Ira's Letter from the Big Sail

Here's my transcription of a handwritten letter Dad sent me during his voyage on Al Bensusan's boat through the open Atlantic. Clearly, it was written prior to the sailors' encounter with a major storm at sea. The letter vividly reflects his love for adventure, for seafaring, and for the natural world.

(Caps reflect his own usage .)

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Wed. May 14, 1986

THE SAILING TRIP - LV. FLA. SUN MAY 11 AT DAWN.

CAST OF CHARACTERS- CAPT. AL BENSUSAN, BILL REVKIN , SAM ROUSLIN, AND IRA WELLINS

Dear Nancy,

I'm writing during my great sailing trip (from Southport, No. Carolina right now). It has been exciting. We left from a place about 60 mi. north of Palm Beach, intending to spend one day on the inland waterway, sailing north to Cape Canaveral and exiting to the open ocean at that point. To our great disappointment, we found that a seaway lock vital to that exit was closed for repairs, so we had to stay inland most of the next day to reach the Ponce DeLeon exit near New Smyrna, Fla.

However, it was not a total loss, as the INDIAN RIVER (which is the INLAND waterway in that area) is very interesting with GREAT BLUE HERONS, EGRETS, DOLPHINS, MOBILE HOME CITIES FOR THE ELDERLY WITH CANALS FOR STREETS SO ALL CAN HAVE A BOAT MOORED IN THEIR DRIVEWAY? BOATWAY?? ALSO MANATEES IN SOME AREAS - AND WE SAW THEM ALL.

At about 5 pm we sailed thru the Ponce DeLeon exit into the open Atlantic, feeling like we'd been freed, the gates flung open and our 30-foot nonesuch the Zinzindorf bucked, rolled, yawed, pitched, and fought her (all boats are female - wonder why?) way through the broad rollers and headed east to intercept the Gulf Stream about 60 miles off the coast, then turn northard (actually NNE) to take advantage of the approximate 2-knot current flowing north.

My first night at sea - only a thin sliver of the waxing crescent moon to shed the faintest light to detract from the blackness, with the mast waving a long bony finger at the brilliant masses of stars, the dim red glow of the compass and instruments providing the only other light. As we each stand our 3-hour watch, we don our raingear (raining or not, as you can't leave the helm if it should blow (spray) or rain) and put on our lifeline and snap it to a line running the length of the boat, as going overboard at night is almost certain death as the blackness is too intense to find anybody. The alternative - a life jacket with flashlight, whistle, and flares - is too bulky.

There is an eerie beauty to the sight of a raingeared man at the wheel peering through the blackness for the lights of other boats, holding a red flashlight to read instruments and watching the compass, with the splendor of the stars as background as you come up the companionway to relieve. Of course, you have to hold on as the boat rolls and pitches on the broad swells and heels to the wind hitting the vast mains'l. Taking a turn at the helm on the open ocean is mainly monitoring the instruments and being on lookout for other vessels, as our automatic pilot holds to any pre-set course.

The next morning I awoke at 5:30 (went to bed at 2 am), threw some clothes on and went up on deck as it started to get light. We were rolling along at 6.5 knots all alone with nothing in sight from horizon to horizon. However during the morning we saw a few freighters far off, then nothing. Then 2 small birds - storm petrels - showed up and were with us all day - they are funny, swooping down on the water and running over the surface with wings outspread, but we couldn't see what they caught.

About 11 am a school of 4-6 porpoises showed up, arcing gracefully through the water and started playing around the bow for about 10 minutes. Al was asleep below so missed the show. He didn't quite believe us when we told him about it. However we were given a repeat performance in the p.m. which Al saw. We also saw numerous flying fish and one was found dead on the deck the next morning - evidently could not get itself back in the water.

Have to go now for a shower and change of clothes - then we're going to a restaurant. More later. In the meantime, lots of love and kisses from your Dad.

Samantha's eulogy

I have been fortunate enough to have my Grandfather as a constant presence in my life. He is the type of person who leaves an imprint in the lives of everyone he knows.

In recent years, every time I saw him we had a little routine that we had fallen into. I would kiss him and say “Hi Grandpa” and his response would always be a look of shock that I had kissed him, a look that he made jokingly as if to say, “Who, me?” and an enthusiastic “Thank you!” Then he would take a moment where he would give me a look which I now look back on and realize was filled with so much love, and he would say, “How did I get such a beautiful granddaughter?” Or he would put a hand on my face and say, “So cute,” in a way that made me feel like he couldn’t contain himself.

On his last day, I was visiting him in with the knowledge that it might be one of the last times I got to see him. I’m sure the expression on my face gave me away, as he always had a good sense of people and what they were thinking. I leaned over his bed and gave him the kiss that I made sure never to miss when seeing him, and he gave me that same look of sweet adoration and thanked me with the same amount of enthusiasm as always. Then he looked me dead in the eye and said, “So beautiful…” I responded, “So are you!” to which he replied, “I know.” I knew even before I had lost him that these interactions were special. They were so genuine and so loving that I couldn’t help but feel like every private moment spent with him was exceptional. He always made sure that those he loved knew how he felt; and although a lot of his time was spent quietly sitting amongst the boisterous women of our family, when he would finally speak, he would say something perfect. Either something with perfect comedic timing, or something so passionate and informed that people had to take notice. He had the unique ability, which I hope to mirror in my own life, to keep everyone entertained and also to get a point across.

I will miss watching him enjoy his candy in his sweet childlike way, and I will miss having someone else who appreciates meatloaf and mashed potatoes as much as I do. He and I decided long ago that we could both live on this diet forever.

At Thanksgiving, I will be lost without him taste-testing my cranberry sauce. He used to take tiny little bites from his spoon and then get a very serious look on his face, as though the amount of sugar added to the pot was the most important decision of his life. Every year he would tell me that this year’s sauce was the best yet.

