There’s something about growing up within commuting distance of New York City that I can never grow out of: I’m always early for meetings. And when the meeting is on the other side of the Bay, I allow enough extra time for slow traffic on the bridge.

“Research shows that commuters allow a margin of two standard deviations when there’s variation in travel time getting to work,” Lee Helm once asserted. But she could not cite the actual study, so I suspect that she just made it up; I don’t think it applies to Californians, based on my observations.

Traffic was light one evening on the bridges over the Bay, so there I was, 45 minutes early, at the yacht club that was hosting the YRA delegates’ meeting. I decided to pursue one of my favorite activities when I find myself in an unfamiliar club with time to kill: check out their library.

Everything about the room was optimized for reading old books: the comfy leather chairs, the good lighting, and even the “old yacht club” smell, although it had probably been decades since anyone was allowed to smoke a cigar in that space. I browsed some eye-level shelves, then picked up a big book that was displayed upright on an antique side table, full of photos of local racing from the turn of the last century. Most of the photos were new to me — not the usual fare found in photo collections from that era. I was absorbed in the book and did not hear the door open, and was surprised by a stern voice from behind:

“Excuse me. Sir, this room is for MEMBERS ONLY!”

There was an instant of embarrassment until I identified the voice: It was Lee Helm, grad student in naval architecture, performing a very bad voice impression of a yacht club official enforcing the rules. Evidently Lee was choosing to kill time the same way that I was.

“Oh, that sign’s not really meant for us,” I pointed out. “What brings you to this side of the Bay?”

“Tokenism,” she explained. “I’m like, the ‘student member’ of the YRA Board.”

“Good for you,” I said. “If any organization needs some young blood, it’s this one. I’m just here to make sure some of my club’s special events get on the calendar.”

“Finding anything interesting to read?” she asked.

“I just look at the pictures,” I joked, gesturing at the book of old photos. “Some really good stuff from 100 years ago, never published anywhere else. But these shelves are not nearly as organized as I’d expect: There’s a little bit of sorting according to topic, but I suppose with no labels on the shelves, books rarely get put back where they belong.”

“A little random serendipity is cool,” she said as she walked over to a shelf that looked especially dark and moldy, suggesting older volumes.

I followed her there, and pulled out the oldest and moldiest-looking book, a copy of Seamanship, by Luce, published in 1866.

“A great work, in its day,” Lee remarked. “Admiral Luce was the founder of the Naval War College. It’s got one of my favorite diagrams about handling sailing ships.”

Lee quickly found a page showing how to con a full-rigged frigate down a river or channel, with no wind. Only the tide, the anchor and the rudder to keep the ship clear of the shoals.

“It probably belongs over here,” she said as she walked over to the bookcase with the glass doors.

Surprisingly, the glass doors were not locked, so we put the book back with some other relics from the 19th century.

“Look at this!” I exclaimed as I picked up another very old volume. “It’s a copy of The Lawson History of the America’s Cup. From 1902! They shouldn’t leave this one unlocked, it’s a first edition and probably worth a fortune!”

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