Sailing Santa

Sailing Santa

Because Bobby Reece was six-feet eight and carried the name of the famous short stop, his high school chums nicknamed him Pee Wee. But his height wasn't the only thing that wasn't short: he also had a large heart.

When Robert R. was in college he heard that a Chevvy V-8 engine fit into a Jaguar body. Because the styling of the English car almost mesmerized the student, he bought the famous chassis whose motor had blown, a used Chevvy engine, and with his natural mechanical inclination and the help from two friends, installed the engine one weekend. He did it on a whim because he knew Financial Aid would not have okayed withdrawing the amount for a new Jaguar.

The first time he drove around campus he attracted everyone's attention. I.S.U., a small university, is located dead center in farm country: the Iowa coeds are not used to seeing such expensive, foreign cars. When Robert Reece parked in front of his dorm, the eyes of the two Indian students thoughtRaj.In their candidly polite manner, they found how their enterprising classmate had acquired the posh car.

All business majors, the three quickly formulated a plan. The East Indians would act as Robert's foreign distributor for every Chevvy-Jaguar he could fabricate. They would knew they could sell them as dearly in their homeland since at least one uncle was part-owner in an international shipping company. The set-up was perfect: the entrepreneurs could transport the vehicles inexpensively. And since the father of the other student sold cars near Delhi, and was overjoyed to act as their agent.

The student-initiated company made undreamed of profit. Bobby Reece investigated every site he could on the Internet and, in time, cranked out a striking Jag once a week. To cut overhead, eager students who'd always wanted to drive the famous car cruised to the cargo ships. Once in India, Sri Goptah sold them like hot chapatis throughout the country. During the last three years Robert Reece spent at Ames, he accumulated enough money to buy a sea-going yacht. Known for his enterprising nature, this second purchase turned out to be a flourishing business also. Before he

graduated he had established a world-tour charter system. It became the rage of the Iowa students: the landlocked army wanted to fulfill their fantasies of sailing the seven seas.

It took only two years with the aid of the Net before Sinbad International thrived. The company catered to university students throughout the United States and became so popular that Robert sold franchises to college students in Canada, Mexico, the Mid East, and Europe. Robert Reece helped many coeds become financially comfortable, fulfilled their maritime fantasies, and made himself economically self sufficient. Sinbad International allowed him to do what he wanted most.

Robert Reece's secret desire even before he entered Kindergarten was to play real-life Santa Claus. He wished his wealth was as great as his size so he could give real presents at will. The closest he could come as a child was to wrap household items and distribute them to the family or anyone who happened to be in the house. How he loved to see them smile and hear them laugh! Young Bobby was convinced he experienced more happiness than the recipients because he felt their joy plus his own. And now, as a near-adult with seven figures in the bank, two thriving businesses run by eager armies of money-hungry university students, he set out on a world tour hoping to further fulfill his childhood desire.

Pee Wee knew that playing Santa would not solve world problems. Also, having seen re-reruns of the TV show, "The Millionaire," he knew what mischief unsuspecting recipients could get into when they received massive landfalls. So as he traveled the world in search of recipients, he never mentioned his fortune. He learned how to blend in. He'd sneak into conversations off-handed quips like, "What would you do if you won a lottery?" "If you could pick out of Santa's bag absolutely anything, what would you hope for?" Or sometimes, "Do you have a secret desire, one you've kept to yourself because you felt if you told anyone it wouldn't come true?" Bobby introduced the queries so adroitly that no one suspected a thing.

Robert sprang his questions mostly on college-age people, and he did it wherever he felt comfortable: in cafes, art galleries, concerts, celebrations, anywhere and everywhere. Mostly he watched. And when he was satisfied that a white-hot, burning desire a person would die for was honest, the philanthropist would set things up to fulfill the wish.

One such scenario occurred when his private sail boat,Santa, was lashed by a howling gale in the North Sea. He barely reached safety by

hiding in a narrow, high-cliff fjord. To his surprise, another vessel had found sanctuary there too. He noticed that the boat sailed from Denmark.

Captain Reece threw out his anchors, battened his hatches, and made an oversized meal of corned beef stew with his last fresh cabbage. The odor-filled steam condensed on the starboard porthole. Absently he wiped away the moisture. Staring at his moored neighbor, Robert sensed something strange. He had that feeling when you know something's wrong. But the phenomenal odors overshadowed his curiosity so he sat down to his well-earned feast. And because he'd experienced a very long day in the face-chilling wind and spray, he settled into that slumber that only a sailor can have who knows he's in a safe, protected harbor.

