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doubt we were stronger and healthier than most because of this and the walking.
I had the good fortune of meeting the Martinolich family when we moved to Handsboro. Andrew Martinolich soon became my closest friend. When Andrew's father, a retired shipbuilder, decided to give his son, a fine mechanic, a start in business, we set about building a large metal and wood frame garage on the beach in Mississippi City. This project occupied most of our time during the Summer of 1920. I mixed concrete with a shovel for ten dollars per week. When production increased, with a one-bag mixer driven by pulling a wheel off a Model T station wagon and replacing it with a pulley and belt each morning, we not only had a power-driven concrete mixer, we had transportation to and from work. I received a two dollar per week raise when we converted to power, something I could not understand at age fourteen, but the additional money allowed me to purchase enough creosote stain to paint our home in the late evenings that summer. When the garage was finished, Mr. Martinolich started building a sixteen foot sailboat, a cat rig. I used to go over and help him because I loved boats. One day I asked who he was building the boat for, and he replied, that the rig was for some rich man's son down on the beach in Mississippi City.
That summer, mama talked me into visiting with my aunt and uncle, Marguerite and Frank Clark Brown. I spent two months with them in Houston, Texas. I arrived on a Sunday and after church I looked through the help wanted section of the paper. The Sprong Motor Company, Oakland dealers, had an ad for a mechanic's helper, so after dinner I walked down Fannin Street to the dealership to inquire about the job. Several salesmen and the owner were in the salesroom and I stated my business. The owner told me to report for work the next morning. When I arrived Monday morning there were six boys waiting to be interviewed for the mechanic helper's job! My pay was three dollars per day and I worked five and a half days a week. After one week I received a raise of one dollar per day probably because of the early training I had had in mechanics. I joined the YMCA and worked out in the gym every Saturday evening for a few hours. A mutual love and respect developed between Marguerite, Frank, and me that has
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lasted until this day, and their advice and counsel meant a great deal to me at that tender age.
I returned to Handsboro about a week before school began. I went over to see Andrew and had dinner with his family. What a wonderful cook Mrs. Martinolich was. I noticed the sailboat was completed and I asked Mr. Martinolich why she had not been delivered to the rich boy. He said the sail was being made in New Orleans and it would be spring before they launched her. That winter we sold the Handsboro house and purchased the old Waycott home just east of Cowan Road on the beach in Mississippi City. I saw the Martinolich family at church each Sunday and many Sunday afternoons I drove Anna and her mother out to DeLisle, a lovely community north of Pass Christian to visit with their relatives. Anna was a sweet girl and had I been a few years older she would have married young.
One Sunday in March, 1922, Mr. Martinolich asked'if I would help launch the cat rig on the following Saturday. I went out to their place early that Saturday and we loaded the boat, mast, and sails on one of Tony Martinolich's ice trucks. We picked up two more men at the ice plant in Handsboro and drove down Cowan Road to the beach. The tide was high, which made it less difficult to launch the boat. After we stepped the mast and raised the sail, Mr. Martinolich handed me the bow line. "Jimmy", he said, "you are the boy I built this boat for. It's yours!" I was so overcome with surprise I was speechless, so I jumped into the boat and sailed away. The next day when I saw Mr. Martinolich at church, I hugged his neck and thanked him for his wonderful gift. I know he never really knew how much real pleasure and joy that boat gave me. More than one rich man's son tried to buy it after they lost a race to me. The greatest adventure I had with the Cat Rig was the time James Warrington, Ferdinan Pecoul, Billy Coon and I sailed her to Cat Island (twelve miles to the southwest) for a weekend camping trip.
In June I finally talked my mother into letting me go to sea with my uncle Milton Bernos. I had tried the year before but she would not agree. I think she had changed her mind because now she was confident I could take care of myself. I packed a suitcase and caught the excursion to New Orleans, arriving at the home of my
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