old man yacht dancing

The extravagant life of Gianluca Vacchi, the Italian millionaire with an 11 million-strong Instagram following who now has his sights set on acting

50-year-old multimillionaire entrepreneur Gianluca Vacchi is not your average Instagram star — he's certainly done things his own way.

Having retired from a career in business, the silver-haired, tattooed Italian took social media by a storm last year when a video he posted of himself dancing on holiday with his partner at the time went viral.

He has since gained a huge Instagram following — over 11 million — with whom he shares his outrageously lavish lifestyle aboard private jets, yachts, and fast cars.

Business Insider spoke to Vacchi after he'd just touched down in Italy to wish his mother a Merry Christmas.

Scroll down for a sneak peek inside the extravagant world of Gianluca Vacchi.

This is 50-year-old Gianluca Vacchi, the multimillionaire entrepreneur known to most people because of the lavish lifestyle he shares with his 11 million-strong Instagram following.

Business Insider caught up with Vacchi just after he'd just touched down in Italy to wish his mother a Merry Christmas before he jetted back to Miami to spend Christmas Day and New Year's Eve in the sunshine.

Vacchi shot to social media fame about a year and a half ago when he shared this video of himself dancing to Ricky Martin with his partner at the time Italian model Giorgia Gabriele while on holiday. It went viral.

Saturday afternoon fever😄 @jogiorgiajo @ricky_martin #gvlifestyle #mordidita #rickymartin A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Jul 23, 2016 at 7:04am PDT Jul 23, 2016 at 7:04am PDT

The couple posted a series of videos in which they performed synchronised dances during the summer of 2016. They were viewed millions of times.

Vacchi told Business Insider his life so far can be be divided "very clearly" into two parts: the first one being his life "under the working point of view" which lasted until he was 45.

Turkey 🇹🇷 here i am...let's enjoy! #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Jun 25, 2017 at 12:07pm PDT Jun 25, 2017 at 12:07pm PDT

Vacchi said he went into the "family businesses" at the age of 25 after finishing his studies in economics. Along with his cousin, he took on some of his family's companies which were in need of deep restructuring and then once he'd turned them around, listed them on the stock exchange.

At 29, he said he decided to become a shareholder instead, and went into private equity, buying and selling companies in different sectors. And at one point had his fingers in pies across 12 or 13 different sectors.

"At 45 I realised that the world didn't have anything to give me anymore," he told BI. "I'm not interested in accumulating money at all any more, I'm only interested in what's moving my curiosity."

Miami for one day..tomorrow heading towards Europe and thursday back to Miami ... @laneus_world #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Nov 19, 2017 at 8:46pm PST Nov 19, 2017 at 8:46pm PST

Vacchi said that while he no longer manages companies he still considers himself to be an entrepreneur as a shareholder. For example, he still owns a stake in his family's Bologna-based conglomerate IMA, which manufactures machines for the processing and packaging of pharmaceuticals and other products.

What really piqued his interest was the world of social media. Now, his Instagram account is a platform where he shows off his flamboyant personality through an array of brightly-coloured tailored suits, velvet slippers, and impressive pyjama collection.

Attila #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Jul 16, 2016 at 12:07pm PDT Jul 16, 2016 at 12:07pm PDT

"I wasn’t old enough not to be interested in the ways of dialogue between young people, and the ways of being entertained by young people," he said. He set his sights on understanding the way social media works and says it became "clear" that it was something he could be a part of.

Now, he likes to think of himself as a "global entertainer and celebrity."

Run towards the target and never give up! Do always what you wanna do and not what others are expecting you to do! Life is yours! #gvlifestyle #gvrules A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Nov 7, 2017 at 6:45am PST Nov 7, 2017 at 6:45am PST

"It used to be that the first thing people did was look at the newspaper, now they wake up and go on Instagram," he said. "People are more interested in other peoples' lives than their own. It is very strange, but it's like that."

Vacchi trains for over an hour each day, no matter where he is in the world, and often shares his workouts with his followers.

Morning training ..bum bum tam tam😉 #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Dec 20, 2017 at 4:14am PST Dec 20, 2017 at 4:14am PST

He has even published his own self-congratulatory book entitled '#Enjoy.'

Give color to your life #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Aug 13, 2016 at 11:55am PDT Aug 13, 2016 at 11:55am PDT

In the book, which came out in 2016, he writes about his decision to retire at 45, after his 20-year career.

His ostentatious lifestyle — known by the hashtag #gvlifestyle — certainly divides opinion, but one thing's for sure — a scroll through his feed is hugely entertaining.

Leaving Miami towards Ibiza and Madrid.. #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Nov 20, 2017 at 1:14pm PST Nov 20, 2017 at 1:14pm PST

The endless glamorous settings and parties — where you might catch him spinning vinyl with an anklet-adorned foot or doing a back flip off a yacht — make for compulsive viewing.

Dancing is a big part of his life, though he says he has never taken a dance class. "It's in my blood," he said.

Typical look for a favela dance🕺🕺 Ps can't stop dancing even while texting on serious matters 😂 #gvlifestyle @luca_rubinacci A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Dec 12, 2017 at 7:06am PST Dec 12, 2017 at 7:06am PST

Vacchi's dancing posts, often performed to Brazilian Baile Funk or Latino music, are still popular with his followers — and it's fair to say some are pretty infectious.

Dancing, he said, reflects just another portion of the philosophy on which he bases his lavish lifestyle and attracts people.

"You can do serious stuff even if you have an ironic or funny take on life," he said. "I do it spontaneously, if I listen to music it's just natural to me wherever I am, whoever I'm with."

Vacchi's Instagram is peppered with shots of him posing on private jets, of which he said: "I’m not scared of showing myself on a jet — if I do it's because I deserve to do it."

Breakfast..towards Zurich #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Nov 24, 2017 at 12:01am PST Nov 24, 2017 at 12:01am PST

He told Business Insider that he likes to ride on private jets because they offer "more flexibility, more speed, and more comfort."

Asked about the obsession with the private jet lifestyle made popular by the likes of "Rich Kids of Instagram" and celebrities, he responded: "People are aiming [to have a] better quality of lifestyle, but what people often don't understand is that a picture [of someone] on a private jet is usually the result of something that you have done many years earlier."

Vacchi said while people out there project a different life online than their reality, that's not him. It's important to him and his young following that he is "coherent, with no mask or filter. I just show myself as I am."

"I never stay more than one week in the same place," he said. "For me being one week in the same place is already something strange, in the past it was different but now I'm constantly travelling."

