I started to put this on the thread about getting the new boat home. Then I realized this is probably too long to be appropriate there – or perhaps anywhere on the site. But I can’t resist. Your misfortune is that I cannot think of a better audience for a story I have been dying to tell.
The referenced thread begs my response for several reasons. Met Cory in Alameda a year or so ago. What an incredibly nice young man – probably because he is an Iowa boy.
Truly, he is one of those guys who is the best of all worlds – a pleasure to deal with, makes you feel you are in great hands, and delivers on that promise.
As far as the cost of transporting a boat on its own trailer, like a C-Dory, I can make you feel better. Our Camano was just under $7K for the haul from Iowa to Alameda.
The transport deal I gave the buyer of our CD 25 was a little better. For fuel cost between Iowa and New Mexico, I drove from Alameda to Iowa, picked up the boat, and towed it to New Mexico and returned to Alameda. 4400 miles over a period of 9 days of which 5 were driving days. We spent a very enjoyable day-and-a-half with our buyers who were great people and a lot of fun and who insisted on paying for our two nights lodging overlooking Elephant Butte Lake. They certainly aided our recovery from the nightmare from which we had just recently escaped. Which brings me to the main reason for my response -- a long story that has been waiting for months to burst out. I’ll apologize in advance for the length of the story, but if you think reading it is long, you cannot imagine how long living it was.
It all started when we bought our Camano 31 in June and became a two boat, two payment family. I called Gerald Parker at Dudley Yacht Transport in Washington – knowing they are perhaps the premier big boat movers in the country – to get the boat sitting on the Mississippi transported to the Bay. Gerald, of course, wanted to avoid deadheading and was not sure when they could do it, so I started looking around. I finally settled on a hauler who sounded good, felt right, and seemed anxious to do the job – and sent him a $1500 deposit.
On the day I put the deposit in the mail Gerald – from Dudley – calls and says he has a driver headed back from New York who can pick us up two days later. I say I’m really sorry but I just mailed a deposit to another outfit. There’s a pause and Gerald – who is a very nice guy – quietly says he wishes I had not done that.
“You never give a deposit to anyone in our industry. There are too many crooks and frauds and fly-by-nights. The people who you want to hire do not need your deposit to get the job done and they are protected by having possession of your boat. We do not take a deposit.”
“Oh shit.” Followed by a little chit-chat, during which I realize the mailman – with my deposit letter – is driving back down the other side of our street. I tell Gerald and sprint out the door, waving my arms and leaping in front of the mail truck. The mailman – one of my former students – recovers from his heart attack quickly, sympathizes with my plight and hands me the envelope. I rip it in several pieces as I go back to the house. Shaking badly, I can’t find Gerald’s phone number, but within a few minutes he calls me back – relieved that I have retrieved my deposit check. In the course our conversation, I mention a few details about why I had thought the other hauler would be OK – including a glowing magazine article about him -- and some reasons for having had some concerns. It wasn’t long before Gerald says it sounds like Elmer. (Name changed to protect the innocent.)
“ Smith?” I say. “Elmer Smith?”
“Yeah. Elmer’s a great hauler. I’ve known him for years. Been in our yard many times. He’ll do a great job for you. I don’t want to pull a job out from under Elmer.”
So, I go to my computer, print another copy of the contract, write another check – so much for the dramatic tearing up of the envelope – and mail it. Oh, that this were the end of the story. It takes about two more weeks to get the boat actually picked up. We do the 6 hour round trip three times before we finally make arrangements for the pick-up to occur without us. Most of that time, the boat takes up limited parking in a busy marina that had wanted the boat set for two days at the most. I have to say they were very nice about it. In the end, Elmer calls and tells us one of his drivers will actually do the haul.
