Call Me Ted (20 page)

The New York Yacht Club’s objective was to choose the fastest boat for the final races against the challenger. To this end there is often some mixing and matching of crews and boats during the trials. Commodore Hinman asked me to skipper
Valiant
in a handful of these July races. I didn’t do very well in these, and while
Courageous
and
Intrepid
emerged as the favorites, my poor showings with
Valiant
led to more whispers from Chance and others that I might not be the best guy to lead
Mariner
once her redesign was complete.

This was the insecure situation I found myself in as we prepared for the August trials—the final races to determine who would sail for the Cup in September. Managing both
Valiant
and
Mariner,
Commodore Hinman decided to pull Dennis Conner from my crew and let him skipper
Valiant.
Everyone assumed the new
Mariner
to be faster than
Valiant,
so when Conner beat me a couple of times, things really got difficult. Hinman called for a full crew switch, putting the
Mariner
crew and me on
Valiant
and shifting Dennis and the
Valiant
crew to
Mariner
. I was disappointed but I kept my chin up and, as
Valiant
’s skipper, I managed to defeat
Mariner
in a couple of races.

Time was running out and Commodore Hinman had to make a difficult decision. He believed that
Mariner
was slightly faster than
Valiant,
but he needed to decide which skipper was going to sail which boat. The next morning the Commodore called Conner and me into his office and delivered the news. I was being reassigned to
Valiant
. Dennis would not only skipper
Mariner
but he could also have his pick of crew. I knew that people had been questioning me but when this finally happened it was really tough. In effect, I had been fired. The final trials were only a few days away and my family and friends were coming—including my mother. I briefly considered packing up and going home but decided to stick it out and do my best with
Valiant,
fully realizing the only yachts with a realistic chance were
Courageous
and
Intrepid
.

Dennis Conner couldn’t make
Mariner
go any faster than I had and when it came time to remove boats from competition, the selection committee eliminated
Mariner
and
Valiant
on the same day. It was the end of a long, tough summer and with my crew out of the racing, we all went out for one last party before departing Newport.
Courageou
s wound up representing the United States and easily defeated the Australian challenger in the finals. Dennis Conner had been added to the
Courageous
crew as tactician and so managed to win his first Cup. For the crew and me it was a relief just to have it over and be able to move on. The lessons learned by such a crushing defeat would stand me in good stead for the rest of my life. When I suffer a setback, I don’t think of myself as losing, I’m simply learning how to win.

My work made it easy for me to put the summer of ’74 behind me and it wasn’t long before I began to consider the Cup’s next running, to be held in 1977. My fate was largely out of my control since I would have to be chosen by one of the syndicates, and coming off the results of 1974 I knew I would not be at the top of their list. In 1976, a man named Lee Loomis was organizing a syndicate to race two boats in the trials. One would be
Courageous,
the boat that took the prize in 1974, and the other was a newly built boat to be called
Independence
. The latter would be the syndicate’s “varsity” boat and Ted Hood had already been selected as its skipper. As she would be racing against boats designed specifically to beat her,
Courageous
wasn’t considered to be a major contender, but after my experience with
Mariner
I felt more comfortable going with a proven winner than one that was still untested.

When I heard that Loomis was still looking for someone to skipper
Courageous
I contacted him. He told me they appreciated my interest but that I needed to understand that they still had to raise more money. I decided to make him an offer. I would take care of the cost of the
Courageous
campaign, but only if they let me sail her all the way through. Win, lose, or draw, I would get to stay with her no matter how much faster (or slower) the other boats might be. I was willing to put my heart and soul—not to mention some cash—into this venture but not if there was any chance of a repeat of my awful experience in 1974.

Loomis agreed to my proposal. Since
Courageous
wasn’t a new boat and we didn’t have to incur such costs as design, construction, and tank tests, our campaign was budgeted at about $400,000, far less than the $1 million–plus that the rest of the field would pay for theirs. With my own money and some help from friends, we raised the needed funds, and I was good enough at running a lean operation that I knew we could be competitive on a smaller budget.

Courageous
was the clear underdog going into the summer trials. Not only was she the number two boat in her own syndicate, the third challenger,
Enterprise,
was another new yacht designed by world-renowned Olin Stephens and skippered by an Olympic champion named Lowell North. These were formidable competitors and their boat was one of the first to use computer technology not only to design the sails and the hull but also to calculate recommendations during the races themselves. Realizing the deck was stacked against me, I had to make sure my competitors would share their sails with me before putting up money for
Courageous
. For years, the ethic in these races was for teams to share their sails to help insure that the trials selected the very best boat and crew and didn’t reward one group who might have won only due to superior sails. As a fellow syndicate member, Ted Hood would share with me, but since both he and North were professional sailmakers, I assumed that pride would keep them from working with each other. When North told me he would share with me, I moved ahead with my plans.

Over the years I had managed to develop great loyalty among my crew, and of the eleven men on my team in 1974, seven agreed to sail again three years later. The syndicate provided them with room and board in Newport but they didn’t get any cash compensation and even had to pay their travel expenses to get to and from Rhode Island. In those days, nobody sailed for the money. They did it for the challenge, the competition, a love for the sport, and the camaraderie of the crew. Ocean racing was a sport that demanded attention to detail and I tried to make sure we were well organized and prepared before and during the races.

I worked hard and even if we were up against experienced teams in newer boats, my crew always knew I was doing everything in my power to make sure we had a chance to win. I was tough when I needed to be but I also tried to keep things light whenever possible. As a team, we went through a lot of difficult times together, but we also had a lot of fun.