Ready for the season in Miami😉 #gvlifestyle #followingthesun A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Oct 30, 2017 at 2:57pm PDT Oct 30, 2017 at 2:57pm PDT

And he always travels with plenty of Louis Vuitton and Mulberry luggage.

While he is often on the go, his two main bases are in Italy and Miami.

He told Business Insider: "All of my houses are different, depending on where they're located."

And this also applies to his outfit choices. "I have no one style, it all depends on my mood that day. It's the same with music [I play]."

Above, he's pictured in his "red passion suite" at his base in Milan.

Miami has also served as a base for him to launch his DJ career, and this year Vacchi released his first ever single, 'Viento.'

Great night at @miaclubbing @nicolazucchi #gianlucavacchi A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Sep 3, 2017 at 5:30am PDT Sep 3, 2017 at 5:30am PDT

"I enjoy all kinds of music, deep house, Brazilian music," he told Business Insider — though you won't catch him playing techno as that doesn't match his "joyful" mood. "I don't want [to play] very flat boom boom boom music, I prefer strong drops."

Above he's pictured DJing at Mia Club. He'll play at Wall nightclub on Miami Beach on New Year's Eve, after which he'll probably fly to Colombia, then possibly the Bahamas.

In August 2017, Vacchi made headlines under less desirable circumstances. There were reports that he had had some of his assets seized to service debts.

Smile therapy... #gvlifestyle @effek A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Aug 23, 2017 at 7:03am PDT Aug 23, 2017 at 7:03am PDT

The Independent cited reports from Italian tabloid Quotidiano which said Vacchi had had assets and shares seized over a £9.5 million (€10.5 million) debt.

The reports prompted some to react with delight on social media, mocking his flaunted life of luxury.

Yet he continues to show off a hedonistic lifestyle.

Strange pink animals in the swimming pool at H2o.. @ginevramavilla #gvlifestyle A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Aug 19, 2017 at 8:34am PDT Aug 19, 2017 at 8:34am PDT

Vacchi averages hundreds of thousands of likes per photo on Instagram and millions of views of his videos, but the comments he receives are mixed.

Some are awestruck fans who post endless congratulatory emojis asking for more context on where he is, what he's doing, and who he's with, while others appear outraged at the extent of the extravagance lifestyle that he projects.

Either way, Vacchi doesn't appear to respond to many of them, good or bad.

So what's next for this 50-year-old retired entrepreneur, DJ, and Instagram star?

Cortina....❤️ #gvlifestyle @toysforboysofficial A post shared by Gianluca Vacchi (@gianlucavacchi) on Dec 9, 2017 at 6:01am PST Dec 9, 2017 at 6:01am PST

Vacchi told Business Insider he now has his sights set on acting.

"Why not? It would be very interesting in this second part of my life as a celebrity, DJ, producer, designer, why not even acting?" he said. "I’m already doing commercials now where I’m acting, I know that a movie is different but it's not so difficult when you're comfortable in front of the camera."

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The Old Man and His Scene

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As the after-work party winds down, I say my good nights and head for the front door of the Yacht Club of Bethesda, a dimly lit suburban Maryland watering hole. As I near my objective, a 50ish woman clad in a sharp-looking business suit glides off her bar stool and squarely into my path.

“Hello,” she says locking on my eyes. “Who are you?”

“Uh, Randall.”

“What brings you here, Randall?”

I tell her about the party, a professional get-together for people involved with the radio business.

“Would you like to have a drink?”

I explain that I’m running late and attempt to step around her to the right. But I’m too slow, and she jumps into my escape path.

“Are you sure?” she persists.

I tell her that someone is waiting for me and that I really, really must go.

As I maneuver to the left, I’m met shadowlike by the woman, who’s intent on having the last word.

“Well, OK,” she says with a hint of a pout. “If you come in again, look for me.”

I don’t come in again for a long time. Nothing in life prepared me for the experience of being hit on by a woman my mother’s age. But weep not for my would-be partner: There are plenty of kids her own age to play with at the Yacht Club.

In the four-and-a-half years since the club opened in the basement of the Bethesda Holiday Inn, it has become the favored haunt of Washington’s older singles: the area’s ever-growing cadre of 35-plus divorcées, never-marrieds, widows, and widowers. In any given week, roughly 2,000 people invade its cramped faux art deco confines to do a little drinking, dancing, and mingling. In many ways, the Yacht Club is no different from the innumerable local bars catering to young singles. It’s a crowded, loud, dark, smoky place that radiates a sexual heat generated by the friction of endless interaction between hopeful, horny individuals. And like any singles club—or church social or Parents Without Partners meeting, for that matter—the Yacht Club evokes complex emotions among its more self-aware patrons.

“Some nights you can go in there and get incredibly depressed by seeing all these middle-age people with nothing better to do,” says a patron in his mid-50s who frequents the Yacht Club and doesn’t want people to know it. “Seeing 50-year-old people trying to pick each other up—it’s so sleazy.”

But there’s one key difference between the Yacht Club and younger-skewing nightspots. With careful nurturing from owner/MC Tommy Curtis, the club has earned a reputation as the singles bar to visit when you don’t want to be single much longer: a lair where potential husbands and wives lurk in significant numbers. You wanna dance, drink, watch people, score? There are plenty of places to go. But if you are a white suburban professional of a certain age who is ready to get on with the hard business of finding or replacing a lifemate, sooner or later you make an appearance at the Yacht Club.

Presiding over this landlocked Love Boat is veteran D.C. nightclub owner Curtis, a diminutive 47-year-old who has been pimping for his generation for the past 25 years. Since the late ’60s, Curtis—the ultimate opportunist of love—has slavishly tracked his demographic cohorts’ ever-changing social norms and sexual mores. When swingin’ single was hip, Tommy gave Washington its first self-proclaimed pickup joint and dispensed advice to help guys “get laid.” When disco was king, he helped open the city’s first straight discotheque; when the bar scene was white-hot, he owned a piece of some of the city’s wildest watering holes. And now that safe sex—and steady relationships—are said to be back in style, this unctuous, squeaky-voiced, hyperkinetic, publicity-crazy, weak-palmed confirmed bachelor is once again the man to see: a matchmaker in elevator shoes and thinning but ambitiously coiffed gray hair.

“Tommy’s in the happiness business,” says PR man Charlie Brotman, a longtime friend. “Twenty-five years ago, when the kids were looking for one-night stands, Tommy was there to help. Now that they’ve grown up, gotten tired of just bopping each other and want somebody to spend their life with, he’s there again. He just wants everybody to be happy.”

But Tommy Curtis also wants—and needs—something else that the Yacht Club provides: attention.

“Awwww, freak out!”