Big Jim – not real name – calls the day before the pick-up and introduces himself and tells us what to expect – including a daily phone call from him. Very professional. Very impressive. Boy did I feel good about him. For three days, both my wife and I enjoy his calls. He keeps us posted and gives us background details about his long career hauling boats – enough details for me to look him up on the Internet to get the information to send him a nice thank-you note at the end of the job. I cannot find him. But I do find a sound-alike name. Given what I find, I spend several hours saying the names out loud and assuring myself that, even with my poor hearing, I could not have misheard Big Tim as Big Jim. Finally, I pop for the ten or twenty bucks and do a reverse search on his cell number. “Oh shit,” again. Big Tim is hauling my boat. Big Tim whom I find all over the Internet, including a magazine article documenting an exceptionally difficult haul that he pulled off years ago that others would not undertake. Unfortunately, most of the rest – and there is a boat load of it – is not nearly as flattering. Deposits taken boats not hauled. Boats picked up, delivered weeks and sometimes months later. One boat still missing in action over a year later, A flybridge on a large, high-end yacht cut off with a reciprocating saw, electrical and hydraulics sheared with lopping shears. Court actions. One whole freaking website devoted to Big Tim -- by a victim -- and his crimes against boat owners. And he has our baby. Needless to say, intense nausea grips my stomach and refuses to let go for over a week.
I call Elmer. He finally deduces from my babbling what I have discovered. He laughs and assures me I have nothing to worry about. OK. So I maintain contact with Big Tim although now I am calling him more than he is calling me. Mechanical hang up in Wyoming. Fourth of July weekend travel barriers. Wide load issues near Truckee requiring a return to Reno. One reason after another for a three day trip dragging on and on. Finally several days of “I’ll be in the boatyard tomorrow.” But day after day the boatyard reports not getting their day-ahead notice. About nine days in, they get the call. Big Tim is in Arizona – miscommunication – it was actually Nevada – and would arrive the next day. I am going what the hell is he doing in Arizona? Next day, no boat. Another day and Big Tim gives the boatyard a story about Truckee road construction, returning to Reno, new permits, and highway numbers that make no sense to me. Again miscommunication. I get on the phone with Big Tim. The numbers he actually gave the marina do make sense. He assures me he’ll be in the boatyard by noon the next day. I talk to my guy at the boatyard. He is really feeling sorry for me now and volunteers to call Gerald Parker at Dudley to see what Gerald knows about this character. It is almost closing but he’s going to call me back in half an hour. Instead the office manager calls with some trivial information. Strange. Later I learn that what Gerald told them was so bad they did not have the heart to add to my misery. No sleep. Call the boatyard at 1:00. No boat. 2:00 no boat. Call Gerald Parker. Don’t know why, except I have to do something. Gerald evasive until he realizes I know so much that what he adds cannot make it worse. Confirms Big Tim is as bad or worse than anything I found on the Internet. Scourge of the industry for decades. Can’t explain what could possibly account for Elmer’s hiring him – a case of uncharacteristic bad judgment. Confesses his fear that the boat is sitting in Big Tim’s truck yard back in the Midwest or that Big Tim will demand payment before off-loading – Gerald knows that I have at this point paid Elmer in full.
4:00. I’m not vomiting but I’m close. Phone rings. My guy at the boatyard says “You know why I’m calling.” “To tell me my boat is there, I hope.” “ Greg, I’d like nothing more than to tell you that.” My heart sinks. My stomach does weird things. “And that is exactly why I am calling you. Congratulations.”
End of story: Every word Big Tim spoke for almost two weeks was basically true and accurate. He took care of the boat as if it were his own. Except for a three day trip taking almost two weeks, no one could have done a better job for us. Based on our experience, I could easily recommend his services – except for Gerald’s confirmation of all the horror stories.
So what is the moral? A story this long surely has to produce one. Ignorance is bliss? Don’t react prematurely and out of proportion? All’s well that ends well? One person’s nightmare is another’s interminably tedious story? The writer’s catharsis is the reader’s tedium? One man’s misery is another’s entertainment? Maybe it is simply to hire Cory. He is the whole package. For a big boat, Dudley gets my vote.
