Prologue

It's September of 1998, and my husband, Dave, and I are in Newport, Rhode Island, aboard Bob Tiedemann’s beautiful 12-meter, Gleam. Surrounded by Newport’s stunning collection of breathtaking boats, sailing in waters fit for the Gods, and rubbing elbows with folks who’ll happily spend hours discussing the merits of varnish, I’ve just about decided that if there’s a Heaven, then it must be something like this.

We’re on our way back to the dock at the Museum of Yachting when beside us glides the most exquisite boat I’ve ever seen. Finished bright from her waterline to her masthead, she’s glorious! I grab my camera to take a picture, but I’m out of film. I watch her until she’s out of sight, but the disappointment that I couldn’t get a picture of the most beautiful boat I h’ve ever seen clouds the remainder of the day.

The next afternoon included a stop at IYRS, and low and behold, what is at the dock but the beautiful boat from the day before. It’s Renaissance and up close she’s EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL! At some point Dave explains it’s a Concordia and in the patient way that husbands do, goes on to add that he doesn’t know why I’m having such a fit because there’s one just like it at our marina. “A boat like this at our marina, underneath my very nose. I think NOT.” I reply, as only a wife who’s sure she’s right can insist.

Imagine my chagrin when we returned to Florida and not only at our marina, but on the very next dock sat a Concordia. Not exactly Renaissance though. Comparing this boat to the bright-finished Renaissance was like looking at a photograph and then looking at its negative. The Concordia in our marina had been painted white from bow to transom. Mast, mizzen, cowl vent to cockpit coaming, she was white on white.

Beauty is beauty, and I admired her at every opportunity. I don't think I got around to mentioning it to my husband, but I decided pretty early on that if I ever saw the owner come down the dock, I intended to finagle my way aboard and most likely make an offer on the spot. I never saw the first sign of life on the boat and, either fortunately or unfortunately, we changed marinas in May of 1998. The Concordia was, fortunately or unfortunately, out of sight and out of mind.