The Yacht Club is just waking up on this warm Saturday evening in early fall. Chic’s 1978 disco hit pulses out of the DJ’s booth and across the empty dance floor, ricocheting unimpeded off the matte gray walls, brushed steel railings, and Erté prints of the small (4,000 square foot) club. A smattering of customers have planted themselves in strategic locations. The women perch in clusters of two and three at the tables, each of which sports a little pink lamp. The men—many of them in suits, most of them alone—are either hunched self-consciously around the long rectangular bar that fills the left side of the club, or slouched stone-faced against the wall located closest to the bar and farthest from the dance floor. A thirtysomething woman in a bright red sheath wanders, drink in hand, toward the back seating area. She’s followed closely by a Dr. Ruth lookalike in another red number, this one with puffed sleeves that lend it a suspicious resemblance to a high-school prom dress. It’s a dating phenomenon nearly unique to the Yacht Club habitat: the mother-daughter hunting pair.

Suddenly, Curtis glides in from the front entrance with a trio of women who could be anywhere from a hard-life 35 to a fresh and rested 45. As he ushers them to stools at the front corner of the bar—a much sought-after locale that gives them a first look at newcomers while showcasing their own charms—Tommy is plowing some serious snow.

“I’ve got some great seats for you here. I want you right up front tonight,” he tells the women.

“Did you get your hair cut?” he inquires of the pack’s apparent leader. “What did you do with it? I really like it this way.”

When the woman, clad in a black sequined jacket, dismisses him as a shameless flatterer, Curtis feigns hurt. “You think I don’t notice these things?”

Oh, he notices, all right. The women of Curtis’ generation couldn’t ask for a more ardent champion. The elfin club owner is their biggest booster, touting his female clientele—whom he refers to as “ladies” or “lovely ladies”—as confident, successful individuals who can hold their own professionally with any man and who typically look 10 years younger than they actually are.

“I’ve always loved older women,” says Curtis. “When I was a boy, I loved my mother’s friends. When I was younger, I dated older women; now I’m lucky, those women are my age.”

It frustrates him to no end, he sighs, that guys in their 30s and 40s don’t appreciate these lovely ladies as much as he does. He feels the pain of the 42-year-old woman who finds herself competing in bars against a pack of lithe twentysomethings in stretch minis cut up to here and down to there.

“Men have always told me they like younger women because they are good-looking and enthusiastic,” says Curtis, shaking his head. “But if they come here, they see that there are a lot of older women who are good-looking and enthusiastic.”

His club aims to boost the odds for those women. Everything about the place—from Curtis’ elaborate concern for his customers’ happiness to the jacket-and-tie dress code to the oldies and disco-intensive music, to his relentless promotion of the club as a place to meet your next spouse—is designed not only to appeal to lovely ladies of a certain age, but also to ward off those damnable young babes whose siren song is so irresistible to older men.

“Maybe I’m like [Phil] Donahue,” muses Curtis. “Maybe I pander to women 35 to 54. Everything I do is geared to make them comfortable. I give them a lot of compliments—tell them when they’re looking good. I get upset if two out of 202 women don’t have a good time.”

And Tommy’s definition of a good time is pretty rigorous. “If they don’t meet somebody, I don’t think they’ve had a good time.”

While Tommy’s affection for older women seems genuine enough, there’s more than a bit of self-interest involved in his assiduous courting. The Yacht Club, like every nightspot, is designed to lure big-spending men. And as any bartender who’s ever given a bored-looking woman a free drink to keep her on her stool can tell you, you gotta take care of that bait. By relentlessly sucking up to the ladies, Tommy is really trying to suck in the men.

“You get this many women in one place,” Curtis himself observes, “and the men will come—they will come.”

The Yacht Club concept occurred to Tommy Curtis in early 1988, after he had squired a lovely lady friend to a Saturday night dinner at Bethesda’s Tragara Ristoranté. The meal was delightful and the evening was going swimmingly—until Tommy and his date set out in search of somewhere to party. They got in his El Dorado and drove from place to place, finding nothing but frustration along Wisconsin Avenue. Every bar they stopped at—Malarkey’s, EJ Bradley’s, the lobby bar in the Bethesda Hyatt—was either too casual, too loud, or just too young.

“There wasn’t a place where somebody over 35 could go to have a drink, do a little dancing, maybe hold a lady in his arms,” Curtis says. “Older people don’t want to go to a place and sit next to a 22-year-old who was getting sick in the men’s room” a few minutes earlier.

Sniffing opportunity, Curtis huddled with his partners—Frank Polar, who handles the business side of the club, and a Bethesda real estate investor whom Curtis refuses to identify. Together, they drew up a plan.

The Yacht Club opened in April 1989 in the Holiday Inn space, which over the years has been home to several failed ventures including a nonalcoholic nightclub for teen-agers. The place is neither club (there is no cover, much less a membership roster) nor yacht club (there’s no nautical decor, and the Potomac is miles away); however, it was hoped that the name would lend an image of upscale exclusivity. Of course, a shopworn hotel that caters to National Institutes of Health visitors may not seem like the ideal site for a glitzy nightspot, but Curtis says that operating out of the Holiday Inn dramatically lowers his overhead costs. The hotel supplies him with food service, handles liquor orders, and provides other support in exchange for an undisclosed percentage of the club’s revenues. As for any possible image problem, Curtis says he has succeeded in separating his bar’s identity from the hotel’s. It helps, he points out, that the club entrance is located around the block from the Holiday Inn’s front door. Hotel management confirms that Curtis’ efforts to distance the club from its host have been successful; relatively few hotel guests visit the place.

“We’re a destination bar,” says Curtis.

Curtis won’t talk finances, except to say that he and the developer are 50-50 partners in the management company that owns the Yacht Club.

But knowledgeable observers figure the business must be a cash cow.

“I’ve got to think he’s doing well,” says veteran D.C. club owner Mike O’Harro. “It’s been packed every time I’ve been in there.”

Curtis returns to the bar with an attractive, 40ish Asian woman, whom he seats next to a beefy white man who looks to be pushing 55.

“Congressman, I have someone I want you to meet,” Tommy says. “This is her first cruise on the Love Boat.”

Congressman?

“He’s not a congressman,” Curtis confides conspiratorially. “I give the men titles—congressman, admiral, judge—when I introduce them.”

It’s an icebreaker, Curtis explains, that forces the man to talk about what he really does for a living. And God knows, with some of these guys you need more icebreakers than the Coast Guard. One of the biggest obstacles to his relentless pandering is the timidity of these men; Tommy finds himself constantly reminding a reluctant Romeo that the woman at the bar is not going to dust him like that cheerleader did back in 1974—or like his ex-wife did last year. No indeed, this woman is a mature and confident individual who sees beyond a man’s visage to such things as his personality and professional success. And while she may not want to date you, neither will she publicly humiliate you. After all, if she’s so much better off than you, what’s she doing sitting alone here in a singles bar?

