A litte history is in order

We moved into our current home about two years ago. Just across our back property line we saw an old sailboat sitting at the back our neighbor's lot, gathering leaves, pine straw and other debris. One day, when our neighbor was out in the yard, I called to him and asked him about the boat. He told me that it belonged to his son in-law and that it had been there for a number of years. I asked if he thought his son in-law would be interested in selling the boat. He thought he would be and gave me his name and phone number. So I called him and we chatted and I floated my opening offer. It quickly became evident that there was a strong emotional attachment and that my low-ball bid was on the verge of being insulting. As it turns out, he was he had been the sole owner of the boat having purchased it at the age of 15, back in 1973. The conversation ended and I figured I might approach him again at some point in the future.

So the months start to slip by and each day I would see the boat through the trees and it began to take hold of me. A boat is meant to be sailed, not serve as an impromptu compost bin. My wife would tell you that it started to border on obsession. So one day a couple of weeks back, I decided to build my case and educate the owner on the current condition of his beloved boat, the market value of a seaworthy T16 and my estimates of the repair cost with an open invitation to meet and work out an agreeable price. I included pictures of the boat, my refit cost estimate and several comparable sales as reference. The day he received the letter, he called (I was not home so he left a message). After playing a full round of phone tag, we finally caught up and he was now quite willing to talk. We agreed to meet a few days hence to allow me to have a look at the sails (which had been kept safely out of the weather at his home). The sails checked out and we quickly agreed on the price. The boat was mine. I learned along the way that he had raced actively in his youth and into his young adult years. He never came in last and won his fair share of races. Marriage, a profession and a move or two created enough distractions and other interests in his life that the boat was all but forgotten. It has been twelve years since it has seen water, other than rain and the occasional snow flake. So now I will set about restoring her so a new generation of boys (I have three) can learn to sail, and perhaps even race...