Anna Loritz
This morning I received a disappointing but not unexpected email. Back in February I accepted a job offer working for a non-profit in New York. My start date was pushed back in light of the pandemic, but I remained hopeful.
The gist of this morning’s email: It is highly unlikely the organization will run programs for the rest of the year, and in an attempt to preserve itself, the organization is laying off a majority of its employees, including me and my boss. My boss, his wife, and their two children have all tested positive for COVID-19.
I’m disappointed in my lost opportunity and anxious for my “would be” boss and his family, but I am heartbroken by the prospect of the organization closing. The Hudson River Sloop Clearwater is a 19th century replica sailing vessel with an environmental activism mission. Since the late ’60s, this 100-foot historic wooden sailboat has worked to educate the public -- particularly young people -- about environmental protection and restoring and preserving the ecosystem of the Hudson River.
In an alternate version of the next six months, I would be sailing with school groups, casting nets for critter population samples, teaching the physics of sailing, performing science experiments right on deck, singing sea shanties...sun on our faces, wind in our hair…
About a year ago, I decided to leave a stable job as a classroom teacher to lead the unpredictable life of a tall ship sailor. The tall ship's world is full of organizations like Clearwater. They seek to educate about history or science while preserving the art of sailing historic wooden ships. Some are right in our backyard, Denis Sullivan in Milwaukee and Inland Seas in Suttons Bay, Michigan.
Many worthy nonprofits are having to shutter their doors these days, but it is unlikely that many ships will recover from this pandemic. They rely on their summer sailing season to fund their maintenance costs, slip fees, and crew wages. One summer without sails could easily result in hauling out their vessel for it to sit in a shipyard. When a wooden boat dries out, the wood shrinks, and costly leaks are formed. They need to sail to survive. With daily news of closures from sailing friends and former crewmates, I’m witnessing the slow death of one of my greatest passions.
As I stared at my laptop, letting the reality of the email sink in, my mind kept wandering back to a conversation I had in a bar one rainy October night, when I was a deckhand on the Lady Washington.
The Captain and I each had a few empty glasses and a brandy in front of us. We were chatting about the organization's financial troubles, and he said, "Quite honestly a lot of tall ship organizations are not in a good spot. I think if there is another recession or another big....whatever, only a few will weather it."
“Which ones?” I asked solemnly.
“Clearwater,” he nodded, sipping his brandy. “They’ll survive.”
Part teacher, part sailor, Anna Loritz is spending this time of “social distancing” reading, writing, catching up with friends on the phone, and making masks for the Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin.