A Crocker Comes Home

During a summer
sojourn to her
home waters, an
old ketch’s past
takes on vivid
meaning when
her original first
mate, 60 years on,
pays a visit.
Crocker
A
Comes Home
By Elaine Lembo
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Billy Black
bo
In 1946, Mary Paul “Paulie” Loomis spent her honeymoon sailing for four months
aboard the ketch Land’s End in Alaska. She cursed at hefty brown bears who interrupted her
foraging for blueberries, caught salmon, and climbed the mainmast like a monkey to perch in the
spreaders, alert for rock and reef. It was a pretty brave foray in a time when the waters of that vast
territory weren’t charted to a modern standard.
The 22-year-old was from the MacLeod family of Philadelphia’s Main Line. Her newlywed
husband, Henry Loomis, hailed from one of the wealthiest, best educated, and most influential
families in America. His scientist father, Alfred Lee Loomis, helped develop radar and invented
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L and ’ s E nd
a bowsprit, a boomkin, and
yards and yards of canvas,
including a squaresail.
Below, the boat’s amenities
were basic yet comfortable.
An icebox that was loaded
from the deck could carry
up to 550 pounds of ice;
coal was routed through a
scuttle to a locker beneath
the Shipmate cook stove.
The nav station was
amidships, opposite the
head; the saloon contained
a varnished dining table and
was made cozier thanks to
a Wilcox crittenden blue
ceramic fireplace, trimmed
with bronze edging, a Delft
tile of a Dutch sailing barge
as its centerpiece over the
hearth. A forward cabin
contained single bunks with
mahogany leeboards.
The brothers loved sailing
the boat and raced it in the
1936 Newport-Bermuda
Race, voyaged to Labrador
and circumnavigated
Newfoundland, then
shipped the boat to Seattle.
And that’s where Paulie—
who, as a 19-year-old,
was one of the youngest
members of the Women
Airforce Service Pilots
but didn’t know how to
sail—enters the story.
After a familiar wartime
pattern, a young Paulie
met a young Henry in San
Francisco when he was on
shore leave from the USS
Enterprise aircraft carrier.
Perhaps he was drawn to
her youthful beauty, her
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independent thinking, or her
spunk. Maybe her prowess
as a horsewoman, skier,
hunter, tennis player, and
fisherwoman drew him in.
But surely her
achievements as a pilot
bowled him over: Paulie was
one of only 1,074 women
to fly in service to the U.S.
World War II military
effort. Of the 104 women
in her class, designated
44-W-3, only 56 graduated.
Paulie herself test-flew the
dangerous B-26 and the light
cessna 78, one of which she
landed without a hitch when
the engines gave out right
after takeoff.
The romance blossomed
into marriage. Brother Lee
sold his share in Land’s End
and gave it to Henry and
Paulie as a wedding gift. Off
they went.
“I love Land’s End,” Paulie
told me in the summer of
2012 when I met her on a
remarkable day aboard the
boat after the 46th-annual
S.S. crocker Memorial
Race in Manchester by the
Sea, Massachusetts. “But I
thought she’d been cut up
and sunk. I thought I’d lost
her forever.”
She wasn’t exaggerating
her feelings; her love for the
ketch was evident.
But what was it exactly
that Paulie and countless
other sailors have so clearly
known and felt so deeply
about Land’s End? What
was it that I—after nearly
15 years of supportive
yet somewhat passive
immersion in the life of this
boat—still stubbornly didn’t
get about her?
Perhaps, I thought as I
sat down to chat with the
woman who’d pioneered
the role that I now play on
Land’s End, the opportunity
for understanding what had
been invisible to me was at
hand.
PAULIE’S RIGHT ON
ONE cOUNT: She did lose
Land’s End, when she and
Henry divorced in 1974
and he took the boat to
Maine. But many happy
years interceded. career
opportunities for Henry
at MIT called; the couple
moved back to the U.S. East
coast, buying a home on a
tiny island lying practically
midchannel in the harbor
at Manchester. They had
four children. All of the
Loomises—family and a
wide net of friends—cruised
and raced spring through fall
aboard Land’s End, which
was brought back East and
kept on a mooring by the
boathouse at the island.
