Clark Mills.
Bill Douglas photo

Now, back in the early 1930s, at exactly what date I can't say, I was just a young lad living with my folks at what is now called Weavers Park. It was then my dad's ten-acre farm and his pride and joy. But the Depression convinced my mom that we should move into town and fix up our old rooming house. When I finally got a little time, I got busy and tacked up a little canvas kayak.

That was the start of fun, fun, fun. We were only the third house from Clearwater Bay on the south side of Haven Street. Now, Haven Street runs from east to west, or from west to east depending on which way you're going. It ran right down to the bay, and there was a traffic barrier and wooden stairway down the bluff to this lovely dock about 200 feet long with a 60-foot "T" on the end. It was about 16 feet wide the entire length, including the "T," which had a nice pavilion-type roof over it.

Now, it's a sure thing that when I wasn't needed at my paper route or at my house chores, I was off down at that wonderful dock with my kayak, messing about or swimming with my dog and a bunch of other little kids. Time went on, one beautiful day after another, and that gorgeous, sparkling bay beckoned us like the Pied Piper!

Our crowd of young'uns was growing in members all the time. Some had boats, and I helped some build theirs. I had built a bunch for myself, which I sold to others very nominally. A good many awnings just disappeared in our part of town, but the boat census grew.

All of a sudden I thought I should have a little larger boat than eight feet. I made one that was 12 feet long. I rigged up a trailer with old lawn mower wheels and, when I got to the stairway at the dock, I carried it down on my head. When I came in, I had to carry it up the stairway, which made me puff a little. But what really made my back sore was the little girl who lived in the house just north of the stairway. She would always push my trailer down the hill.

Now, just inshore from the dock were a couple of blocks of white sand beach, where it seemed there was always a little boat or two pulled up for a paint job on the bottom, for the barnacles were a real curse. It was right interesting what I was asked to furnish, and we had some innovative repairs on some unique homemade boats.

As the Depression wore on, there kept coming to our happy gatherings kids of all ages, from all over town. Some I knew already. Some I would know shortly. They would sit on the dock and watch us swimming and having a big time. All of a sudden, they would pull off their shirts and take off their shoes (if they had any) and they would join us. Saltwater doesn't really hurt cutoff dungarees, and though it was a wonderful, splashy, yelling good old time, it was sort of a baptism, for there were many lifelong friendships made right there.

Mrs. Burts, a well-off, retired elderly lady who lived at the house just south of the stairway, told me that she thought that was the nicest group of kids she had ever seen. She was expecting her daughter and two grandsons for the winter, and she hoped they could join in the fun.

Mrs. Burts asked me if I could build her a good rowboat for her grandsons, Bumps (who was nine) and Bimbo (who was six). I quoted a price of $18.50 for a 14-foot cypress skiff. It turned out well, and she tipped me $5 extra, so I made a couple of dollars after all.

Now Mrs. Burts was not our only adult guardian angel. On Bay Avenue, which ran south from Haven Street just a few houses from her, lived Mrs. Meredith, who was long famed for her charity and good deeds city-wide. She and Mrs. Burts sort of got together and pushed the city fathers into improving things at the Haven Street dock. I am somehow led to believe that each lady made a
large cash contribution with that order. All of this was some 60 years ago, so bear with me. I don't know all the politics, but all of a sudden a city crew came down and enclosed half of the roofed-over portion of the dock and added a door and two windows. We were astonished.

At various intervals, WPA replaced the wooden stairs with concrete. At some point, a small dredge was brought in and tied to the dock. After a couple of months, it cut all the mud off the hard pan and gave us a little over three-foot channel.

Now, at what point in time the group decided to form a junior yacht club, or who initiated the idea, I cannot say, but it was formed very properly with someone's Rules of Parliament, much noise, and a marvelous lot of enthusiasm. We had officer elections one evening a week later. I was made commodore, I guess because I fixed all the boats and stuff.

We voted to chip in, I forget how much each, to buy a new gasoline pressure lantern to replace my old cow barn lantern. It cost almost $4, and we hung it on the crossbeam overhead. It was wonderful, bright as day. I think every mosquito in the county came to that meeting to see it.

