LAUGH LINES : Don’t Need Water to Sink Bucks Into a Boat

Two years ago, my father-in-law gave me a boat. I realize now that it was his way of getting even.

Actually, what my father-in-law gave me wasn’t a boat, if by boat you mean something that will float when you put it in water. What he gave me was a 20-feet long, boat-shaped pile of lumber--mostly rotten--that was first launched in the waning days of the Eisenhower Administration.

I’m sure that in its younger years it must have cut a dashing figure, tooling across lakes with its outboard roaring, pulling water-skiing ‘60s babes with bouffant hairdos and daring two-piece bathing suits.

But it fell on hard times. Before I got it, it had spent more than a decade sitting on blocks in my father-in-law’s back yard, growing holes in its bottom.

So why did I accept such a boat? Simple. I was going to “fix it up.” It was going to be a “project.”

I got my first lesson in the joys of boat ownership five miles after I pulled out of his driveway with the boat perched on a 30-year-old boat trailer. Who would have thought that new tires for a boat trailer would cost $98? Each? Plus road service?

Since then, despite many hours of work and more money than I want my wife to know about, my boat still has not yet displaced water. It has displaced nothing but space in my front driveway, to the continuing horror and consternation of my neighbors. Recently I have seen them going door-to-door, carrying what appear to be some sort of petitions.

But despite the fact that I haven’t yet gone boating in my boat, having it has taught me many valuable things.

The first thing I learned was the magical properties of the word marine . Marine paint, marine plywood, marine epoxy--take almost any item found in a paint or hardware store, add the word marine to it and it will automatically double, triple, even quadruple in price. This led me to devise a moneymaking scheme.

The scheme works like this: A tube of toothpaste costs what, two bucks? Well, “Marine Toothpaste” will run you $6.95. “Marine Men’s Briefs”? Thirty bucks a pair. “Marine Baked Beans,” “Marine Lip Gloss,” “Marine Paper Towels”--the possibilities are endless. I may make enough to actually finish the boat.

Another thing I learned from working on my wooden boat is that gold is bupkus when compared to the truly most valuable commodity on earth, which is any wood named oak, teak or mahogany. If we weren’t already off the gold standard I would advocate dumping gold and putting the U.S. currency on the “wood standard.” Japan, lacking extensive forests, would panic. The yen would take a nose-dive.

Incidentally, buying wood for my boat has changed my politics. I now hate tree huggers, spotted owl lovers, rain forest savers--in short, environmentalists of every stripe and persuasion. Trust me: There is nothing that makes you an anti-environmentalist faster than a sign that says, “$4.95 per board foot.”

Fixing up a wooden boat has also taught me a lot of obscure boat-building terms with which to impress people at parties. And despite what my wife says, I’m not obsessive about it, either.

Hey, people want to know about my transom. They’re interested in my stem and my king plank and my scarf joints. And surely it’s only a coincidence that people suddenly notice that their drinks are empty just when I’m telling them about the trouble I’m having with my futtocks.

As you can see, having a boat isn’t the curse that my father-in-law obviously intended it to be. I have a plan that will make me rich. I’ve become a Republican. I’ve managed to radically scale back my overcrowded social calendar--all the way down to nothing.

Only one thing bothers me. Why, whenever my father-in-law calls and I answer the phone, does he suddenly start laughing?