The boys loved diving off
the spreaders; a daughter,
Pixie, who’d grow up to be an
equestrienne, loved riding
the staysail until Henry
would shoo her away so he
could raise it. The family
spent a Thanksgiving or two
aboard the boat at Jeffreys
Ledge, off the Massachusetts
RICK MARTELL (BELOW, RIGHT), cOURTESy OF kATHy ANDERSON (ABOVE), COURTESY OF PAULIE AND LUCY LOOMIS
the long-range navigation
system known to sailors as
LORAN, and Henry, as a
lieutenant commander in
the U.S. Navy, trained pilots
in its use during World War
II. This is but a smidge of
the countless, lofty Loomis
family accomplishments
over the 1900s in science,
government, and business.
The Loomises also loved
to sail. Alfred Lee put up the
money, and Henry had the
mahogany-planked, oakframed Land’s End, designed
by Sam crocker and built
by Britt Brothers in Lynn,
Massachusetts, completed
for himself and his brother,
Alfred Lee Jr., in 1935. Lee,
as Henry’s brother was
known, went on to became
a financier and an Olympic
sailor who also managed the
successful IndependenceCourageous America’s cup
syndicate in 1977. Not only
was Land’s End a platform
for nautical exploits; she
also once came in handy
for science: The senior
Alfred Lee had an interest
in brainwave research, and
for one experiment into
hypnotic suggestion, an
investigation into the impact
of emotional disturbances
on brainwave activity, he
whispered into a sleeping
Henry’s ear that Land’s End
was on fire.
Like crocker’s other
trademark designs, Land’s
End was sturdy, rugged, and
simple, with a plumb bow,
Henry Loomis (left) was
always bare-chested
aboard. And “he was never as
relaxed or as completely happy
as when he was on Land’s End,”
recalls daughter Pixie. A sturdy
cruising boat and an offshore
racer, Land’s End fared decently
in the 1936 Newport-Bermuda
Race and in local regattas off
Manchester, Massachusetts
(right). The lively pack of
Loomis kids—Lucy (center, from
left), Pixie, Gordon, and Timmy—never lacked for mischief.
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This photo of Land’s End
under full sail off Manchester,
Massachusetts, was taken in the
early 1970s. It was a gift from
Kathy Anderson of Manchester
Marine, where we stopped for
fuel and ice before setting out for
Maine in July 2012. Anderson’s
father, Burrage “Woody”
Woodberry, was Manchester
Marine’s head mechanic for 30
years and oversaw many projects
aboard the boat.
coast; they roasted turkey,
although usually the
onboard fare was a pretty
spare matter.
As the kids became
teenagers, they’d take off
alone aboard her. Somebody
was always getting into
mischief; groundings weren’t
unusual, but the boat could
take it. Over the years, in
her steady, comfortable
way, Land’s End touched
dozens of lives, and today, a
number of people carry vivid
memories of her.
But on the other count—
the rumors of sinking and
demolition—Paulie, to her
own endless delight and
that of family and friends, is
blessedly wrong.
So far, the ketch has had
three owners: the Loomises,
then Bob Booth, who bought
the boat from Henry in the
1990s and kept her in Rhode
Island to teach sail training.
The third, and current
owner, is Captain Rick
Martell, my other half, who
found Land’s End at a yard
off Rhode Island’s Sakonnet
River in a pretty sorry
Over the years, countless
friends and family mem-
bers were invited aboard to sail
Land’s End in waters as close as
southeastern New England and
as far as Maine; favorite mascots
included a pair of Norwich terriers and a raccoon. After decades
of believing that Land’s End no
longer existed, Paulie Loomis
(right), the original first mate,
was reunited with her at the
annual S.S. Crocker Memorial
Race, a fun and well-attended
summertime event.
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L and ’ s E nd
state, although intact and
complete with all tackle.
Over my vigorous objections,
Rick bought her in 1999.
“It’s the boat I’ve wanted
to own all my life!” was his
battle cry.
My forces were swiftly
routed. Nose in the air
and not all fingers in the
pie, I cursed Booth for the
gross interior left behind,
the bulkheads painted
turquoise, the scratchy
settees laden with cat hair.
And I wasn’t nuts about
miles of teak and mahogany,
leaks and mold, belaying
pins, or a boomkin.