One of the four new members of our 1977 crew was a young sailor named Gary Jobson. Gary had gotten my attention after developing an outstanding reputation in college racing and later in events in which he and I competed. As in business, in sailing I always tried to get the best people on my team and decided to pursue Gary to be my tactician. He agreed, and we developed a great relationship. He was excited to be on an America’s Cup crew and I was pleased to have someone with his knowledge and ability at my side. Heading into the summer, with a strong crew and a battle-tested boat, I felt like we had a chance.

A TED STORY

“Larger than Life”

—Gary Jobson

The first time I really got to know Ted was 1972 at a regatta in Barrington, Rhode Island. Ted was still in his thirties but he was already larger than life. This particular race was an interesting test—each of the three days you had to sail a completely different kind of boat. Ted was one of the skippers invited and so was I. I don’t know where Ted ended up—seventh maybe—but I finished second and was leading much of the way. At the prize ceremony Ted came up, put his arm around me, and said, “You know, we’re going to do some sailing together someday.”

Fast-forward four years and it’s October of 1976 and he’s seen me around the waterfront, my name’s popping up in the magazines—nothing more than that. I’m going to the Chicago Yacht Club to pitch the U.S. Yacht Racing Union on why they should hire me to put together training clinics with them. I walk in the door and Don Cohan, who won a bronze medal in the 1972 Olympics, walks up to me and says, “Hey, we need somebody like you to be on the Olympic Committee and help us out. You know about all this new training, we don’t know anything about it and we need help, why don’t you do that?”

“Oh, that sounds good, thanks!”

I walk ten feet into the cloakroom to put my coat up and there’s Ted Turner. “Hey, I need a tactician next summer. Why don’t you come sail with us in the America’s Cup?” So here I am, I walk into the Chicago Yacht Club ready to pitch doing these clinics and next thing you know I’m on the Olympic Committee and sailing in the America’s Cup just like that!

By sheer coincidence, that same night Ted and I are both flying back to Washington—I was coaching a team in Annapolis and he was going there to sail in the fall series—and we manage to get seats together on the plane. We get airborne and he pulls out a copy of the Delta Air Lines magazine. He turns to the map of the United States and starts explaining to me how he’s going to become a billionaire. “Make sure you buy my stock. I’m going to be a billionaire and here’s why. I got the Atlanta Braves here. There’s not another baseball team around and we’re going to dominate this market and I’m going to put this station up on a satellite and I’m going to get a news thing going—sports, movies and news.”

I’m twenty-six years old, sitting there having my beer thinking, “This is pretty cool,” and then he says, “You know, you’re going to help me sail, and we’re going to win some races. You’re going to help me out and I’m going to help you with your business. How much do you make a year?”

“Uhh, fourteen thousand?”

“Oh, jeez you need help, I’m going to help you out!”

And that’s exactly what we did. I helped him win races, and by teaching me and letting me sit in on meetings, he taught me a ton about business.

I have a lot of memories from that 1977 campaign but one of my favorites happened in early April. We were up in Boston with the crews of our syndicate’s two boats and Ted took me out on a deck overlooking
Courageous
and
Independence,
which were moored down below. They looked so impressive and so beautiful that my mouth was hanging open.

Ted said, “When you were fifteen years old, did you ever think you’d be sailing on a twelve-meter?”

“No,” I responded.

“Neither did I,” he said with that huge smile. “Isn’t this the greatest thing that ever happened to you?”

His enthusiasm was so genuine and so infectious that I’ll never forget it.

Sometime during our spring practices, Lowell North called to let me know that he was going back on his word; he would not let me use any of his sails. He said he didn’t have his syndicate’s authorization when he made his promise and now they were telling him he couldn’t do it. I was furious. I told him I thought he was a man of his word and never would have agreed to fund
Courageous
had it not been for his commitment. He was in his forties and certainly had the financial wherewithal to stand up to his syndicate and tell them he couldn’t go back on his pledge. It was a bad turn of events but other than getting angry, there was really nothing I could do. I contacted some friends who had helped me with our financing and when I explained the situation they said they’d commit more resources for sails if that would be helpful. This wouldn’t allow me to access sails from North, but at least I knew I’d be able to buy new ones if I needed them while the trials were underway.

After an encouraging series of spring practice races with
Independence,
the
Courageous
crew was in fine form heading into the first trials in June. There, we sailed against
Enterprise
and
Independence
four times each and won seven out of eight races. Our only loss was to
Enterprise
by just eight seconds. We didn’t use any tricks or pull any surprise moves; we simply played it right up the middle and raced hard. Lowell North and the
Enterprise
team were disappointed. They had spent big money and did extensive testing on their boat in San Diego before bringing her out to Newport. Loomis was also caught off guard. He spent at least three times more money on
Independence
than we had on
Courageous
. Both
Enterprise
and
Independence
had been designed specifically to beat
Courageous,
making our victories in June that much more satisfying.

Our crew performed beautifully during these races and Gary Jobson and I were working together very well. We developed a very specific routine at the trials. Our crew all stayed at the same house in Newport and after breakfast Gary and I would walk the mile or so distance between the house and our boat. During the walk we’d discuss what we planned to do that day. Then, after a long day on the boat, while the crew put everything away, we’d take the same walk back home. Our afternoon stroll was like a post-game meeting; we’d talk about how we thought the crew did, how the boat performed, things we could have done differently, how well the two of us were communicating, among other such matters. Our routine was simple but effective and I think the fact that Gary and I worked so well together rubbed off on the rest of our team.

Of course, this was still a busy time back at the company. I had a satellite dish installed at our Newport house so I could watch the Braves games at night and every afternoon I got a package of mail from my office. Some of our executives would fly up to Rhode Island on occasion to watch the races and give me updates on important matters. I even had the Braves come in as a team one day when their schedule allowed. They had done so much losing that I thought it might be a good idea for them to be exposed to a team that was really working together well.