Again, I apologize and thank you for your indulgence!
Greg
The referenced thread begs my response for several reasons. Met Cory in Alameda a year or so ago. What an incredibly nice young man – probably because he is an Iowa boy.
Truly, he is one of those guys who is the best of all worlds – a pleasure to deal with, makes you feel you are in great hands, and delivers on that promise. As far as the cost of transporting a boat on its own trailer, like a C-Dory, I can make you feel better. Our Camano was just under $7K for the haul from Iowa to Alameda.
The transport deal I gave the buyer of our CD 25 was a little better. For fuel cost between Iowa and New Mexico, I drove from Alameda to Iowa, picked up the boat, and towed it to New Mexico and returned to Alameda. 4400 miles over a period of 9 days of which 5 were driving days. We spent a very enjoyable day-and-a-half with our buyers who were great people and a lot of fun and who insisted on paying for our two nights lodging overlooking Elephant Butte Lake. They certainly aided our recovery from the nightmare from which we had just recently escaped. Which brings me to the main reason for my response -- a long story that has been waiting for months to burst out. I’ll apologize in advance for the length of the story, but if you think reading it is long, you cannot imagine how long living it was.
It all started when we bought our Camano 31 in June and became a two boat, two payment family. I called Gerald Parker at Dudley Yacht Transport in Washington – knowing they are perhaps the premier big boat movers in the country – to get the boat sitting on the Mississippi transported to the Bay. Gerald, of course, wanted to avoid deadheading and was not sure when they could do it, so I started looking around. I finally settled on a hauler who sounded good, felt right, and seemed anxious to do the job – and sent him a $1500 deposit.
On the day I put the deposit in the mail Gerald – from Dudley – calls and says he has a driver headed back from New York who can pick us up two days later. I say I’m really sorry but I just mailed a deposit to another outfit. There’s a pause and Gerald – who is a very nice guy – quietly says he wishes I had not done that.
“You never give a deposit to anyone in our industry. There are too many crooks and frauds and fly-by-nights. The people who you want to hire do not need your deposit to get the job done and they are protected by having possession of your boat. We do not take a deposit.”
“Oh shit.” Followed by a little chit-chat, during which I realize the mailman – with my deposit letter – is driving back down the other side of our street. I tell Gerald and sprint out the door, waving my arms and leaping in front of the mail truck. The mailman – one of my former students – recovers from his heart attack quickly, sympathizes with my plight and hands me the envelope. I rip it in several pieces as I go back to the house. Shaking badly, I can’t find Gerald’s phone number, but within a few minutes he calls me back – relieved that I have retrieved my deposit check. In the course our conversation, I mention a few details about why I had thought the other hauler would be OK – including a glowing magazine article about him -- and some reasons for having had some concerns. It wasn’t long before Gerald says it sounds like Elmer. (Name changed to protect the innocent.)
“ Smith?” I say. “Elmer Smith?”
“Yeah. Elmer’s a great hauler. I’ve known him for years. Been in our yard many times. He’ll do a great job for you. I don’t want to pull a job out from under Elmer.”
So, I go to my computer, print another copy of the contract, write another check – so much for the dramatic tearing up of the envelope – and mail it. Oh, that this were the end of the story. It takes about two more weeks to get the boat actually picked up. We do the 6 hour round trip three times before we finally make arrangements for the pick-up to occur without us. Most of that time, the boat takes up limited parking in a busy marina that had wanted the boat set for two days at the most. I have to say they were very nice about it. In the end, Elmer calls and tells us one of his drivers will actually do the haul.
