I recall the first time I saw it. I was not sure it was a raft. I was driving on South Mission Boulevard near the Jetty, where the San Diego River and Mission Bay meet the Pacific Ocean. I had just left my small beach house rental on Mission Bay. An incredible, "bachelor" pad. Only problem was, I began dating Theresa when I moved in, so it never quite turned into the, "bachelor" pad I had envisioned.
As I drove past a yard sale sign, I caught a glimpse of a faded yellow color in between some parked vehicles. The yellow was low and close to the sidewalk. I remember thinking, "could it be"? I circled the block and parked. The thought it might really be a life raft kept tugging at the corner of my brain. I then saw it. It was deflated, lying quietly on the sidewalk. I love to negotiate a great deal, but I did not even ask the price. I simply told the woman, "I'll take it".
The raft was small and not in the best of shape. It was only a two or four man raft with screw together little plastic oars. It was definitely not United States Navy issue. It might even have been a toy raft. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, but I was thrilled to have it. Yellow life rafts hold a very special spot in my heart. In fact, the only reason myself and two of my brothers are alive today, is due to a life raft.
Many years prior, during World War II, a life raft kept our father and his crew alive as they floated, severely injured, for several days and nights on the vast emptiness of the Pacific Ocean. My father was the pilot of a B24 Liberator, (a plane my mom likely helped build at Consolidated Aircraft in San Diego) when they took one too many passes at a Japanese war ship, he and his crew had just set ablaze. On their final pass, anti-aircraft guns shredded a portion of his plane. Their plane then crashed into the cold Pacific Ocean. (To read a Warriors Tale click here).
The last time I had seen a yellow life raft was growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My dad brought one home from the base for us kids to play with in the backyard. I recall wheeling out my Mom's old Kirby vacuum cleaner that weighed oh, about a ton. When I took the brush portion off it was like removing a radiator from a car. It was massive. I attached the skinny brown hose to the vacuum and inflated the raft to the delight of my brothers, friends and neighbors. We played endlessly on that darn yellow life raft.
Hauling my raft home, I carefully hid it under two beach towels in the garage. I did not want Theresa to find it. An idea was percolating in my brain. I was not sure what it was, but I knew it was going to involve her. It seemed everything, "good" in my life revolved around Theresa. In fact,despite us being together for over a year, I had still not yet said those three little words that are so popular around Valentines' Day.
I knew it was me. It was my problem. I didn't trust anyone. Being a veteran cop I was even skeptical the sun would rise in the morning. Law enforcement officers are lied to 24/7. The majority of people you deal with lie consistently, have a hidden agenda, and given the opportunity, may even try to kill you. We used to joke, "How could you tell the suspect was lying?" "Easy, his lips were moving".
Unfortunately, this lack of trust crossed over to my personal life. I never told Theresa, but once while waiting for her to get ready in her apartment in Linda Vista, I saw my name written on one of those slide out directories on her kitchen telephone. Mine was the only name and there were about fifteen other blank slots. Sure. I believe that. I thought she manufactured print outs of the phone list and changed it whenever someone else came over. I of course quickly, "tossed the kitchen" while she was getting dressed. A CIA agent would have been impressed. Open drawers and cabinets, look fast, and reset the items. Well, I didn't find any other manufactured phone lists, but I kept thinking Theresa was too good to be true.
At the time, I was working an assignment that was warm and fuzzy and great for family values and honest people. Night Vice, it's the job where you deal with the underbelly of the City of San Diego. You spend every night in bars, strip clubs, porn shops, X rated movie houses, arresting perverts, drunks, scammers, pimps, prostitutes, and see first hand the enormous amount of money and greed that fuels it all. SDPD like most law enforcement agencies purposely tries to limit a night vice assignment to no more than 18 months. It's easy for a cop to become jaded in that environment.
The lines are sometimes blurred in night vice. There is so much grey. I had some college buddies visit SD and they looked at me in awe when they found out I worked UC (undercover) in strip clubs and had an expense account that provided cash for my detectives to spend in bars, nightclubs and strip joints as they carried out their enforcement activities. They said, "Ray, you have the best job in the entire world. You get paid every night to look at T and A.". To me, it was not the best of jobs. It is a very necessary and vitally important job, but not the best.
I prefer John Wayne movies. I like seeing the clear split between good and evil. I would rather confront armed street gang members any night of the week then work a, "john detail" where the guy you arrested has a picture of his wife and kids in his wallet. Or arresting a pimp and taking his fifteen year old prostitute/runaway from a small Midwest town to Child Protective Services. While he screams from the back seat of the patrol car, "she needs to get her ass back out on the track and earn me some money!"
I don't really know how Theresa put up with me for so long. How long can a women deal with, "I really like seeing you". "Hey, I like being with you". During those tough years, I honestly lost faith in my religion and any interest in Christmas. Theresa being the troublemaker she is, once snuck into my, "bachelor" pad and put up a Christmas tree with lights and even a little angel on top. Of course when we walked into the room together, the sudden change of lighting made me think the rear door of my home was opening and I reached for my 9mm tucked in the back waistline of my jeans. Theresa's smile, and quick confession put me at ease. Like I said, she was a troublemaker.
So my plan was set....
The band, the Wallflowers were playing an outdoor concert at Hospitality Point across the Bay from my home. Theresa arrived as the sun began to fade over the Pacific. We walked down to the water in front of my house. The yellow raft was fully inflated, (for at least a little while) and resting on the sand. It reminded me of my father and countless positive memories. It was just like Theresa. It was everything good about my life. I know I had put some appetizers in the raft, but all I can remember now is the plastic jug of margaritas. After all, I was the captain of the ship and I was facing a difficult mission more dangerous than any I could ever imagine.
As I pushed off from the sand with Theresa and our provisions, I know we were laughing. The oars were only about three feet long and looked ridiculous. The warm clear summer night and the smell of salt water filled the air. Soon we were drinking margaritas and listening to the concert tied up to other, "real boats" along the beach.
When the concert ended, I began to row home in that little raft. As Sea World began their fireworks display, I stopped rowing and said those three words. I think the margaritas helped steady my nerves. I finally believed and trusted her. The next thing I recall is we were laughing so hard we were talking over each other. Time slowed down as we lay in the raft looking at the stars and smelling the warm salt air.
Then I heard something strange. It was the sound of waves crashing. I ignored it for a while. It took over a full minute before I began to think, ....waves crashing...in Mission Bay? Glancing to my left I saw we were near the Jetty and the west lights of South Mission Beach. We were caught in a current pushing us out to sea! I sobered up with visions of Theresa's three brothers and sister murdering me for letting something bad happen to her.
I started paddling with those plastic oars so hard that sweat was running into my eyes as my shirt became drenched with salt water and sweat. Of course Theresa took it all very seriously. She was laughing so hard I could see her tears falling like diamonds in the moonlight on to the raft. I kept yelling at her, "this is serious, I'm not kidding, we're caught in a rip or something". Theresa's response was predictable. She just kept laughing harder and harder. The diamonds kept falling. She had no grasp of the danger.
Fifteen minutes later, fully exhausted, the USS Shay yellow life raft, (without much air), slid across the sand in front of my home. Theresa proclaimed with a smart aleck tone, "You saved your ship and your crew... What a brave Captain". As I think about that moment fifteen years ago, she was the brave one. I can say now what I should have said then," No Theresa, you actually saved me". Happy Valentine's Day
Special thanks to Lee Louis for the photographs of mission bay.
