We were pals, but it wasnʻt easy. Stu was probably the most competitive person Iʻve ever known, which is saying something (Roger Staubach said the same thing). My Annapolis extended family kept tabs on him for me, and every year it was "still going strong."
This is from one of my books:
Competition makes sailors better. At high levels it is violent and pitiless, even on the most pleasant day. In Annapolis, my partner Larry Brodie and I campaigned a Soling, a 27-foot Olympic class keelboat with a crew of three. Our fleet included Stuart Walker, an Olympic medalist and author of sailboat racing books, and Sam Merrick, chairman of the US Olympic Sailing Committee. We raced all year, scraping snow off the boats in winter. Rivalries were intense, and winning—which Larry and I did infrequently—came hard. The prize was a chance to represent the country in the Sailing Olympics of 1980. The Olympics were called off that year over tension with the Soviet Union, but I had seen the soul of racing.
Gary Jobson, preparing for the 1981 America’s Cup as Ted Turner’s tactician, used our Soling to tune up in match races against Merrick, who had been his mentor. Larry and I were the crew, and figured to have a swell chance to see young lion Gary in action against baleful Sam, who we both admired and feared. The first time Jobson and Merrick crossed tacks neither of them would yield and the two boats struck at full speed, with broken parts flying off and both men standing up and yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. So that’s how it is, racing with the masters.
Stuart Walker’s Soling was named Simplicity and Merrick’s Soling was named Multiplicity, and their rivalry was long. I knew what ambition was, but Walker had studied it for his book “The Psychology of Competition.”
His insight revealed a situation I knew well, but had never understood. In a typical small sailboat race, 20 boats cross the finish line one by one or in closely contested groups, the crews tired or gleeful. They group together to lower sails and wolf down a sandwich before the next race, laughing together and comparing notes or threatening revenge. In the temporary cessation of hostilities bonhomie prevails and there is a sense of togetherness, especially if it’s a nice day and the sun shining. Turn your eye to the winner, Walker said. He rests alone and apart. No crews call out “nice job,” no boat approaches to offer advice. He is above and beyond. It’s where he needs and wants to be, no other need intrudes.
That’s what a winner is.
