The Boat Accident

Every year for summer vacation my family would go to Clear Lake for fishing and water skiing. Clear Lake is just north of San Francisco. It’s 68 square miles, the oldest natural freshwater lake in North America. We would leave in the dark early morning from Los Angeles. My parents would put me and my two older sisters in the back of our brown station wagon. We would sleep back there with no seat belts. Somewhere on the road, we would wake with the sun already up, excited to be on vacation. For seven years in a row, we had done this, meeting the same three families up there. One of the families had ten kids! We would stay for two weeks, it was the ultimate summer vacation destination. A pristine lake surrounded by rolling hills that looked like giant chocolate chip cookies. We would swim, play on intertubes, water ski, fish, ride in aluminum boats, eat fried fish and blueberry cheesecake my mom would make, catch lizards, and walk from cottage to cottage saying hi to the other families and their children.

The boat dock at Clear Lake. My mom and dad, my sisters Naomi and Theresa and me.

One of the families was my father’s best friend, I called him my uncle. My father met him during the time of World War II. They both joined a branch of the US Army called MIS: Military Intelligence Service, as interpreters. These interpreters would translate Japanese maps, combat orders, Japanese POWs, etc. My father’s job was translating for the war crime trials. The MIS played a vital role in shortening the US war with Japan. There was a group of these MIS guys that were in my family's life. They would come with their wives and children to my parents’ house and party. They loved their whiskey.

My uncle had three children who I called my cousins. One of them was fourteen years old, he was like a big brother to me. It was August 14, 1971. Me and my cousin went down to the boat dock made of old gray wooden planks. They were the kind that would give you long splinters if you were barefoot and running too fast, which I did. I was eight years old and full of mischief, wearing a life preserver and broken glasses with tape on one of the corners. We walked down the boat ramp with my dog, GiGi, a little gray French poodle. It was windy that day with white caps on the water. My dad and my uncle were working on my uncle’s ski boat. My uncle had a presence, a confidence about him, and a strong laugh. My father was quiet with a ready smile, not athletic, an artist at heart. It was our first day of vacation, and they wanted to get out on the water. My uncle asked my dad if he wanted to drive the boat, my dad smiled and said sure. Me and my cousin immediately jumped in, stepping on the yellow ski rope spooled on the floor.

I still see it clearly, my father was behind the wheel, my uncle in the front passenger seat, my cousin on the back left bench, and me on the right. We headed into the wind, the boat jarring against the white caps. I held my hand out feeling the spray from the water hitting the waves, BAM BAM… BAM. I watched the water dripping and glistening off my hand, this was the high point of summer. My uncle yelled to my dad to give it some gas. He pushed the throttle and we started flying across the lake. He gripped the steering wheel going faster BAM… BAM… BAM off the white caps. I remember the sound and the feeling as the boat hit wave after wave… BAM! I was thrown to the floor of the boat. I looked down at the green astroturf biting into my hands and knees. The sound of the engine roared at full throttle. I looked up, the boat was tilted hard left going full speed, and it was empty of all passengers. My father had hit a wave and got tossed left turning the wheel. All three of them were thrown into the water, and I fell to the floor. Looking up, all I saw was my dog cowering up front. I started crawling to get her as the boat roared, slamming against the waves. It felt like I was climbing the back of a giant bucking bronco. The boat hit a wave and kicked me into the air, throwing me overboard, entangled in the ski rope. I landed in the water surrounded by a burst of a million bubbles. Suddenly the ski rope went tight around my chest dragging me underwater behind the ski boat. I watched my arms and legs dangling like a rag doll. Holding my breath I grabbed my glasses off my face knowing I would need them later to see. All of a sudden as the boat raced in a tight circle, the ski rope went slack. I popped up out of the water because I was wearing a life preserver, I was the only one wearing one. My cousin was right there, somehow he knew what was going on and helped me out of the ski rope. He saved my life. I put my glasses on and stared in shock watching the boat roar past me making waves. It was like being dropped into a warzone. My father was to my right fighting to stay above water, my cousin to my left watching his father. We were all on the outside of the boat’s circling path. My uncle was the only one inside the boat’s circle, and he didn’t know how to swim. My cousin tried to swim across to help him, but my uncle yelled “Get away from the boat!”. We were all in shock, bobbing in the water as the waves churned around us. I saw my uncle growing tired struggling to stay above the waves. His head would go under, then come back up as the boat circled. He fought to stay afloat, then he went down one last time and never came back up.

People finally arrived in another boat to rescue us. They had seen our boat spinning in circles and realized something was wrong. They pulled us out of the water and into their boat. My cousin yelled out desperately for his dad. My father called out for his friend. I watched as my uncle’s ski boat continued to spin in circles. My dog GiGi was standing in the driver’s seat, her gray ears blowing in the wind.

As we approached the boat dock. All of the families and their children were waiting for us. My father yelled out that my uncle went down and to call the sheriff. My uncle’s daughter screamed out “No no no!” and collapsed into someone’s arms. Everyone was stunned in shock, some were crying hysterically. My sister Naomi told me all of this, I don’t remember any of it.

Over twenty years had passed before I thought about the boat accident. But the traumatic memory was crystal clear. The energy, the visuals, the moment that I disconnected from out of survival, was like a photograph seared into my psyche. Locked away, buried deep inside me.

The next morning at the lake, my father drove our station wagon up one of the hills and parked on top by himself. The guilt he carried must have been tremendous. He stared at the beautiful sunrise on the lake below him and cried.

That morning my sister Theresa and I were playing in the water by the boat dock. My father appeared at the top of the boat landing, he called us saying it was time to go. I loved that lake, and I knew we wouldn’t be coming back. So I took two gulps of water to take the lake with me. We drove home that day and never spoke about the lake again.

My sister Naomi told me that one day after the accident a friend of my father’s came to our house. He was one of the close friends in the MIS group. She was in the kitchen as my father sat with his friend on our long couch in the living room. My father told him about the boat accident, and his friend cried. My father asked him if he could tell this story to the others because it was too painful for him to tell again.

In my parent’s house we’ve always had this picture on the right of my uncle. My father’s on the left, he passed away a few years ago.

In my next blog, I’ll talk about what this trauma did to me. How it disconnected me from myself and the world around me. And how it magnified a deep hunger to connect emotionally with others.