His ketchup in his chicken soup and his love of hot dogs and beans were only part of his lifelong quirkiness when it came to food. Even his last meal was incidentally a cream cheese and jelly sandwich with a Fig Newton and an Oreo, which I am told he thought was the best snack my grandmother could have prepared.

I will remember him as brilliant, because I always felt he knew everything. Growing up, I recall him being known as the human encyclopedia. I will cherish the ideologies he instilled in my mother and then in me to always consider every living creature and never to waste. But mostly I will remember his capacity to love and appreciate everyone around him. I have known very few people who have had the ability to make me feel as special and uniquely loved as he did, and I will miss him more than I can ever express. I’m sure that I’ll have a hard time finding someone to lick the cooking spatula that will appreciate it and deserve it as much as him.

The Old Smoothies

They met at a dance... and six decades later still enjoyed dancing together.

Click on the link below to watch (film taken by Ari):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1Ij2TVoqAs&feature=channel_page

Which reminds me of a parody song Dad used to sing:

Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed;
If you think we danced - you've got rocks in your head!

Frankie's eulogy

Thank you for joining us today to celebrate the life of Ira Wellins. Having been married to him for 61 years obviously I knew him well, his imperfections included. I loved his wonderful sense of humor, his never-ending quest for knowledge, his quick response to someone who needed help – Let’s face it, I just plain loved him!

As I thought about what I wanted to say about him today a myriad of ideas went through my head, and I finally decided that there were two things I admired most about him - first, his integrity and second, his valuing all living creatures - (except mosquitoes.) If there was a fly in the house he would get a newspaper and shoo it outside. If there was a spider he would get a container, trap the spider inside and then set it free outdoors. Sometimes spiders were left alone in the hope that they would trap the hated mosquitoes. His influence was so great on his daughters that Diane once nursed a sick bumblebee back to health.

One of my favorite stories about Ira happened many years ago when he owned a drugstore. The IRS was targeting pharmacies that year and his was one of the ones chosen. Other pharmacists sympathized with him, figuring he must be worried because it was common practice to let a bit of the daily sales go unreported. The IRS men searched and searched and couldn’t find any irregularities, so they continued to dig. They finally found an irregularity - he had overpaid and the government owed him money.

I have many wonderful memories of our lives together – raising two beloved daughters, traveling cross country in our Volkswagen camper a dozen times, enjoying three exceptional grandchildren – too many memories to talk about today, but many of them make me smile and I know they will sustain me in the weeks and months ahead. I cherish the knowledge that for 61 plus years I never once doubted that he loved me.

In August Ira was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. He never complained, he always had a ready smile, and tried very hard not to be a burden to me. Because of his cheerful nature we had six very special months together. On the afternoon before his death I was sitting on the bed next to him, with Diane, Samantha and Sarah standing nearby, and he sang me a love song which he had sung many times – "Those Endearing Young Charms." I am so grateful for that last day together.

Him and his candy (and other food)

Ira, as you may know, was a candy fanatic. In his candy basket, there was everything from Baby Ruth bars to Gumdrops. He was especially fond of those small mints with the red spiral design on them; we found an old one in a pocket of his brown coat. I heard that he made regular trips to the Job Lot Plaza on Resevoir Avenue by the Route 10 junction, to buy candy that had fallen off the back of a boat or a truck and had been lying around for days before someone picked it up and sold it to the Job Lots place, which, in turn sold it for something like 50 cents! He obviously didn't mind. On top of that, he liked those Hostess cupcakes, which are small little chocolate cupcakes filled with creme filling and topped with a creme frosting squiggle. Even though they were dated September 1963, he'd eat them and wouldn't get stomach flu or something. Must have been the preservatives. But, as much as he loved candy, his favorite dessert was always chocolate pudding with a little milk or cream. Besides candy, he liked Thanksgiving food. He once agreed with Samantha that they could live on Mashed Potatoes and Gravy all their life. But, whatever he was served, he was always sure to finish it happily.

The Soda Fountain

This is the only photo I have of Dad at the old soda fountain in Bayshore Pharmacy - from July 1965. Check out the prices for the fountain drinks; the milkshake makers (left rear); the tobacco pipe display on the wall. The fountain went the way of all flesh in the December 1973 fire that gutted the store (smoke and water damage).

My Remembrance about Ira

I was Ira’s grandson, and namesake, Ari, and I wrote this.

My Grandfather was probably the most exceptional person I have ever met, even though I have known him less then ten years. He is one of those people who permanently leaves a large print in anyone he meets, whether that person is rich, poor, mean, giving, young or old. I admired him for that, as it was what made him, well, him. Every person is unique, and he was a living example of that. He was different from others, and that was his quality.
He was different, because waste was the one thing he was a little crazy about. Whether the food was fresh or not, he ate it cheerfully and wouldn’t complain. He took a shower drop by drop, and the lights were always out when he wasn’t in the room. If the world lived that sort of lifestyle, climate change wouldn’t be on Obama’s agenda.
He was different, because, he was still a kid at heart. You would find him sitting in his favorite chair with a big box of gumdrops, sucking them slowly, putting great thought into it. He was always ready with a smile or two, and he always had something funny, witty and clever. He could make anyone laugh, another good quality of his.
He was different, because he had courage. He battled with a soldering iron (despite the fact of his being NOT AT ALL handy) to build a simple radio for my mother's science fair project, and was in the lead plane many times on World War II B-17 bombing missions over Germany. He won an Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters and a Distinguished Flying Cross for that, for all his courage.
He was different, because he was himself, his own unique person who had a treasure trove of talents inside him, who knew that and let it go to the world — for everyone to see. That’s why he was different, and I admired him.


Thanks for reading this.