Tramp’s Steamer

Kevin Thomas’ “They Remember Charlie” (Dec. 20) resuscitated a boyhood memory for me of some 58 years ago.

Seeking relief from the summer heat in Los Angeles, my family headed for the beach, but for the first time our Sunday outing would be a day in Santa Barbara. After arriving at this legendary retreat, my brother, then 14, and I, just 10, were quickly attracted to a pier, where a sleek cabin cruiser with a snow-white hull, gleaming wooden decks and shiny brass fixtures was tied up.

A man we took to be the owner by his natty nautical garb stood nearby talking with a dockworker. Spotting us, he walked over and asked how we liked his boat. Awe-struck, we could only smile and nod enthusiastically.

“If you’d like to be my guests, welcome aboard. We’re leaving soon for Long Beach and should arrive by sundown. And I’ll see you get home from there unless there’s someone who could meet us to pick you up.”

We told him we’d have to ask our parents, and we sprinted off to get the necessary permission. With a reasoning that escaped us, and was deaf to our pleading, our parents vetoed the idea. Dejectedly, we walked back to the pier, only to see a wake from this proud boat as it headed seaward.

The dockhand came over to us and said the skipper of the boat was sorry that he couldn’t wait for us. We asked him who the kind, gray-haired men was who’d made the offer. He replied, “Oh, that was Charlie Chaplin.”

ED MITCHELL

Eagle Rock