Occasionally, if that lecture doesn’t work, Curtis will take matters into his own hands. “If they won’t do anything,” he says with a shrug, “I send a drink over to the woman and say it’s from the guy.”

After all, Tommy just wants everybody to be happy. So he spends a good part of every evening introducing his customers to one another. It’s a service they seem to appreciate and one he clearly enjoys. Going to the Yacht Club and not having Tommy introduce you to someone is like going to Cafe Lautrec and not seeing the guy tap dance on the bar. As a result, the various fawning media reports that the club has inspired (mostly through Curtis’ tireless self-promotion) invariably mention marriages the club has spawned. Reporters marvel at Tommy’s matchmaking acumen, but Curtis admits that he’s usually acting on little more than a hunch when he drags a man or a woman halfway across the bar to meet someone that he himself met just moments before.

“A psychic once told me that I’m not psychic, but I have a strong ability to learn from life experiences,” he avows. “I’ve learned a lot about human nature from all the stories I’ve heard about people’s relationships.”

Curtis’ reputation could also be an example of the old truism that even a blind hog roots up an acorn now and then. Anybody who makes a hundred introductions a night, as Curtis does, is bound to be responsible for a few successes over five years.

And success is in the air tonight. So, of course, is love. The Yacht Club has reached its 299-person capacity, as it usually does on weekend nights. While his clientele likes to gripe about the club’s cramped quarters and tiny 10-by-30-foot dance floor, Tommy believes that the crowding enhances socializing, allows things to reach a critical mass more quickly, and gives the place a bit more cachet. “If we expanded,” Curtis says, “people would drive by and say, “There’s no line, it must be dead.’ ”

Besides, he adds, the small dance floor better allows his leaden-footed male customers to fake it by swaying in place.

Sure, the atmosphere is a boon. But so’s the location: The club’s Bethesda location makes it central to most of the D.C. area’s more affluent communities—far Northwest, Montgomery County, and Fairfax County. Unlike Georgetown or Adams Morgan, Bethesda offers free and plentiful parking, no traffic snarls, and relatively crime-free streets. And, of course, it’s teeming with members of the age group Tommy’s after; by settling in the suburbs, he’s tracked their geographic demographic as well as that of their age and musical tastes.

And there’s simply no place that caters to this crowd the way Curtis does. The closest thing he has to a direct competitor is the River Club in Georgetown, which attracts a somewhat older, more moneyed clientele than most city nightspots.

“You’ll see people in [the Yacht Club] who used to be married [to each other] or used to go out together and just broke up,” says one regular Yachtsman. The ex-companions aren’t usually happy about partying in proximity, the regular observes, “but where else are they going to go?”

According to Curtis, when would-be Yacht Club competitors decide to open a nightclub, they typically focus on younger demographics. “When three lawyers get together and decide to invest in a bar, they always think about a place that is filled with the younger end of the Letterman audience. They’re not interested in the 35-to-54 crowd. And that’s just fine with me.”

Curtis touts the club as tailor-made for people 35-plus; however, there’s some disparity between the hype and the truth here. On this evening—as on most—the Yacht Club crowd looks more like the upper end of Jay Leno’s audience: silver heads, gray beards, soft bellies, sagging physiques. Curtis doesn’t dispute that the average age is probably around 48. Tonight’s crowd includes a handful of guests who appear to be well into their 60s, and a few men and women who seem to be in their early 30s.

The overwhelmingly white group is seasoned with perhaps 10 black men and women; a trio of sharply dressed young Hispanic men, who have “diplomats’ kids” written all over them; a few Asians; and a smattering of Middle Easterners and Indians.

Outside on Woodmont Avenue, a short line has formed. Curtis is working the waiting crowd with a pitch you won’t hear from the doorman at the Sign of the Whale.

“Folks, I want to tell you we have a smooth cruise going tonight and I’m going to get you all in,” he shouts. “Now, I want you to look to your left and to your right, gentlemen. You’re looking at Washington’s best and brightest ladies. We’ve had 54 marriages and engagements at the Yacht Club, and two of them met in line.”

The men and women in line shift on their feet and smile nervously. Nobody likes having their thoughts read.

Yacht Club patrons offer a variety of reasons for coming to the bar: It’s a nice place to meet new friends of both sexes; it’s fun to watch the people; the staff is nice.

“The women all say they came to dance, and the men say they were just in the neighborhood,” says Curtis.

But—after guiding this generation’s social life for two decades—Curtis knows what’s going on. Sure, they may want to just dance tonight, and maybe they’ll indulge in the occasional one-night stand or weekend fling. But in the back of their fortysomething minds, a new life issue is brewing. They’re starting to wonder: “Am I going to grow old alone?” That’s the question that really keeps them coming back to the Yacht Club of Bethesda.

As one 55-year-old club regular puts it: “Do people come here just to get laid? Sure. But at our age, the one-night stand is a “been there, done that, got the T-shirt.’ ”

That’s why Curtis continues to talk up the marriages and engagements. He promotes them in ads and PR material, announces new pairings over the loudspeaker (to thunderous cheers), and gives the royal treatment to patrons who get engaged or married to someone they met at the club.

“I haven’t lived a particularly religious life,” says Tommy, “but I feel like I’ve done some good deeds with all these marriages, and I hope St. Peter will take that into consideration.”

Of course, whatever Curtis knows about the virtues of marriage is all hearsay. Despite the huge gold band he sometimes wears on the third finger of his left hand, Curtis has never taken that long walk down the aisle. In fact, he’s found it hard to maintain any sort of lasting relationship with a lovely lady. Over the past 20 years, he’s lived with three women—the longest liaison lasted five years, the shortest two years. He currently dwells alone and claims to be seeing an unnamed woman he’s dated “on and off” for 11 years.

What’s the deal? Why can’t the matchmaker find his match?

“I’ve never met anybody who could put up with me on a daily basis,” says Curtis with a dismissive wave.

When this response is greeted with silence, Curtis tries again.

“I guess I’m old-fashioned. I believe when you marry it should be for good.”

Still sensing incredulity, Tommy adopts a sincere expression and gazes at his shadowy domain. The truth, he confides, is that he’s a heartbreaker by nature—a hard dog to keep on the porch.

“Like most entrepreneurs, I’m mercurial, always on to the next thing, the next project,” he says, eyes glistening behind his steel-rimmed aviator glasses. “You have to be loyal to one woman to build a love interest, and I’ve never been loyal—I’ve played around even when I was involved.”