But the next morning when he stretched topside and glanced at theHvidlog. the uncomfortable feeling returned. Not wanting to impose, he sat at the helm ofSantaand watched seagulls search for handouts. He sipped a cup of hot Jasmine tea which he'd bought in New York's Chinatown. And all the while, not a stir emitted fromHvidlog. Finally, to be neighborly, he gave some short blasts from his hand-held horn. Still there was no response. He waited what he thought the proper interval for sea etiquette, then called with his bullhorn.

"Ahoy,Hvidlog. This is theUSS Santa. Sprechen Zie English?" But still, no answer.

Finally, after further blasts and bellows, he lowered his dingy and putted his Seagull outboard motor to the eerie, fifty-foot yacht.

He nearly yelled his request to come aboard. When he received no response, he circumfranced the vessel, peeking into each porthole. He shuttered at the sight of a man and woman, one flopped at a dish-strewn table, the other lying, disheveled, on the deck.

Quickly Robert secured the dinghy and boarded. The two breathed, though faintly. The woman seemed more alive than her husband, who barely showed a pulse. His face was so ashen Robert feared that his fire had gone out.

Then he noticed a spilt, half-can of kipper herring.Food poisoning! Robert knew if there was any hope he had to act fast. He tore through their supplies for anything he could use as a stomach pump. He found some translucent tubing stowed among the engine equipment. He tried to be gentle, but this was an emergencies, so unceremoniously he forced the plastic down the esophagus of the near-dead man. He didn't know exactly what he was doing: he feared he'd jammed it into the wrong passage and

was sucking his lungs out. But there was no time to examine an anatomy book even if there was one in English nearby.

Knowing the law of the siphon, he'd hauled the man onto a berth and now dropped the free end downward. He sucked air before anything flowed out. Luckily a dishpan was nearby, because Robert sensed that the green bilge that trickled forth could certainly eat a hole through the teak deck. The male Nightingale found a funnel and poured as much water as gravity would allow down the cadaverous man's throat. A quart later, the toxic liquid began to clear. After three quarts, only water drained out. All the time the man was unconscious, but the amateur rescuer knew his patient could still die: the poison might already have overtaken him.At least no more will enter his blood stream.

He focused on the woman. Having more color, she seemed healthier than her husband. He poured two quarts before clear liquid showed. He covered the two with blankets.

Bobby Reece went to the communication center.Blast -- everything's in Danish!He could only assume that these radio dials were universal. He was happy to find that SOS and Mayday overcame all language barriers, for within minutes, an English-speaking doctor answered.

Robert described the symptoms, what he had done, mentioned the kipper can, and asked what more he could do. Within an hour a sea-plane landed in the fjord with the doctor. He patted Robert saying that if the patients pulled through it would because of quick thinking and acting. After exchanging E-mail addresses and radio codes, the doctor flew off with the prostrate patients. Meanwhile, the storm raged on.

Two days later the plane returned carrying a crew of very hardy sailors. They waved to Robert, then, in spite of the sea swells, sailed theHvidlogout of the fjord. Three weeks later Mr. Reece got an E-mail. It was from Elga Hojre, the woman whose stomach he had pumped. She had recovered enough to tend to business. Her husband, Hans, was still recuperating but was out of danger. Frau Hojre expressed her most heart-felt thanks for all he had done. She asked where he was. Robert responded by saying he was approaching Stockholm.

"If you can find your way to come to Bergen, Hans and I would be most appreciative," the thankful lady answered.

Just as Robert had sensed danger aboard theHvidlog, now he felt it would be right to visit Bergen. He E-mailed Elga and set sail.

By the time he reached the Norwegian seaport, Hans Hojre was fully

recovered. The two, surprised that Robert was so young, poured attention on him. The Hojre's were middle-aged and very highly cultured. Young Mr. Reece suspected they were not just wealthy but extremely wealthy, far from the type he could help financially or probably in any way now that they were well.

The two wanted to give Robert a gift, a reward to show their extreme gratitude for saving their lives. And there rose a dilemma, because Robert Reece didn't need anything. His enterprises were flourishing enough that he could buy a half-million dollar yacht with cash. But when he saw the sincerity of his new friends he knew he would insult them if he refused.

"I feel, dear Hojre's, that I can't accept a thing for what I did. However, perhaps you would feel comfortable donating to the scholarship fund at Iowa State University. Then many people will be happy."

Elga beamed and Hans glowed: a miracle in itself, thought Robert, since the last time he'd seen the couple they were a micro-millimeter from their graves. Later, the American found that a donation of exactly ten million dollars U.S. was given to ISU in his name. So big Robert Reeves got to play Santa twice through the single incident.

