The First Iron Bath Tub In The Great Race!

AN ANTIQUE ANECDOTE - HARD TO BELIEVE BUT TRUE

I WAS AN ANTIQUE PURIST AND IN THIS CASE, IT CARRIED A LOT OF WEIGHT

     I ALLUDED TO THIS EARLIER, IN THIS SERIES, BUT KEPT ON FINDING OTHER THINGS AND EVENTS TO WRITE ABOUT INSTEAD. YUP LIKE LOCAL POLITICS, WHICH STILL GETS ME FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. I DIDN'T WANT TO GIVE COLLECTORS AND DEALERS THE WRONG IDEA, THAT I WAS TAKING OUR PROFESSION LESS SERIOUSLY THAN IT WARRANTS. I'M NOT SURE ABOUT THE STATS ON THIS, BUT I THINK THAT BOTH ANTIQUE DEALERS AND COLLECTORS, ARE A MORE SERIOUS LOT, THAN THE FANS WHO GATHER TO WATCH THE HOCKEY PLAYOFFS, OR WHO ENJOY A ROUSING GAME OF EUCHRE, OR SHARPLY POINTED ROUND OF DARTS. AT LEAST THIS IS MY OPINION, BASED ON THE DEALERS AND COLLECTORS I'VE BEEN ASSOCIATED WITH OVER THE YEARS. EACH HAD A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR, BUT IT WAS A LITTLE TRICKY, PRYING THEIR LIDS OFF IN THE FIRST PLACE.

     I CALL THIS SERIES OF BLOGS, UPCOMING, THE "LIGHTER SIDE OF ANTIQUE COLLECTING." NOW THAT'S ORIGINAL, EH? MY YEARS SPENT ANTIQUE HUNTING, ACROSS THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION OF ONTARIO, HAVE BEEN RIDDLED THROUGH AND THROUGH, WITH HUMOROUS MOMENTS AND STRANGE, "BELIEVE IT OR NOT" CIRCUMSTANCES. SOME I'VE ALREADY WRITTEN ABOUT, LIKE THE CHAP WHO DECIDED TO MOVE OUR HUGE PEDESTAL "NATIONAL" CASH REGISTER, (AGAINST OUR ADVICE), WITHOUT A TROLLEY. HE WOUND UP WITH THE BRASS SECTION OF THE LARGE REGISTER (WITH WOODEN DRAWERS), CRUSHING DOWN ON HIS GENITALS, ON OUR STAIRCASE, AT THE FORMER BIRCH HOLLOW ANTIQUES IN BRACEBRIDGE. IT WAS A NARROW STAIRCASE, AND WE HAD HELPERS ON THE UPPER STAIRS AND THE LOWER STAIRS, BUT NOTHING THAT WOULD SAVE THIS MAN'S PRIVATES SOME SERIOUS AND PAINFUL COMPROMISES. ADD TO THIS THE TEN CUSTOMERS WHO REALLY WANTED TO LEAVE BUT COULDN'T, (ONE KID HAD TO PEE BAD) ON ACCOUNT OF THE CASH REGISTER INCIDENT. THE CHAP WAS A GOOD SPORT, AND DID LAUGH, BUT IN A VERY HIGH PITCHED TONE. WE EVENTUALLY FIGURED A WAY OF FREEING HIM, AND IT WAS EVENTUALLY BROUGHT UP THE STAIRS WITH THE TROLLEY HE WAS FORCED TO RENT.

     ONE OF MY FAVORITE ANTIQUE STORIES, IS THIS SELDOM SPOKEN-OF TALE, INVOLVING A CHARITY EVENT IN THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. I HAD JUST BECOME INTERESTED IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS, AND HAD STARTED OUT AS A BOTTLE DIGGER, AT ABANDONED HOMESTEADS AROUND THE DISTRICT. I WAS INSANELY ANXIOUS TO GO TO AUCTIONS, AND I VISITED ANTIQUE SHOPS FREQUENTLY, INVESTING THE LITTLE MONEY I HAD, IN WHAT I BELIEVED WOULD INCREASE IN VALUE…., THE OLDER THE PIECES GOT. SO WHEN I SAW AN ADVERTISEMENT, CIRCA 1975, I BELIEVE, FOR A BATHTUB RACE, IN BRACEBRIDGE BAY, AS PART OF THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATIONS OF THE TOWN'S INCORPORATION, I GOT THE BALL MOVING WITH MY MATES. TWO OF THE CREW HAD JUST ARRIVED BACK IN TOWN, AFTER UNIVERSITY STUDIES, AND TWO OTHERS WERE FINISHING UP HIGH SCHOOL. WE HAD THE BRAINS AND BRAWN TO BUILD, AND THEN RACE A BATHTUB IN THIS CENTENNIAL EVENT. AN IRON BATHTUB. A BIG, HULKING, RUSTY BATHTUB, WITH FIXTURES STILL ATTACHED, RIPPED UNCEREMONIOUSLY FROM A FARMHOUSE, AND THUSLY, IN MY OPINION, READY FOR SAILING.

I DIDN'T READ THE RULES CORRECTLY

     I don't remember how exactly it happened, that I found a cast iron bath-tub, with claw feet, and how we managed to get it to our cottage on Alport Bay of Lake Muskoka. We must have had use of a truck, and I'm assuming it would have belonged to racing partner, Scott Rintoul. Steve Henry was to be the pilot, Ron Boyer the pit crew, and I was to act as manager and public relations director of "Four Guys Racing Team." We had been chums a long time, but mostly at milder preoccupations, like ball hockey in the Henry's driveway, and billiards in their recreation room. This put the friendship bond to the test, because from the early going, there were a lot of outbursts, that sounded like, "Hey, who are you calling stupid, you moron?" And, "Who took the last beer?" I was famous for doing this, and fibbing about it! 