UNDETERRED BY
HIS GRUMBLING and
whiny first mate, my good
captain, a Renaissance
man of sorts—VietNam vet,
potter and artist, logger,
professional skipper and
delivery captain—set off on
a mammoth project over
the next dozen years to
refurbish the love of his life.
Today, though pretty much
as she was when Henry had
her built, Land’s End carries
a new main, jib, and mizzen
sail and roller furling; lazy
jacks; varnished grabrails;
a rebuilt samson post; a
reconstructed transom
that’s now varnished,
not painted; a rebuilt
Westerbeke marinized
diesel; Lowrance radar and a
chart plotter; and some new
deck hardware, including a
rounded varnished box that
people think is the rum cask
but is actually an attractive
Billy black (above), Michel Savage
The
interior
(inset, far right)
of Land’s End had
potential, but the
color and feel were all
wrong. We’re happy
with the changes
we made.
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undeterred by his grumbling,
whiny first mate, skipper rick
martell set about on a mammoth
project to refurbish the love
of his life.
isolator, interior lighting,
a redesigned galley with
wood shelving, liner boards
of mahogany above the
lockers, and new cushions
upholstered with jade-green
Ultrasuede. He wooded,
reefed, and caulked the
hull. He ripped out the
gross, spongy cork sole and
had one of satin-surfaced
pine boards installed.
Rummaging around at
marine consignment shops,
Rick found a kerosene
anchor light, which we
suspend from the mizzen
boom in the cockpit at night,
and a hurricane lantern,
which we use to warm the
saloon. Last, but not least,
he painstakingly removed
the turquoise paint and
refinished the interior with
an eggshell white.
We did make one
other small change that’s
important to us. Working
in what former CW editor
Nim Marsh calls the Word
way to hide a propane tank.
More recently, another 1,000
pounds of ballast have gone
in to put her back on her
lines and help balance her
better under sail.
Belowdecks are more
of the fruits of Rick’s hard
labor, which he’s fit in
between seasons of sailing
various designs—from
Oysters to Hinckleys and
Swans—to and from the
Caribbean for private
owners. He installed, or had
installed, new upgraded
electrics, extra battery
banks and a galvanic
without an apostrophe,
and it didn’t make sense,
if the reference was to
England’s most southern
point of land. So we made
the change to “Land’s End,”
and when Rick found an
Olde Towne canvas-covered
ribbed dinghy, we named
her Lizard, for the opposing,
smaller point of land.
Both are in decent enough
form. Land’s End is still
rough around the edges
and needs way more TLC
than our pocketbooks can
afford; there’s nothing more
costly, or non-essential, we
know, than restoring and
maintaining a classic wood
ketch. In the 1980s, Brooklin
Boat Yard in Maine had
done a partial refit of Land’s
End for Henry. But make no
mistake—the boat is not a
museum piece. Land’s End
is no gleaming Herreshoff
New York 40, 12-Meter, or
S- or P-class charmer that
wins the silver trophies on
the wooden-boat regatta
circuit. She’s an old boat,
and she’s for relaxing.
She hasn’t been cut
up, and she hasn’t sunk,
and those are the most
important things of all.
Mines of Cruising World,
I’ve learned to appreciate
the style requirements of the
National Geographic atlas.
Over the years Land’s End
was spelled “Lands End,”
EARLY ON, IN
SUMMER we’d explored
a few Narragansett
Bay anchorages ,
southeastern coastal
Massachusetts, and
Martha’s Vineyard.
Cruising is for going
places, I’d complain, not
tinkering and varnishing.
And the mold—sheesh!
Admittedly, it was a treat
to bring Land’s End into
a harbor: People buzzing
around in their dinghies
would sing out admiration
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for the classic wood ketch.
When this happened, the
sting over the amount
of time and money she
commanded in our lives
would mingle momentarily
with pride, which I had
no business feeling, as
this was Rick’s project,
not mine. He’d only nod
at my repeated critiques,
and when people paid him
compliments, he’d beam a
brilliant smile.
Eventually, we converged
with other owners of
crocker designs. Barry
Blaisdell, the owner of
at crocker’s Boat yard, we
met Sam’s son Sturgis, his
son, Sam, and Sam’s son,
Skip. People were thrilled to
learn that Land’s End indeed
was afloat. “you’ve got to
bring her up to do the race,”
they told us. “you have to.”