See, the thing is, God help him, he just loves the ladies—all of ’em. He’s built his life around them.

“I’m in praise of women,” he says dreamily. “Everything I’ve ever done has been surrounded by wonderful women.”

Thomas Franklin Curtis, scion of a well-to-do New York City ad exec, arrived in Washington in 1966, set on attending law school at American University. It didn’t take long for him to begin pursuing his one true interest: partying with lovely ladies. Within hours of hitting town, Curtis was on the prowl. But he found his new hunting grounds somewhat anemic.

Fortunately, Curtis had some training that came in handy. As an undergrad at Yale, he had organized singles parties and hustled school rings by assuring freshmen that the jewelry would help them score with Vassar women. Drawing on this valuable experience, he set about making his own fun in the nation’s capital.

In late 1966, according to Curtis and a newspaper account from the time, young women in Washington began receiving an intriguing invitation. It seemed that a mysterious disinherited English nobleman and multimillionaire, rumored in some circles to be the bastard son of Howard Hughes and known only as “Wayne,” had settled in town and was looking to build a social circle. Would the beautiful lady accept Wayne’s invitation to a party at Tom Foolery on Pennsylvania Avenue? The invite was most often delivered to a gaggle of women as they sat in a club or bar; the messenger was a nattily attired young man who usually described himself as the reclusive Wayne’s “press secretary.”

Of course, there was no Wayne, and the “press secretary” was none other than Tommy Curtis in full chick-scoring mode. “I figured there was no reason for women to come to a party I was throwing, so I made up a millionaire,” says Curtis slyly.

Whether women bought that line is unclear. But Tommy had identified a need. His “Wayne’s Luv” parties were an instant hit, drawing shoulder-to-shoulder crowds of single men and women.

The following year, looking to capitalize on the success of those half-dozen ad hoc affairs, Curtis bagged law school, drew $20,000 from one of his trust funds, and in August 1967 opened his first club, Wayne’s Luv, at 21st and K Streets NW. While locals have certainly been “meetin’ and greetin’ ” at bars since the heyday of Rhodes Tavern, Wayne’s Luv was among the first drinking establishments deliberately designed to attract singles and facilitate their, ahem, interaction. A few weeks after Wayne’s Luv opened, Mike O’Harro debuted his first place, Gentlemen II. Thus did Washington enter the embarrassing Age of the Singles Bar.

At Wayne’s Luv, the tone was set at the door; men and women who arrived in tandem were required to separate and enter 30 seconds apart. Inside the sparsely decorated club could be found Top 40 music and the same huge crowds of handsome young professionals who had thronged to the Luv parties.

“In a singles bar, the people are the decorations,” opines Tommy. “And at Wayne’s Luv, there were certainly more people than decorations.”

To facilitate the single mingle, Curtis mounted a successful legal challenge to the District’s law against stand-up drinking. To ease customers’ hoped-for segue from vertical encounter to horizontal intimacy, the bar included a few cozy corner booths, known as “Luv nests.”

In January 1968, Shelby Coffey III, now editor of the Los Angeles Times , penned a thumb-sucking (not to mention sexist) piece for the Washington Post ‘s Sunday magazine, exploring the sociological meaning of Wayne’s Luv. “[F]or a young woman to walk into Wayne’s Luv is both an admission and an assertion,” Coffey declared. “She is admitting to anyone who cares to notice that she has not been found attractive enough to have a date that night; and she is asserting that she is realistic enough not to worry with the mundane games of dating propriety that encumbered an earlier set of singles.

“For a young man Luv is, in conception, an ideally sophisticated pickup joint. He can pick and choose among the girls, talk all night if none budge his fancy, and pay for no drinks but his own.”

In 1969, Curtis, 24, decided to run for a seat on the D.C. School Board, a then-powerful position in the District’s hobbled, federally-controlled political structure. Curtis mounted an aggressive campaign backed by $10,000 of his own money and staffed, he told the newspapers, by female volunteers from Wayne’s Luv. Despite criticism from the Post and opponents, saying that he was “a little boy” who offered more sizzle than steak, Curtis nearly took the race, losing by just two votes to Charles Cassell on a court-ordered recount.

“If I’d have been married,” Curtis joked to the Post after his defeat, “it would have been a tie. I’d have had a wife and brother-in-law to vote for me.”

Curtis cheerfully exited the political scene as quickly as he had entered, and turned his energy back to Wayne’s Luv. But two years later, in 1972, he closed the place, citing an excess of competition from the slew of singles clubs that had sprung up along L Street and in Georgetown. In the ’70s and ’80s, Curtis held ownership interests in a number of popular bars, including Club Zanzibar, P.T. Barnum’s, Annie Oakley’s, Graffiti, and Numbers. For most of those years, however, Curtis was occupied with other pursuits.

In late 1972, in a bid to connect with socially active young adults, album-rock WMAL-FM hired Curtis as midday host. Each weekday from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., Tommy mixed Rolling Stones and Elton John with dating tips and insights on the club scene. At night, he cruised the bars and lived the singles life he touted on-air. It was on this show, Tommy swears, that he personally coined the phrases “meetin’ and greetin’,” “sippin’ and dippin’,” and the now politically outré “cruisin’ and boozin’.”

The radio show helped cement Curtis’ reputation as a home-grown Hugh Hefner. When Frank Rich, now of the New York Times , penned a 1972 article on the singles scene for Washingtonian , he came to Tommy for tips on scoring. Among Curtis’ pearls: “If a guy really wants to get laid that evening, he should lay off the ones who come in with their two friends. They always leave with their friends. He has a better shot with a girl over 25 who comes in alone or with just one friend.”

In 1975, a Washington Star-News reporter tagged along as Tommy made his nightly rounds of local hot spots, attracting crowds of “giggling girls” at every stop.

“Is Tom Curtis really the Pied Piper of Washington’s under-30 crowd?” the reporter mused in his lead sentence. “The leader of his generation?” (Later, Curtis would become a regular figure of fun in that paper’s famous gossip column, “The Ear,” which referred to him as “teeny tiny Tommy Curtis.”)

According to Brotman, Tommy still cherishes and nurtures the playboy persona he developed in the ’70s. Lovely ladies remain a central ingredient: “Tommy wouldn’t be caught dead with an unattractive woman because he has this image to maintain,” says Brotman, adding “Whenever I go into his club, Tommy always gets on the microphone and announces me as “Charlie Brotman, the greatest PR man in the world.’ He wants to make you a celebrity because you’re his friend and hey, he’s Tommy Curtis, and Tommy Curtis only hangs around with celebrities.”

