially all the development on the 49’ Cary Diesel boats, the first American made, fast Diesel cruisers. They hired me to develop the 53’ Magnum, soon to be the King of big, fast, smoky, smelly toys.

With our Italian connection, we began to use some of the excellent aluminum twelve cylinder BPM 650 HP gas engines. We took the 38’ Magnum, which had been somewhat of a slug, built it of the new miracle fiber, Kevlar, and stuffed in a pair of BPM’s on vee drives. We even cut the sheerline down by a foot, so that it looked like an overweight 008 raceboat. With the new one-race format world championship race coming up in Key West, Ted sent Danny Durrough, GM of Magnum, and me to Key West to get some publicity for the new boat. Danny and I were best friends, and in the interest of the best possible press, took two incredibly beautiful blonde strippers on the trip. The southern Atlantic can be a hostile place in the winter, and the weather looked grim for the race, with very strong northerly winds for the next couple of weeks, encompassing the race.

We ran from Miami to Key West down Hawk’s Channel, a magnificent stretch of crystal clear water just inside the outer reef, for 160 miles. The water was choppy, the sky bright blue, and we had plenty of beer. The girls worked on their tans, and Danny and I worked on the case of Heineken’s.

We arrived in Key West and hooked up with Ted and Katrin, who had driven down from Miami. The town was full to the brim with racers, hangers-on, and wierdos, and we blended in perfectly. The girls wanted some pot, and we wanted nothing to do with it. They went off in search of oneness with nature, and when we saw them again, they were mighty mellow. “Looks like you scored”. “Yeah, we found a kid on a bicycle who could hook us up, and when the deal was done, he was a man, riding off on a Harley”.

We gave lots of 60 MPH demo rides, got photographed, and had fun belittling the ‘smooth water sailors’. The actual championship race was scheduled for a 10am Saturday start, and we timed our arrival at the Pier House Hotel for a 9:59 suntan lotion spreading contest. The race was exceptionally well attended by the top offshore men (and women) in the world. We had entries from England, France, Italy, Australia, South America, hell, we even had an entry from California! I was reconnoitering beach locations with just the right amount of sun, cover, and access to the excellent pina colada machine, when about 20 people screamed “THERE HE IS!” I looked around to see who they were talking about, when I realized that it was me! They unstuck me from my model, and dragged me to the Officials tent. “Brownie, if you don’t take the Magnum out to Middle Ground, the far checkpoint, there will be no race.” “You just now realized that you do not have a frickin’ check boat at Middle Ground?” “It sank”. “Then you are not going to race today”. The wind was howling out of the north at 15 to 25 knots, and the waters around Key West were the color of week-old coffee. “I fish the Middle Grounds, and I NEVER go out there if the wind is over 10 knots”. Ted Theodoli pulled me aside, and said “Brownie, I told them that you would do it.” “OK, goddammit, you and Katrin are coming with Danny and me”.

We didn’t have a radio powerful enough to reach shore from there, but there was a Coast Guard cruiser in range to relay the results to the committee. We took a shortcut to Middle Ground over some shallow reefs that were impossible to “read” in the dark brown water, which perfectly matched my humor. I think I was secretly hoping to bang my props, and get to beg off from my duty. No such luck. With a vicious current from the south, and the wind from the north, the seas were about 10 to 12 feet high, and only 50 feet apart. The water resembled sort of a chocolate Christmas candy. What a mess! We reported ‘on station’ at noon. The boat was a shambles. The custom deck was split in a couple of places, there was teakwood all over the cockpit sole, and all the crew had some level of damage. I picked a likely spot to anchor, and Danny fought his way through the trash-strewn cabin to get to the anchor hatch. As I backed and filled (and cursed), Danny pitched the anchor, and we slid back until the anchor caught. When it finally set, it pulled the entire boat underwater to the windshield! “Holy Shit! Danny, cut the line!” He somehow cut the line, and freed the boat to roll and plunge in the waves, while I contemplated the possibilities of surviving the day. Just when I was ready to turn tail and run, someone said “Here comes a boat!” “Boy, that must be a tough tobacco spitting, etc. man (or woman).” Nah, it was Betty Cook and John Connor, making about 40 MPH in the slop. They were a couple of miles ahead of the next boat, and we felt some satisfaction, watching them get the crap beat out of them. We stayed on station for two hours, until the last Class II boat had come by. I chose a course home in the lee of some reefs, and actually beat a few of the slower raceboats home.

Betty and John won the race hands down. Several boats sank. Everyone had some level of injury. That evening I was taking some strong medicine for my bruises and getting a neck massage, while regaling our adventure to anyone within earshot. A local observed that it couldn’t have been that rough, as the race was won by a woman. I hit him right in the mouth.

Another capsizing. This weekend a Nicaraguan tourist boat carrying 32 people capsized off the coast leaving 13 dead, and more missing. The craft, carrying 25 Costa Ricans, 4 Americans, and 3 Nicaraguans was traveling between Big Corn Island and Little Corn Island and flipped over Saturday on its voyage. While some passengers remain missing we do know that of the 13 dead, all were Costa Rican. According to a Nicaraguan news agency, the naval authorities had banned boat travel in the area because of bad weather but the tour boat proceeded anyway. The boat’s owner and a crew member are currently being detained by authorities and are being investigated for reckless homicide and exposing people to danger.

The search continues for the other missing passengers. Stay updated as details continue to pour in.

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