Pee Wee's second Santa scenario began a few weeks later when he docked at the beautiful harbor protecting La Teste-de-Buch, France. What joy he experienced! Robert found no place on his grand tour where the people were so naturally merry. That's where he met Marguerite.

Marguerite Limoges was a marvel. Calm, reserved, mature, he knew he could never see her romantically, but what an obvious friend! The thirty eight year-old hairdresser was a professional woman who, though not wildly ambitious, knew she had talent with hair and wanted to use it to the utmost. Not wishing to go to Paris or any megalopolis, she yearned quietly for some way to leave le-Buch.

Robert met the woman strolling on the wharf with the owner ofLa Coiffeur. Robert was immediately taken by the woman. Under the woman's down-to-earth yet sophisticated front, he sensed noticeable frustration. Madame Bonneau's lively spaniel helped introduce them.

As they chatted, Robert asked his innocuous, searching questions. And though it was in front of her employer, the hairdresser quietly but candidly said she felt she needed a change. Not from her profession, maybe no more than moving to another apartment. Perhaps a trip, something that would raise her spirits. Robert saw that the erudite lady was not asking for a handout, a liaison, or a free ride. She was speaking perfectly matter-

of-factly which, he came to learn, was the only way the mature woman could speak. Robert admired her forthrightness and responded through action. Within three days Marguerite quit her job, put her belongings in storage, and set sail with to God-only-knows-where for who-knows-how-long.

Marguerite turned out to be excellent company, an admirable crew member, and superb cook. The woman occupied the fore stateroom, otherwise unused, kept away from the Captain's privacy, and helped without having to be told. Neither knew what lay ahead: both sensed that what was meant to happen would, in its own time, and when that time came, both would probably recognize it. And so they sailed down the coast of Spain, Portugal, and part-way down Africa before steering to the open sea following the route taken five hundred years before by Columbus.

They reached the Caribbean, then sailed to Panama. Marguerite marveled at her new world. She took enough pictures to fill suitcases. At every stop she chatted with everyone who knew the several languages she spoke so fluently. Up the coast of Mexico they went, to San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, and on to Vancouver. Already Marguerite had visited more countries in those months than she had formerly dreamed of.

Along the way, Robert paid less attention to the woman because of her independent nature. He respected this just as she did the young man's generosity. So with complete confidence, the Captain and the hairdresser set sail for Hawaii.

The woman had never spent this much time on water. Still, she never got seasick, never complained about taking the night watch, and always gloried in the once-in-a-lifetime role of the nouvelle rich. In less than three weeks theSanta, the man, and the one-woman crew docked in Honolulu.

The first thing Marguerite did was get her hair done. She was lucky. The salon she chose would close its doors that very afternoon.

"Go back to the mainland," the owner said. "Business is good here, in fact, great, but I miss the seasons."

Marguerite and the proprietor had bonded so well that Elaine Paxton did a make-over gratis. "After all, you are my last customer!" As Robert strolled in, he heard the two women speak.

"I would buy your establishment cash if I had it," said the French woman in fluent, though accented, English. "As it is, I could only rent or

lease. But you must sell, so we're both in the pickle."

Sensing the dilemma and wanting to keep the frustration level down, Robert asked innocently who would occupy the other three spaces in the complex once Elaine left.

"No problem with the real estate broker or the insurance company," responded the woman. "But with the one empty space plus the salon, half of the building will be wasted. Bring in no revenue."

With that, Robert inspected the four-suite complex noting its condition as well as its location. He found the building was in sound shape, was located where international tourists could reach by walking from their hotels, and was begging to be purchased.

As the women chatted, Robert researched. He strolled to the wharf where he'd seen several American artists. Naturally he threw out one of his searching questions.

"If I won a lottery, I'd open a studio," responded the group spontaneously. "What painter wouldn't? And what better place than right here? Moreover, guess what we'd call it? The Starving Artist! The name alone would bring in the customers, don't you think?"

Pee Wee returned to the hairdresser's. Then he acted in a way some might consider impulsive, but it was in perfect accordance with his Santa Claus paradigm: He bought the complex flat out, lock, stock, and barrel.

He established Marguerite as the new proprietor. And since part of the stock and barrel was Elaine Paxton's equipment, the French woman was set. The stately French woman had her most fanciful dream fulfilled: she now had her own hairdressing salonandin Hawaii. Robert kept in touch via E-mail just as he did his businesses on the Mainland.

As he thought of visiting China, a notion entered the mind of the six foot-eight philanthropist: take a hold full of Jasmine tea to Ames. But that was just a whim. For now, the foot-loose sailor would simply take what came his way. Robert Pee Wee Reece sailed east happily, wondering who he would play Santa with next.