     My father Ed, a manager of Building Trades Centre, at the time, got us a large slab of dock styrofoam, that we planned to carved tightly around the hugely heavy iron tub. It would sort of look like a hydro plane, when we finished our design work, and we took great lengths to get the balance correct, so that Steve wouldn't got down with the iron ship, if he hit a brisk ripple on the bay. We had a couple of issues, and we had to re-shape, and modify the original design, just to keep the hulk's bow above the water line. The foam wrap had to be pretty wide, to keep the tub from flipping. We had a seven and a half horsepower Johnson outboard engine, from the 1950's, and it was strained to the limit, just getting up to a knot or two. We were starting to worry that the iron tub was going to be a disaster, but we weren't as concerned about winning, as putting on a good show for the large crowd expected for the regatta, that perfect summer day, in Bracebridge Bay Park, just below the famous town falls.

     When we finally gave it our seal of approval, and our respective girlfriends had all said, unanimously, "you're going to fail, and you'll probably drown," we assumed all pre-race obstacles had been successfully navigated, and capably bypassed. We were fond of ourselves, as far as egos were concerned. It showed. Stubborn? You bet!  On the day of the race, the four of us, and my father, helped load the newly painted watercraft onto a vehicle, for transport to the park, and shook hands in expectation of a thrilling day of competition. We were excited about joining the field of racers, most we knew from town, and the fact we had built an attractive craft……well sir, it just was eye candy to our girl fans in the audience, even if our significant others thought we were on a mission of no return. It's true it was tortoise-slow, but it's not every day you make a boat out of a cast iron bathtub either.

     We got to the park, and saw the array of competitors. What struck my mates, when they started to study some of the other entries, was that we had the only real "bullet proof" bathtub. And to boot, ours was iron, and not steel, which was a difference of about two hundred pounds. All the other entrants, had used fiberglass and other pliable materials, to model the shape of a bathtub, but nothing had an outboard engine strapped to it, that had at any time in its past, been hooked up to plumbing in someone's house. I read the rules wrong. As God is my witness, I thought we had to use the real McCoy, and for this fledgling antique dealer, only the real thing would do.

     So it's not hard to imagine that we drew a lot of attention at the starting line, and very many laughs, jokes, chortles, criticism, mockery, without any flattery whatsoever. Even our girlfriends disowned us for those few hours, when truthfully, we were the laughing stock of Muskoka. It didn't get much better when the tubs were launched, and it was obvious, the tubs made out of plastic and other much lighter materials, were going to do much better with their horsepower, strapped on the sterns, than we were, with most of our craft pushing the river water, instead of cutting its surface. Most of the tub was well below the surface of the water, so they called us the "Submarine Gang." We had about the same draft as the RMS Seguwn, without the pilot. So for the first few practice laps, we winced a lot, and held our collective breath, at the turns, when our vessel seemed most precariously balanced. The other bathtub concoctions were much faster, and yet Steve was determined to make the best of the equipment available. Actually, we couldn't believe how steady he was out on the choppy water, and he seemed to mesmerize the competition, who spent so much effort taunting him, that he was able to make unexpected gains.

     Throughout the long afternoon, and quite a number of individual races, to narrow down the field, Steve had actually managed to get a couple of narrow third place finishes, when other bathtub creations faltered and disintegrated into the brine. In the final analysis, I believe we finished third overall in points, largely because other competitors had engine failures and hull collapses, which was funny considering we had a 1950's engine pushing this heavy iron bathtub on floats, susceptible to water currents and the wind, because there was quite a bit of surface area, late in the race, actually rising above the waterline. We actually seemed to gain elevation out of the water, the more we raced. I think Steve had probably perspired-off a few pounds, during the hot afternoon of vigorous competition. We were all proud of Steve's effort, and honestly, it was kind of neat to have placed in the top three, using an original bathtub, contrary to every one else. Folks were taking a lot of pictures of the old iron water-horse, and I think Steve got his mug in the paper the next issue, for his piloting prowess.

     Steve was awarded a Bracebridge Centennial Medal, that he gave to me for safe-keeping, and I simply never gave it back. It was my bathtub, I argued, and my dad got us the foam platform free, from the lumber yard. I told him I would give it back after my month of ownership, and well, I never did. I feel bad about this, but you know, I just forgot about the darn thing, when we once again went off to university. It's somewhere here at Birch Hollow, and about once every ten years someone here will find it, ask what it is, and I will offer the explanation above, take the medal, and plan to give it to Steve the next time I meet him. Well, that doesn't happen too often these days, but my intention is good. Just now, I can't find it again, so I may have to wait another decade for it to turn up.

     This wasn't my first foray into such crazy for-fun events, that usually had something or other, to do with antiques, and how to revamp them into something else useable. I had good training in this department. When I was younger, poor Seth Hillman couldn't keep us Hunt's Hill kids from swiping his lawnmower wheels, to make our go-carts, for racing down Flynn's Hill. That's a story for another day. I just looked, this moment, and found two scars I still have, from those old downhill misadventures, when Seth's wheels would suddenly fall off, at about thirty miles per hour, giving the riders a real thrill, with asses smoking down the tarmac of one of the biggest hills in Bracebridge. Good times. Sore times too. See you all again soon. I've got a million of these antique anecdotes, that will show that some of us antiquarians are ripe with horseplay, even after all the errors of our ways.

     See you again soon. Drive carefully out there. It's that busy time of year again, when our highways become a lot more dangerous with traffic.

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