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It's a pirate's life for me
Forget all those other childhood fantasies. The real action is out at sea, under the Jolly Roger.
By Deborah Taylor-Hollis
A 40-year-old friend of mine wants to be a pirate when she grows up. I admire that in her. In fact, until she told me, I'd almost forgotten what I wanted to be.
I always wanted to be an explorer, seeking something new and exciting out there in the wilderness. And I wanted to be on stage, like Sarah Bernhardt, creating immortal impressions. I also wanted to write screenplays and witty, drawing-room comedies, like Noel Coward and the Lunts used to: pithy, sarcastic and biting.
But, back to pirates. I had never really thought about it as a viable career choice until Anya shared her secret dream with me. Even now, she keeps it to herself, and it's a goal no less important than making the mortgage every month or being a PTA room mom.
I told her I thought she would have to really work hard to become a pirate.
First of all, there is no school, and most of the older and wiser practitioners have swung by the yard arm. (It was a 3-foot-long wooden arm, hence the yard part.)
So, she would need to research a lot, and improvise whatever wasn't written down.
Next, she would need a schooner or frigate, preferably something seaworthy, yet small enough to hide after frequent raids. Maybe something parked in San Francisco Bay and being used as a tour boat, charging tourists up to $20 for a half-hour tromp through its bowels with tour guides who aren't sure of anything not in their prepared speech.
Then, of course, there is the problem that a "lone pirate" is not necessarily a successful pirate. She would need to convince others to join her, and outfit an expedition.
Given what the venture capital suits on Sand Hill Road will fund this year, Anya should have no trouble getting an initial investment of a few million for pirate costumes, hard tack, wooden barrels of rum and at least one parrot.
And if she does, she won't have to embark on the journey at all, for that will truly be 20th century piracy. But knowing how she feels about this venture and her goals, this kind of "Sand Hill piracy" is not what she wants to achieve.
She wants to be a one-eyed, peg-legged, unshaven (well, legs, maybe) robber on the high seas, looting and pillaging, taking what she wants and living off the bounty. She wants to be Long John Silver. And so do I.
I have thought about this a lot. It's been very appealing ever since she first told me almost two years ago. I want to wear frills and lace, big gold hoop earrings great boots and sport a huge pistol.
I want to spend my time at the helm of a large schooner, cutting swiftly through the Caribbean waters--heck, any waters--with the salt spray in my face, men calling out, "whale off the port bow!" and a guy named Smee fawning over me and my needs. I want to put in on tropical desert islands and trade food and women for rum and gunpowder. My only problem would be getting everyone back on the boat when I wanted to shove off.
Anya is right. Some childhood fantasies don't hold up to close scrutiny. I don't want to run away and join the circus; they require you to work shoveling elephant excrement. Ballerinas have impossible feet. And cowboys--well, after a few days your thighs hurt on that horse. Firemen don't get paid enough, and I already tried the police. I wouldn't mind race car driver, but they go so fast that, with one false move, you're bouncing along the speedway.
Nope, I wanna be a pirate. Arrrrr...
Although she sails the high seas, Deborah can still be reached at dthollis@metronews.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