THE FRONT PAGE of
The Manchester Cricket,
an independent weekly
newspaper, offers up the
usual small-town fodder writ
large. And the front-page
feature in the issue of June
22, 2012, was no different,
unless you happened to be
“Are you still coming?”
he asked. “We’ve put your
lines drawing on the glasses
we give out after the race.
We’ll give you a mooring for
as long as you need it and
put you on the dock of the
Manchester yacht club for
the party. And the wife of
the original owner wants to
speak to you.”
The heat was on; we were
committed. Rick went into
delivery mode, plotting
a 100-mile course from
Newport, Rhode Island, to
Manchester, buying food,
and loading pounds of
“land’s end?” exclaimed Paulie Loomis over the phone.
“i love that boat. i need to see it aGain!”
Gabriel, a crocker sloop,
contacted us and invited
us to do the annual race in
2001. (See “From Land’s
End to the crocker cult,”
in CW July 2002.) Sailed
on a triangular, windwardleeward course of about
20 miles, the race is one of
the larger summer sailing
events in New England and
has drawn up to 100 boats
in dozens of current and
classic-plastic designs, from
catalinas to Tartans, Bristols
to Sabres, Pearsons to
Hanses, Jeanneaus to Js.
Land’s End, we decided,
wasn’t ready for a 100-mile
transit from Rhode Island to
the starting line that year, so
we drove up and crewed with
the Blaisdells, and Gabriel
won. At the post-race party
a now-88-year-old woman
named Paulie Loomis or the
man whom Loomis didn’t
know: Rick Martell.
“Lands’ End Featured for
46th Annual S.S. crocker
Race” read the headline,
with yet another variation of
the possessive apostrophe.
“Each year the crocker
Race is dedicated to the
memory of S.S. crocker
and the boats he designed,”
begins the article by carrie
Woodruff. “This year’s
featured boat is the Lands’
End, built in 1935 for Lee
and Henry Loomis.”
Paulie called Skip. “I want
the owner’s phone number!”
she demanded.
Skip assured her that
he’d pass on her contact
details, then contacted Rick.
y’s
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block ice into the box—yes,
through the deck. Before he
left, he called Paulie.
“Who’s this?” she said.
“Wimbledon’s on.”
“It’s Rick Martell, Mrs.
Loomis,” he said. “I’m the
owner of Land’s End, and
Skip crocker said you
wanted to talk to me.”
“Land’s End?” she
exclaimed. “I love that boat.
I need to see it again!”
THE REUNION OF
PAULIE and her beloved
boat was enormously
significant for me. It was an
event that in my mind, in
retrospect, eclipsed the race
itself on July 14, although
that, too, was a weighty
achievement for Land’s
End—and a ton of fun for
all the crews of the 60-boat
fleet, which included a total
of four crocker designs. Post
race, we tied up at the slip at
the Manchester yacht club
as the belle of the ball; we
lay next to Tyrone, a 60-foot
crocker whose owner, Matt
Sutphen, had embarked on
a love affair similar to Rick’s
in 2006, when he bought
the schooner. A stream of
admirers, well-wishers, and
former crewmembers who’d
sailed on Land’s End came
aboard, and the captain
wore the grin of a man who’d
won a billion-dollar lottery.
“Overwhelmed” is about the
only word that describes the
state of the first mate, who’d
presided over a rushed and
frenzied session of polishing
and cleaning, air-freshening
and rearranging. Any less of
an effort was unthinkable on
a day that more than a dozen
years ago would have been
simply unfathomable.
“This is just great!” Paulie
burst out as Rick reached
over and helped her climb
aboard. “She hasn’t changed
a bit!”
Of course not, I thought,
but I behaved, buttoned my
lip, then scurried past her
belowdecks so I could take in
her reactions when she saw
the interior.
Slowly, steadily,
knowingly, Paulie descended
the steep companionway
stairs, turned toward me
in the saloon, and, with an
amazed and half-dazed look
RIck MARTELL (ABOVE), MIcHEL SAVAGE
L and ’ s E nd
It was a cold winter in 1999
when the ink dried on our deal to
purchase Land’s End. The interior ceiling was in a sorry state
when we found her, and the mast
had been pulled, but the previous
owner had made sure that power
kept the portable heaters belowdecks running. On deck back
then, we take in the scope of the
project that lay ahead of us.