In 1977, WMAL dropped its rock format in favor of Top 40, and Curtis was fired. But his relatively brief career left him permanently enamored of the microphone: While he hasn’t had a steady on-air broadcast gig since the late ’70s, he has become the Norman Ornstein of dating advice. He’s an occasional guest on several local radio stations, including WMAL and WWRC-FM, and does a semi-regular social-tips segment for Baltimore’s WBAL-TV. He’s also written a few articles on dating for the Post ‘s Style Plus section. To maximize his exposure, Curtis often buys small space-ads in the Post promoting upcoming media appearances; he also runs a low-budget television commercial in which he touts his customer base as the “money demographic.” He’s currently trying to convince any one of several local radio stations that are targeted to women—WASH-FM, WRQX-FM, and WLTT-FM among them—to let him do a show from the Yacht Club. Meanwhile, the rambling answering-machine message that greets callers to the Yacht Club includes a rundown of all recent media reports complete with thank-yous to the reporters. The club’s bathrooms are equipped with literature racks stocked with reprints of articles mentioning Curtis or the Yacht Club.

“Tommy’s probably really apprehensive about what people are saying about him for this article,” says Brotman. “But whether it’s good or bad, he’ll love the ink.”

He even tried Hollywood. In the late ’70s, with both his broadcasting and nightclub work on ice, Tommy traded on family connections—his grandfather and great uncle, Jack and Harry Cohn, founded Columbia Pictures—and set out for California to try his hand at moviemaking. During his six years in Tinseltown, Curtis helped produce a trio of middling B-movies: The Seduction , starring Morgan Fairchild; Hell Night , featuring Linda Blair; and Dreamscape , with Dennis Quaid. (The latter was bankrolled by Washington-area construction mogul Stanley Zupnik, who has since moved on to more prestigious projects, including Glengarry Glen Ross .)

But while Hollywood seemed a natural fit for Curtis, he was never really happy there, outshone as he was by the crowd of genuine celebs. “I was always somebody else’s relative in Hollywood,” Curtis says. “I came back to Washington because I could always get a better table here.”

Wayne Mangan is laying his rap on a woman seated at the front corner of the bar. He leans toward her, throws his arm around her waist, and says something in her ear. They laugh uproariously. This is at least the third woman he’s worked this evening.

Mangan, a 55-year-old Resolution Trust Corp. auctioneer from San Francisco who lives in the Holiday Inn while on assignment in Washington, is one of the Yacht Club’s many familiar faces. At least three times a week, he rides the elevator down to his little in-house piece of heaven.

Sporting a long gray ponytail, a white cowboy hat, and eyeglasses from the George Clinton P-Funk collection, the divorced Mangan claims to have cut a swath through “probably 100” bars in the D.C. area since hitting town earlier this year. But he keeps coming back to the Yacht Club because the hunting is good—and because Tommy and his crew make him feel welcome.

“I’ve been in thousands of bars around the country and you just don’t find what you have here,” says Mangan. “They honestly give a shit that you’re here. They remember your name and they remember your drink.

“I really think Tommy thinks of us as his children—he wants to take care of us.”

According to bartender Fred Hoeffler, roughly 60 percent of the weekend-night crowd consists of regulars—people who hit the place at least once a week. Within that group are a handful of super-regulars, folks whose entire social life seems to revolve around the club. Take Donni and Dietrich: She’s a 45-year-old, divorced sales rep; he’s a senior financial manager for the federal government. They met at the club 18 months ago and recently became engaged. Nevertheless, they continue to frequent Tommy’s realm. In addition to the one night a week they spend there as a couple, Dietrich often visits the club with a group of friends, married and single.

Do her fiance’s solo forays bother Donni?

“I’m adjusted to it to a point,” she says uncomfortably. “We have a level of trust, he knows I don’t have to be the only woman he dances with. But there is a limit.”

As the late innings begin, the hitters start taking their cuts. Tables and bar stools fill up with couples. A group of 40ish women from the Baltimore area—first-timers ostensibly celebrating a friend’s birthday—finally get up the nerve to call over a younger man and flirt with him.

“She has something she wants to say to you,” says one woman, pointing to her companion.

“No, I don’t!” shrieks the friend. “I thought he was someone else!”

A few feet away, a middle-age Indian man fruitlessly implores a coltish redhead to dance with him.

“Please, you are very beautiful,” he says. “Just one dance. Just one?”

Over near the DJ’s booth, Red Sheath is deep in conversation with a guy she’s been dancing with. There’s no sign of Mom.

(Imagine the ladies’ room conversation: “Motherrr, I’ll be all right! He’s a very nice guy. You take the car, I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”)

Meanwhile, a distinguished-looking white man in his 60s holds forth at a table with three considerably younger black women, who appear entranced by whatever he’s saying.

Nearby, David, a 32-year-old, shaggy-maned fireplace salesman from Springfield (“The women here all think I’m 24”), continues his all-night siege of an exceedingly uninterested coat-check girl.

At the front door, Tommy introduces a 50ish man who is currently living with a woman he met at the Yacht Club. And where is his lovely lady this Saturday evening?

“Hey, don’t get me wrong,” says the puffy-faced, pot-bellied gallant, scoping out the terrain. “Nobody’s got a better relationship—but she’s out of town tonight.”

Despite the hormonally supercharged atmosphere, female patrons say they feel the club is safe—as far as singles bars go. There is a sense of control about the Yacht Club, even when things are at their frenzied peak. Fights, boisterous drunkenness, and general rowdiness don’t happen.

“You don’t have a lot of sloppy drunks here,” says Sue Cohen. “It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t mind taking your mother to show her what you do when you play.”

Cohen knows: She’s brought her mom to the club before.

Says Mangan: “Some people pooh-pooh the place, saying, “Oh, people just go there to get laid.’ But [those critics] are in here all the time because they know they aren’t going to meet a serial killer or some bubble-gum-cracking bimbette. You meet quality people here.”

Of course, like every singles bar, the Yacht Club attracts its share of losers, snakes, and cads. Most—but not all—are men.

“I don’t like to use the word “meat market,’ but there are some very aggressive people there,” says one patron. “If you’re inhibited or don’t know how to handle yourself, it can be uncomfortable.”

Fortunately, Tommy and his staff areadept at extricating lovely ladies from unpleasant situations. All a pinned-down babe need do is make pleading eye contact and Tommy or one of his bartenders will deliver a velvet air-strike on the offending guy, often steering him off to a new prospect.

“You gotta take care of your people,” says bartender Hoeffler.