Our members slowly learned that a bit of sail did the work of a lot of rowing and paddling, and easier, too. I had the honor and privilege of building many of these fellows their first sailboat. We were collecting quite a motley type of fleet. You could go to the lumber company in those days and, for a little extra, buy a pair of extra wide boards of good cypress, often 16-18 inches wide. That was considered a fine way for a cracker man to start a nice boat. And in the course of events, I had learned how to put a centerboard well in a skiff.

Seeing ourselves as proper club guys, we planned and had a series of races. That was really a hoot. None of us were too good at it. We also planned several camping trips to Dan's Island, which was deserted sand dunes at the time, and cruises to Hog Island and Anclote Key.

The idea was broached that we chip in 25 cents apiece and cook a big kettle of something good. Boy, what a mess up! Louis told me he would bring the chicken all cleaned, for me to get the fire going and the vegetables boiling, and he would be right behind me. He was two hours late. The vegetables and rice were done. Louis threw the chicken right in and, in another ten minutes, we had raw chicken and vegetables that were too done.

If you were one of these youngsters, you would surely remember the club's first winter. Those were some very interesting hot old times. I don't remember which year on the calendar, but it was one of those winters when we would have a shrieking thirty-mile-per-hour northwester every third day and a freeze in between.

Someone said we ought to have a stove in our clubhouse, so I made them a nice stove out of a 20-gallon grease drum. I cut a proper door, put on hinges, made a slide draft regulator at the bottom, and used a four-inch rain pipe for a stack. It was great. Now, that stove should have its place in history as a great piece of backyard engineering. You understand, our whole dock was cypress.

The dock was about two-and-a-half inches thick, and every six or eight inches there was a half inch crack, so there was a right smart northwester blowing in our clubhouse! Joe Constantine brought almost a cord of litered pine down from his dad's grove. Those kids kept shoving pine into the stove until all of a sudden it was bright red hot! The stack was too, and it was going "huff, huff huff!" Directly, we were all standing out in the cold wind, because it was just too hot in there!

In my senior year of high school, I had built in my backyard a huge sixteen-footer. It was about eight feet in the beam and had acres of deck and a cockpit. I could take the whole gang on a picnic. Those picnics sort of stay in my mind as examples of how simple things were then, compared to now. I'd bring my boat in to the dock right after breakfast, get it all cleaned up and ready for company. I would bring a sack of tangerines or grapefruit and nothing else. Sometimes I'd have four couples, sometimes three girls and five boys, with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There would be fruit jars of iced tea or lemonade, and sometimes a sport would bring a half dozen Baby Ruth candy bars. No booze, no, sir.

I remember one Dan's Island picnic we planned. As I recollect, there were about three boats that left Haven Street dock about ten o'clock one lovely summer morning. We had asked all the girls we could to come and there was a bunch. They had bags and boxes of food and drink. There was a good breeze, and we were at the island in no time. We all had bathing suits under our clothes, and all went swimming on one of the world's prettiest beaches. Then all ate, and one boatload of kids went sailing down the bay. Some of us lay in the shade of the mangrove trees, some slept, some walked the beach. We just lazed the day away.

Along towards sundown, we realized the wind had dropped a bit. By the time we were all loaded for home, it had nearly quit. With the tide running against us, those overloaded clunkers didn't paddle very well. We were using the floorboards as paddles. We didn't make it back to the Haven Street dock until about midnight. There were all those car headlights at the top of the hill, and those irate daddies had hard words for me.

Well, it does make me happy to know that I have sincerely tried to show those in my reach what deep pleasure and huge joy even a small sailboat can bring one. There were a considerable number of lads who came along and did not find our club good enough for them, or they already belonged to the Clearwater Yacht Club at Clearwater Beach or to the Dunedin Boat Club, but we were all buddies just the same.

I think the senior club members were glad to see new young people in the offing. They occasionally put on a race just for juniors. It is with great joy that I can remember these happy days of my youth, but I also have some sad regrets, too. Sixty years will rob you of a lot of your friends. But I am sometimes really proud to have some old buddy show up and visit after all this time. There are a few, thank heaven.

There used to be little docks at the end of every street in Clearwater, and people enjoyed them. But no more. I don't believe there is anything left at the site of the old Haven Street dock, just some piling ends sticking out of the water. Sometimes I wonder if today's kids have anything like half the fun we used to have. I doubt it. Steady as she goes.

Clark Mills is the creator of the Optimist dinghy, now the most widely sailed boat in the world.