Once upon a time...

There was an old ferry boat called the Vallejo. It sat in the same spot for over 50 years. It's iron hull was rusting to bits. It even sank occasionally, especially during parties.

Then, one day, a .com millionare bought the place and decided to save it. Hurray! After fending off hordes of evil building inspectors for over a year, he finally was able to get permission to fix it properly.

Finding a place to repair the hull was not easy, though. Many flaky, shady people offered a drydock to hold her, but the deals fell through. Again, months passed.

Meanwhile, the roof was torn off. When it rained, it rained right through the cracks in the old ceiling. (Luckily for this story-teller, he was safe and dry in an apartment in Paris.) Also, walls were torn down. Rotting beams replaced. New wood imported from New Guinea covered the outside walls. The concrete floor in the kitchen was jack-hammered out personally by the wild-maned owner. Progress was slowly happening.

Finally, a drydock was secured in Alameda. A date for the big move was set. Hurray!

All that needed to be done was: remove the rusty old steam engine, patch all the holes in the hull, run steel beams through to support the sagging old body, and then put a diaper on her.

A diaper, you ask? That's what Wayne, the salty sea dog of a professional salvager, called it. Basically, the diaper was a very large sheet of thick plastic, like a giant Hefty bag. It was to be unrolled under the boat with the aid of divers and able hands pulling rope on shore.

On a long, hot Sunday afternoon, the diaper was successfully pulled on with nary a tear. When the tide went out, the water was pumped out from between the hull and the diaper while ropes held it up above the water line. The hull was now protected from innundation.

The next day (yesterday, come to think of it), small boats called "whalers" attached themselves to the Vallejo to take her out. While people gathered to watch, the lines to shore were cut and that big whale of a ferry drifted free.

The little "whalers" didn't seem strong enough to keep her from getting blown around by the mild breeze. An old white-bearded sailor at the helm of the front boat had to shoo away pesky onlookers. "Give us room!" he'd shout. A man on a motorized float with a palm tree and a small dog fled.

Getting around the first corner proved rather difficult. Men ran alongside the dock, frantically pulling ropes. More than once, the ferry nudged the pilings, bending them like straws. Then she would sway to the other side of the narrow channel, threatening the houseboats with her ancient bulk. It was most amusing.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of coaxing her out, the entourage reached a waiting tugboat. But still they hesitated hitching her up. Apparently, a crucial piece of paperwork had not been signed. A smaller boat zipped over to the tug to pick up a passenger, then zipped back to shore. A few minutes later, they returned, the paper presumbly penned.

A small line was thrown from the tug to the Vallejo. This line connected to a larger one that was attached to a big spool. Once the big lined was attached, the tug's engines fired up and off they went.

Following alongside in a fast rubber boat, the narrator, a videographer, and friends cheered them on. So beatiful to see the former transport moving along at a good clip. The water was totally flat, which was a good thing. Any turbulence, and the boat would tip over. The people on board, including the owner and his girlfriend, all wore life jackets, just in case.

We could only follow so far before we had to turn around. Looking back at her, framed against the City in the late afternoon light, I remembered a dream I had years ago when I first lived on board.

In this dream, she had broken free of her moorings and was zooming around the bay like an oversized speedboat. She seemed so happy and youthful.

They say all boats have souls. The Vallejo, I believe, has one, maybe even more than one. She's the last of her kind. I'm glad somebody's taking care of her.

So you may be wondering, "Did she make it?" My feeling is yes, she did.

If not, well then, she joins many others like her at the bottom of the bay. Ferries used to collide in the fog, y'know. That's why they built those bridges.

--ten

september 2000