The regulars also provide a safety net—keeping an eye out for one another and providing a crowd of friendly faces into which a harried member can flee.

With enormous relish Tommy seizes the DJ’s microphone for what he always describes as his favorite part of the evening: the moment when Tommy takes the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he intones. “Allow me to introduce the bronze-medal-winning “Electric Slide’ team, featuring the Baltimore Babes! Ramon the Movie Star! Reno the Cowboy! Roger the Dodger! And…Marion the Librarian!”

As Marcia Griffith’s song begins to pulse, the dance floor fills to sweaty capacity. By the second verse, the crowd, anchored by several veteran sliders, is moving laughingly through the steps. At the center of this imprecision drill team looms a tall young man who slams a tambourine right on cue.

“It’s electric!” Thwack-chink!

Tommy babbles away on the microphone, pointing out the fine performance of the dancers, touting the latest Yacht Club-inspired romance, and announcing the arrival of regulars. Curtis claims that this shtick is designed to shine the spotlight on guests—you know, make them feel special. But the person who really gets off is, of course, Tommy.

See, Curtis is a shameless exhibitionist—an attention junkie with a nearly insatiable habit. Some people fill that craving by becoming actors. Or stand-up comics. Or politicians. Or political consultants. Or journalists. Tommy’s milieu is the Yacht Club and the set it attracts. Everything he does—greeting new arrivals, working the people in line, making introductions, rapping on the microphone—is part of a nightly act starring Tommy “Look at Me!” Curtis.

And while it may not be the biggest stage in the world, this one offers him complete control and a guarantee of no competition. Unlike Hollywood, politics, or radio, the Yacht Club is Curtis’ own personal sandbox. “He likes being the bandleader and not a member of the band,” says O’Harro. “The [Yacht Club] is his show and I think that gives him great pleasure.”

That may be partly why Curtis has never expanded his domain: While he’s had discussions about opening Yacht Clubs in other cities, friends say that Tommy feels he is the Yacht Club, that the concept won’t work without his presence.

“I don’t think he feels anybody can run a club as well as he can,” says Brotman. “He just has to be there.”

Besides, in another city, he wouldn’t be Tommy Curtis. He’d be just another nightclub owner. It would be Hollywood all over again. And that would be intolerable.

As Donna Summer coos the opening words to “Last Dance,” Curtis returns to the microphone to guide the evening in for a romantic landing.

“Hold them close, gentlemen,” he says softly, surveying the herd of slowly swaying couples. “You’re dancing with Washington’s best and brightest.”

And after a pause: “I feel a lot of love in here tonight….”

Even as the song swirls up into its throbbing disco beat, many of the dancers continue to clutch their partners. Meanwhile, a steady stream of folks, including a goodly number of pairs, are moving for the door.

And just where are those couples headed? To the kind of lasting relationships Tommy prides himself on launching? Maybe.

“Everybody has their own definition of a good time,” Curtis says, acknowledging that not every Yacht Club coupling results in a lasting, or even passing, relationship. But when his customers find someone they are seriously interested in, Curtis observes, they tend to make long-term commitments quickly.

These are seasoned veterans, after all; experienced Yachtsmen and Yachtswomen who understand that great relationships must be crafted—and that there’s no such thing as the perfect significant other. “There’s a lot less looking around at other people, less wondering “is this my knight in shining armor?,’ ” he says. “The chances are pretty good that they will give each other a chance.”

(Whether those unions last is another question. Curtis insists he doesn’t keep track of divorces, but admits that at least two pairs of married Yacht Clubbers have split.)

And what of those folks who leave without a lovely lady or gentleman in tow? Well, they have Tommy’s personal assurance of great possibilities in the future. They have hope.

“I tell people, “Don’t expect to meet the perfect person the first time you come in,’ ” says Curtis. “But if they don’t meet somebody, I want them to come back and try again.”

And Tommy promises he’ll be there for them—no matter how long it takes.

“Twenty years from now,” he says, “I’ll be throwing singles parties in the senior citizens center.”

Art accompanying story in the printed newspaper is not available in this archive: Susan Pardys.

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Multi-millionaire Gianluca Vacchi has shared an amusing dance video that has gone viral with over 6 million views so far. The 50-year-old tattooed Italian posted a video of himself in a tribal headdress dancing...

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Gianluca Vacchi – the silver influencer who dances in his pants for a living

By Stuart McGurk

Imagine Jeff Goldblum crossed with a biker gang. Gianluca Vacchi is the silver fox of Instagram, a 51-year-old Italian playboy millionaire and a man with so many tattoos he looks, from a distance, like a treasure map has sprouted limbs.

If his Instagram following was a country, which would it be?

With 11.5 million followers, Vacchi would be Belgium (pop. 11.49m).

What might I know him from?

Primarily, blogs like this which write about people like him. He has been described, variously, as a “multimillionaire entrepreneur” (Business Insider), a “hedonism-loving playboy” (the Independent ), a “billionaire” (the Evening Standard ) and a “self-made multimillionaire” (Yahoo). These descriptions are only slightly undermined by the fact that a) he doesn’t currently have a job, b) his hedonism seems to solely consist of dancing in his pants, c) he’s not a billionaire and d) he inherited his millions from the family business, which he then sold.

His internet fame began when he posted a video in 2016 showing him dancing by a pool with a model while he wore what appeared to be a ruthlessly shanghaied handkerchief around his waist.

Crucially, despite his middle age and salt-and-pepper hair , this displayed the abdominal “V lines” of a man who regularly does the kind of gym workout that would get you arrested in public.

He became the internet’s silver influencer of choice: to paraphrase Gay Talese on Frank Sinatra, the influencer who does not feel old, who makes old men feel young, who makes them think that if a sex Santa trust-fund millionaire with sex abs can do it, that it can be done.

What’s his latest ‘project’?

Glad you asked, as Vacchi has parlayed his internet fame into... well, different internet fame. Notably, a music video in February called "Trump-It". Was this, you ask, a scathing satire regarding the leadership and morality of the 45th president of the United States ? No, it was a music video where the entirety of the lyrics – and I’m not making this up – are “Let's go! / Let's go! / Let's go! / Let's go! / Let's go!” .

The video consists of Vacchi waking up in an all-white penthouse, watching an army of models in all-white bikinis waggle their bits, doing some light air DJing, and dancing on a yacht with only minimal movement from his arms or feet, in the style of a hostage trying to escape from a sack.

It was not a success, but try not to feel too bad for him. The Evening Standard recently named Vacchi as the fourth most influential fashion Instagrammer, earning up to $16,750 for a single post. Though they did also call him a billionaire, so maybe take that with a pinch of salt.

