Splash looked over at the crowd at the north end of the conference table. The fog outside the east window bank swaddled the view in white nearly as thick as white cotton stuffing. “It is supposed to get to the mid-fifties later, so I think we will be done with the snow cover by this evening.”

Melissa laughed. “Except for that big pile of ice down at the intersection.” She pointed at the lower right-hand corner of the window where the cars were barely discernible.

(Duvall, Kallas, Jackson and Neith).

“I was impressed with European Union foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas. She is a lovely woman who made a speech suggesting Secretary Rubio was being an unnecessary pessimist in his remarks Sunday. She also did a glamour shot, though it wasn’t in the same presentation.”

Miles clicked his remote at the flatscreen. “OK. I thought we would do a retrospective on the passing of Robert Duvall. He pretty much defined what a man of action looked like in his time on the planet. He was 95, so he had a pretty darn good run.”

“Duvall’s great line is one I use all the time,” said Rocket. “Smells like napalm in the morning. I am not sure if it smells like victory, but I am going to go with the aroma.”

Vic leaned forward. “That isn’t going to work as a title for a respectful treatment of lovely foreign diplomatics, great actors and a legendary action figure in the Civil Rights struggle. I heard on WTOP that Jesse Jackson also passed. I didn’t realize they weren’t talking about Duvall until I got a look at the smart phone.”

“I didn’t agree with him on a lot of stuff,” Splash said, leaning back in his chair. “But he made it to 84 and seeing the pictures of him as a young man with Doctor King brought back memories of the 1960’s and some of the problems we overcame. And some that are still with us.”

Vic is a little more pensive than the old Aviation free-hanging members of the Creative Section. “But none of those were the story I wanted to get to this morning. I mentioned it to the Old Salts at the Songbird bar last night. We were swapping sea stories and I talked about the time I spent on a historic boat that was down at the heels up on the North Shore of Boston. They did a couple quick Google searches and came up with the history of the yacht I was living on. I spent four months chipping paint on her there before a I joined the Navy.”

Melissa held up her hand, red nails flashing in the light. “Did you breathe a lot of toxic dust? That would explain some of your stories.”

“No, no solvents or sanding machines involved,” said Vic with a virtuous smile. “I did breathe in some history though. Th boat was named Neith, 53 feet on the bow. Proud Marconi rig. It was built in 1907 by the Herreshoff brothers for their Doctor as a Gentleman’s weekender. He named it for the Egyptian Goddess of the hunt.”

“The Doctor was a Scotsman and named it for the Egyptia. He kept a statue of her in the bilge when the sailing season was on and then had her paraded to his house for the winter with an escort of bagpipers.”
“She was 68 years old then. What does she look like now?”

“119 years old this season coming up. There was a complete restoration that makes my work seem pathetic. but she is part mine in spirit. And four months work. And maybe why the idea of living on a boat and seeing the world may have led to something else. And if you want inspiration, try this one from last season on for size.” He held up his iPad and waved it slowly before the group.

“The people who own it now can make her sing.”

Copyright 2026 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotrra.com