Big Jim – not real name – calls the day before the pick-up and introduces himself and tells us what to expect – including a daily phone call from him. Very professional. Very impressive. Boy did I feel good about him. For three days, both my wife and I enjoy his calls. He keeps us posted and gives us background details about his long career hauling boats – enough details for me to look him up on the Internet to get the information to send him a nice thank-you note at the end of the job. I cannot find him. But I do find a sound-alike name. Given what I find, I spend several hours saying the names out loud and assuring myself that, even with my poor hearing, I could not have misheard Big Tim as Big Jim. Finally, I pop for the ten or twenty bucks and do a reverse search on his cell number. “Oh shit,” again. Big Tim is hauling my boat. Big Tim whom I find all over the Internet, including a magazine article documenting an exceptionally difficult haul that he pulled off years ago that others would not undertake. Unfortunately, most of the rest – and there is a boat load of it – is not nearly as flattering. Deposits taken boats not hauled. Boats picked up, delivered weeks and sometimes months later. One boat still missing in action over a year later, A flybridge on a large, high-end yacht cut off with a reciprocating saw, electrical and hydraulics sheared with lopping shears. Court actions. One whole freaking website devoted to Big Tim -- by a victim -- and his crimes against boat owners. And he has our baby. Needless to say, intense nausea grips my stomach and refuses to let go for over a week.
I call Elmer. He finally deduces from my babbling what I have discovered. He laughs and assures me I have nothing to worry about. OK. So I maintain contact with Big Tim although now I am calling him more than he is calling me. Mechanical hang up in Wyoming. Fourth of July weekend travel barriers. Wide load issues near Truckee requiring a return to Reno. One reason after another for a three day trip dragging on and on. Finally several days of “I’ll be in the boatyard tomorrow.” But day after day the boatyard reports not getting their day-ahead notice. About nine days in, they get the call. Big Tim is in Arizona – miscommunication – it was actually Nevada – and would arrive the next day. I am going what the hell is he doing in Arizona? Next day, no boat. Another day and Big Tim gives the boatyard a story about Truckee road construction, returning to Reno, new permits, and highway numbers that make no sense to me. Again miscommunication. I get on the phone with Big Tim. The numbers he actually gave the marina do make sense. He assures me he’ll be in the boatyard by noon the next day. I talk to my guy at the boatyard. He is really feeling sorry for me now and volunteers to call Gerald Parker at Dudley to see what Gerald knows about this character. It is almost closing but he’s going to call me back in half an hour. Instead the office manager calls with some trivial information. Strange. Later I learn that what Gerald told them was so bad they did not have the heart to add to my misery. No sleep. Call the boatyard at 1:00. No boat. 2:00 no boat. Call Gerald Parker. Don’t know why, except I have to do something. Gerald evasive until he realizes I know so much that what he adds cannot make it worse. Confirms Big Tim is as bad or worse than anything I found on the Internet. Scourge of the industry for decades. Can’t explain what could possibly account for Elmer’s hiring him – a case of uncharacteristic bad judgment. Confesses his fear that the boat is sitting in Big Tim’s truck yard back in the Midwest or that Big Tim will demand payment before off-loading – Gerald knows that I have at this point paid Elmer in full.
4:00. I’m not vomiting but I’m close. Phone rings. My guy at the boatyard says “You know why I’m calling.” “To tell me my boat is there, I hope.” “ Greg, I’d like nothing more than to tell you that.” My heart sinks. My stomach does weird things. “And that is exactly why I am calling you. Congratulations.”
End of story: Every word Big Tim spoke for almost two weeks was basically true and accurate. He took care of the boat as if it were his own. Except for a three day trip taking almost two weeks, no one could have done a better job for us. Based on our experience, I could easily recommend his services – except for Gerald’s confirmation of all the horror stories.
So what is the moral? A story this long surely has to produce one. Ignorance is bliss? Don’t react prematurely and out of proportion? All’s well that ends well? One person’s nightmare is another’s interminably tedious story? The writer’s catharsis is the reader’s tedium? One man’s misery is another’s entertainment? Maybe it is simply to hire Cory. He is the whole package. For a big boat, Dudley gets my vote.
Again, I apologize and thank you for your indulgence!
Greg
