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Two Sharks, Two Days

Shark photo by George Breen/Cape Cod Shark HuntersCall Brody, Quint, and Hooper and start up the Orca’s engine—the great white sharks are back.

Passing the Torch

I’ve seen the same reaction hundreds of times over the years—sad, empathetic eyes, followed by a conciliatory pat or two on my shoulder. You would think that I’d told the deliverer of said look that I just ran over my dog.

What prompts this pitiful gaze? Well it’s certainly not a tragic event. Nope, it’s the trigger response that undoubtedly follows when I inform the inquisitor that I’m an editor of a magazine. 

That’s Classic

I’m probably not the best-suited person for this job. Actually, I may be downright horrible. All right, maybe I should cut myself a little slack before someone lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on my desk goes to my boss Gary to say, “See, I told you so, even he admits he’s no good.” 

So you want to be a yacht broker?

So you want to be a yacht broker? Here’s a little taste from the captain’s archives.

It was a quiet day in 1986 at Hansen Marine in Sarasota, Florida. A baby-poop-brown Dodge Dart pulled into the parking lot. The driver, a 20-year-old kid, gets out dressed in a tank top, cut offs, white socks, and dirty sneakers. A fortyish-looking guy in black slacks, black silk shirt, black Gucci-like loafers, slick black hair, gold watch, gold neck chain, and black sunglasses exits the passenger side.

“What can we do for you today” I ask.