A correspondent has sent me this: Some of the older members
might recall this great character.
"A recent report in the Arizona Journal (USA.) brings the
sad news that one of our most famous crews of the past - Leon Metrick -
has passed away. The article, which will I am sure be of interest to
not only the older members of the Merlin fraternity but also those
aspiring to be the best in the art of crewing, is reproduced verbatim
with the full permission of the authors. Our thoughts, naturally, are
with Leon's family at this sad time”.
“Leon Metrick 1946 – 2007.
Leon Metrick, who has sadly passed away, at the age of 61, in bizarre
but as yet unreported causes, after a period of enforced isolation in
hospital. He was born according to the Court circulars and Yachting
World in March or April on a Friday at Five to Five in the afternoon
in1946. He was educated at a succession of Public Schools, frequently
flogged, given detentions and finally asked to leave, as result of
bunking off more traditional games to sail. Having first of all sailed
as a Cadet at Tamesis where his father, of Cornish-Dutch/Russian
ancestry, was Sailing Secretary. He sailed in Cadet Weeks against
Rodney Pattison, Jacques Rogge, now Chairman of the IOC
and the late Peter Bateman, amongst others. He then crewe exclusively
for Harold G Twincy (whose obituary was published in the National
Newspapers and Yachting Press in April 2002) and a number of leading
Merlin Rocket Sailors, before emigrating to Phoenix, Arizona, to work
for NASA, where he took up the dual sports of saloon car racing and
flying light powered aeroplanes. As a crew he was technically superb,
and ever cheerful, his “come on Chelsea” breaking the tension and his
light weather quip to the more mature ladies taking tea and watching a
light airs race that “on behalf of all sailors I would like to thank
Briggs Cunningham for lending us his hole”, raised more than a smile
from most. His famous quotes that “one should never race any car
one was not prepared to drive off a cliff”, and that
“the only bad landings were ones you did not walk away from”,
were well made. His love life was
tempestuous, one of his wives being the result of a long traffic jam on
the West Way on a Bank Holiday Friday. Having conversed in hand
signals for an hour or so they pulled over for a drink and after half an
hour his new companion said, “Stop talking you’ve pulled”. After his
beloved Chelsea Football Club became “Chelski”,
he more or less gave up
watching soccer but his various blogs about the goings on at Stamford
Bridge from the safe distance of Phoenix, (though it is possible that
his death was far from unaided) let the world know what he thought.
A few years ago, he imported an old Merlin Rocket (911, Crackerjack, a
Chippendale Built Proctor Mk Eleven – very apposite!) to the United
States but failed to convert his fellow Arizonians to this superb two
person racing dinghy. He then disastrously converted from Merlins to the
505 (He briefly crewed 505’s in the 70’s before emigrating; for Philip
(Slogger) Milanes in their 505 “Drambui Dan”.)
Being unused to the class, but typically enthusiastic he was almost
suffocated by entanglement during an unaccustomed manoeuvre by the
trapeze. The helm of course did not notice the impending tragedy intent
as he was on a broad spinnaker reach but only found out when, on
tacking, poor Leon was still to be found leaning out over the old lee
deck. Shock due to accidental immersion was given as the initial cause
of his final illness. A true Viking Occasion.
He was a loyal Godfather to the children of one of his Merlin Rocket
Helmsmen making frequent trips to Denmark to visit them at their homes
or to England for school half terms. A loving and generous husband to
his wives and a devoted father to his sons Pete Forgun and Rene Petris
(their names a testament to the international flavour of his alliances).
His annual “Flying Pigs” B B Q was always well attended, especially
by the ten or so former Merlin Rocket Sailors who live on the Western
Side of the Atlantic Ocean.
Sadly his first choice of a Viking Style funeral in a burning boat
sailing into the sunset was just not possible due to the Breeding Season
of Sea Otters on the nearest ocean to his home, though sailing into the
setting sun would have been simple on the West Coast. Thus, his funeral
was an open-air cremation on a pyre of his old Merlin Rocket, (keeper of
class records please note!) one of his saloon cars and the remains of
his last airplane, an ancient Cessna 150. The black smoke caused a
significant air traffic hazard for quite a few hours. The wake consumed
prodigious quantities of Coors Beer (Trucked across State Lines!) and
two whole Hogs, (Escaped Gloucester Old Spots.) shot by his eldest
son, and
one of his former helmsmen, cooked on the embers of his pyre. The
choice of pork for his funeral feast was his choice as a result of his
conversion on his death bed to Christianity from the Judaism of his
birth. Unconventional to the end, he will be missed; they do not make
them like that anymore.
Posted: 01/04/2007 10:01:53 By: Beauregard McTavish of that Ilk. |
