Last Thursday I braved darkness and rain to hear Dan Brown speak about his book "The Boys in the Boat" at Chimacum High School. A friend from L.A. had sent me the book, a non-fiction account of the U.W's men's rowing crew who won gold in the 1936 Berlin Olympics.
When I felt the book in my hand, a NY Times bestseller for two
years, I thought, "Well, maybe... but nowadays I'm not sure I have the patience to slog through a 400 page book. Perhaps a few pages...". I was still measuring the book's thickness between thumb and forefinger when I opened it...
Maybe you're thinking as I did: Hm, competitive rowing... no thanks!. Resist the thought. Take a look... just a few quick peeks.
That's how I started.... skimming paragraphs, looking for something to grab my attention. But once in, I was quickly hooked and kept doubling back savoring the beautiful, compelling prose. My leap-around strategy made it a quick read too: delightful memories of earlier passages had me turning pages avidly looking for more. By the time I saw the notice that the author was speaking, there was no way I was going to miss it!
Much of the backstory is fascinating: details of Northwest and UW's rivalries in the hard-scrabble thirties, the popularity of competitive rowing, Pocock's famed cedar boats, the events in Berlin. But the setting could have been any sport... badminton, horse shoes, ice curling. It's the people themselves that hold you tight... hook, line, and sinker.
Joe Rantz is the central figure and one of the boys in the boat. He was still a teenager when abandoned by his father and step-mother in the depths of the Depression. One day, battered by misfortune, his father quietly took him aside and told him "We can't make it here, Joe... But, Son," he continued, "the thing of it is, Thula wants you to stay here. I'd stay with you but I can't...". .
In a shattering moment of poignancy, he adds, "Look Son, if there's one thing I've figured out about life, it's if you want to be happy, you have to learn how to be happy on your own". Joe watched them drive away forever. His brothers, visible in the car's back oval window, cried "What about Joe?".
Left to fend for himself in their half-built farm house in Sequim, WA, Joe decided at that moment that even with friends "he would never let himself depend on them.. nor on his family, nor anyone else again, for his sense of who he was. He would survive, and he would do it on his own." He was only 14.
He stayed put in the farm house, harvested berries and mushrooms, poached fish, logged, resold liquor purloined from smugglers... and survived on his own. It was only at his older brother Fred's urging a few years later that he finally left Sequim to join Fred and his family in Seattle.
Once there Joe entered the U.W.; worked part time jobs to pay tuition; studied; got married; and, somehow, along the way, found time to earn a place on U.W.'s rowing crew. After returning from the Olympics, he "slowed down" a bit to finish his chemical engineering degree and begin his career. He spent 36 years working at Boeing.
In 2007, the last year of his life, his daughter met the author at their HOA meeting in Redmond. She approached Dan after the meeting and related details of her Dad's life and wondered if he'd like to meet her Dad to hear more.
Intrigued, Dan met with Joe who by this time had entered a hospice.
Dan recalls asking Joe if he could write about his life. "No," , Joe answered to a crestfallen Dan. "But," after a moment's pause, he continued, "you could write about the boat".
The story of the "boat" and what it meant to the crew is the heart of this wonderful narrative. There were nine young men in the crew. Young men from working class families in the middle of the Depression who took time out to do something extraordinary and then kept on living their lives with the same tenacity. Several became engineers; one a gynecologist; others rose to business management ; and one put himself through law school... eventually arguing and winning a case before the U.S. Supreme Court.
The Depression hadn't stopped them. They had held part-time jobs, completed tough college coursework, excelled at the brutally difficult training that is competitive rowing, and now, unfazed by the ominous backdrop of events in Germany, they were going to take the next step. At the Olympics, in Berlin.
The day of the race, the coach announced their strongest rower, Don Hume, was too ill to compete. The others talked it over and told the coach: we're not just nine guys in a boat; we're a crew... he's vital to the rhythm of the boat. ... If you put him in the boat, Coach, we'll pull him across the line... he can just go along for the ride". The coach answered "Go upstairs and get ready.", shouting after them: "And bring Hume along with you!"
Not only was a feverish Hume, sick for weeks, a major setback, they had been living in a poorly heated police barracks with only cold-water showers. Nights brought noise from parading storm troopers; police cadets drilling; military maneuvers rattling through the streets below; and raucous parties in nearby rooms. Then officials assigned them the toughest rowing lane too so they'd battle the wind and be unable to hear the starter's call.
But it was too late to sabotage their mission or dampen their determination. They were nine young men who had bonded. Nine young men who prevailed against the world's best and remained lifelong friends. Strong men who grew even stronger together. They were the "Boys on the Boat".