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Get Ready: JOIN the 5oth
S.S.Crocker Memorial Race
While our participation in the 46th race in memory of
naval architect Sam Crocker was a milestone for Land’s
End, the highly popular and well attended event comes off
like clockwork every July. Anticipation is now building for
the 50th celebration, set for 2016. Send your ideas for a
fitting tribute to both Crocker designs and half a century
of the regatta to the president of Crocker’s Boat Yard, Skip
Crocker (www.sscrockerrace.com).
E.L.
on her face, ran her hands
over the liner boards as she
moved forward. Then she
kissed the kerosene lantern
above the nav station.
“This is just great!” she
said again. “Henry would’ve
loved to see this.” She settled
onto a settee cushion,
and Rick came below just
in time to hear her begin
reminiscing. Memories
poured out of her like milk
from a pitcher. No stone was
left unturned; she recalled
the 24 snatch blocks that
went with the square sail,
the challenge of heaving to,
how she and Henry traded
watch duties, how the boat
originally had no forward
hatch, where she had dish
drying racks installed so she
could clean up and set drinks
out. Looking down, she said,
“The cork sole was so greasy.
This is so much better.”
My jaw tightened; goose
bumps popped up on my
arms. This woman really
remembers this boat. Really.
She went on. During their
Alaska honeymoon cruise,
they were running low on ice
as they came into Nanaimo,
on Vancouver Island.
“We got there and asked
if we could get some ice,”
Paulie said. “Henry had
grown this beard. He was a
good-looking man. The guy
on the dock said he’d sell
us 150 pounds. I said, ‘150
pounds isn’t going to take us
anywhere.’
“ ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you
500 pounds, because your
husband looks so much like
Jesus Christ.’ I nearly fell over!”
While Paulie and Rick
chatted on about sailing, the
Loomis family, and the boat’s
years in Manchester, my
mind was racing. There were
things I still wanted to know;
gaps in the tale nagged at
me. I needed to settle at least
one of them. She’d told Rick
during their phone call that
she’d spent her honeymoon
aboard the boat, whose
forward cabin contains only
single bunks.
I interrupted them.
“While you cruised in
Alaska,” I said, “You say you
slept in—?”
“We slept here, in the
saloon,” she answered
without missing a beat. She
grabbed the slat that I’d
forgotten about, the one just
beneath the starboard settee,
and gave it a tug inboard.
“I had this made into a
double,” she said. “It was
so warm and cozy with the
fireplace. Don’t ever lose
that,” she said, emphatically
pointing at the fireplace. “It’s
a treasure.”
And that was my instant
of clarity. It all made sense
to me now, Paulie Loomis
aboard Land’s End, in
1946, in Alaska, on her
honeymoon. With her
fortune and her imagination
and her drive, she could
have placed herself at any
one of the beautiful or
elegant places that the world
conjures up for pleasure.
Instead, she chose to court
rough-hewn adventure on
Land’s End. In Paulie Loomis
endures the spirit and truth
about Land’s End, a saga of
living life to the fullest that
I’d ignored all these years,
too focused, I now see, on
mold and miles of varnish.
So, as I’d done countless
times before—always
immersed in all my senses,
but with the feeling on
those occasions that there
was much more to this boat
than I could ever know—I
scanned the saloon and its
contents: simple kerosene
lamps, varnished lockers,
wooden ceiling ribs painted
eggshell white, the dining
table, the blue ceramic
hearth. I listened, and at last,
I heard.
For the woman who so
loved the outdoors, who was
endowed with a trail-blazing
spirit, who was a brave pilot
towing live targets in war
time, who wasn’t a sailor but
had a few bucks, drove across
America, met and fell in love
with a man from one of the
country’s more prominent,
fearless, and patriotic 20thcentury families, Land’s End
made perfect sense. And it
still does.
Elaine Lembo is CW’s
deputy editor.
Among much of the kit
that’s original to the boat is the
cockpit binnacle (left). Its red
night lighting still worked when
we bought her; we’ve replaced
several of the glass panes that
were cracked. A few of the major
reconstruction projects included
rebuilding the boomkin (absent
in the photo at right) and replacing the transom, which is now
varnished. We also replaced the
nameboard and changed the
hailing port to Newport, Rhode
Island, where we live.
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