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Samsara is a Rival 32, designed by Peter Brett and built in 1973.

She is my second Rival – from 1983 to 1993, I owned Largo and took her twice to the Azores and once across the Atlantic (in the 1988 Singlehanded Transatlantic Race).

They are not the fastest boats – and they’re not at all good in light airs. But they have a wonderfully easy motion in a seaway, good wide sidedecks for getting around and, to my mind, they just look so pretty, like little birds sitting on the water.

Of course, they are not modern boats. If you go to a boatshow these days, you will find huge cockpits with tables and enough room in the saloon to hold a dance.

But boatshows take place in marinas – or even ashore in exhibition halls. Boats at boatshows do not heel over or bounce about – and their crews do not get thrown from one side of those wide cockpits to the other. They do, however, eventually discover that the only way to move around the cabin when the boat is at 35 o is to jump – because there will be no handholds on the way.

Boats designed in the 1960’s – which is when the Rivals started – are rather different. And they were built with one purpose in mind – to go to sea.

And that is why I feel a particular pride of ownership. People walking down the pontoon stop and look at Samsara in the way that people will admire a well-kept vintage car – and invariably they compliment the skipper, which is nice.

And if they turn out to be knowledgeable and recognise a Rival when they see one, they might get invited aboard – because Samsara is no ordinary Rival 32. That is why I fell in love with her in Conwy Marina in the summer of 2017.

First impressions, though, were not so encouraging. Arriving on the evening before I was due to meet the vendor, I checked into the worst B&B in town and took a walk down to the marina to find out what I had come all this way to see. It was not an encouraging excursion. Samsara was nearly 50 years old – and she was showing her age.  The hull was covered in scrapes and dents – the worst of them, repaired haphazardly with gelcoat filler which didn’t match. Around the stem it was clear that the anchor – a rusty 35lb CQR – had been allowed to crash against the bow. The anti-fouling was as thick as a navvy’s jam sandwich – and pitted and pockmarked all over.

I borrowed a ladder and found the decks thick with bird droppings – and not just any bird droppings: It seemed the nearest tree bore some deep red berries of some kind – which went straight through the avian digestive system.

The decks had been painted – and the paint was lifting in places and the rail was made of black plastic which had shrunk, leaving three inches of aluminium showing at each end like the bare leg between sock and trouser.

I went out for dinner feeling I had had a wasted journey.

The next morning, the vendor was there well before our agreed time – hurriedly trying to tidy the cabin – and that was where Samsara began to show what she’d got. It turned out that in her 44 years, she had more ocean crossings than I had – and in the winter of 1995-96, her then owners, a West Country doctor and his wife, had decided they were going to take the bull by the horns and get on and make all those improvements they had been thinking about on those long days rolling down the Trades.

I knew exactly how they felt. During my second trip to the Azores, I had ended up becalmed for three days in the middle of nowhere. I occupied myself by writing down the all modifications I would make to Largo if every I had the time and the money.

I would have a hatch in the coachroof, a detachable inner forestay, a bigger water tank… But the thing I really wanted to do – which was clearly impossible without buying a bigger boat…was to have decent berths in the saloon – wide enough to sleep on. Largo’s were OK at sea, when you were squashed up against the side. But in harbour, the only thing to do was empty all the stuff out of the fo’c’sle and sleep up there.

Of course, if I had company, we could turn the dinette into a double – but now I am now 69 years old and don’t think I need to worry about that any more…

And this was why I had made the trek all the way from the East Coast of Southern England to the North-West tip of Wales: According to the photos on the Boats for Sale website, Samsara did not have a dinette.

During the 1995-96 refit, the Doctor and his wife had completely ripped out the cabin – even to the point of removing the mast compression post and replacing it with a massive stainless-steel RSJ. This did mean that in the photos, there was no sign of a saloon table – but anyway, at sea, there is nothing quite so useless as a table – on long trips aboard Largo I used to take up the floorboards and unbolt it. On the other hand, there are occasions when I might invite guests for dinner – and it would be rather embarrassing to have to ask them to eat out of bowls on their laps.

I needn’t have worried. The clever doctor and his wife had thought up a table that slotted into two tubes bonded into the keel. It was even angled slightly to give just enough room to slide round to get to the loo between courses.

Later on, I discovered you could still have a double bed. They had designed it so cleverly, that you now put it up athwartships (although The Old Man is so adamant he is past all that nonsense that he has removed the supports).

There was much else besides – a lot of it becoming apparent only later as I began to get to know the boat… worked out the reefing system, learned to appreciate the sense of space you get if you have storage in open racks instead of having to look at a row of locker doors…wrestled with the vagaries of the charcoal stove…

And there’ll be more to discover as I go along. I’ll let you know…

The Old Man

24 Responses to The Boat

How I envy your courage.. I have a Rival 32 (1972) sail no 52..Based in Brixham. Very original and well found. The only later addition is reefing etc back to the cockpit helps for single handed passages. Also a decent 28hp engine.. Everything you say is true about Rivals. I will send for your book.. We must compare notes. Happy sailing.

Hi John, really enjoyed your interview on Radio 2. Would love to do something like that one day!!

Got to agree, it was a fantastic listen. I couldn’t wait get home to get into the internet 😉

John, I too caught your interview on the BBC. It was during a heavy downpour and strong south-westerley. So had added effect. Have done a bit of Ocean sailing, but not on your scale. Enjoy the next voyage and keep safe,

Hi John, it was great listening to your story today on the JV show. Will look out for you next time we pass through Lake Lothing and out of Lowestoft. Good Luck. Regards Tim

I was on a flight to the Middle East and then on to the Far East in March 1988 when I read your. article in YM about the single handed Atlantic crossing. Very moving. I still remember it as if were yesterday.

I’m in Washington, DC and listening to your interview on the Jeremy Vine Show on the BBC Sounds App. Really enjoying it! Congratulations!

Hi John , Missed the broadcast but sat reading your blog .I’m in France , about to buy a boat , but faced with a choice – Holman 35 or Dufour 4800 – I know it depends on what I have planned but as I don’t know yet !!! Sensible head says Dufour but I like the idea of something more traditional and I think ”Seaworthy”

Oh, those Rivals! I had little funds but yearned for boat ownership so satisfied my saturated mind by buying the hull and as many parts as possible then with the help of a local farmer’s cornfield corner, completed a 27ft Sabre sailing yacht. little in the way of tools meant hand sawing and carving teak for the interior completion then, after five year’s sailing I sold it and used the cash to look for a Rival 34 yacht. After a couple or so months I came across one seated in the owner’s rear garden and which he had failed to progress with, particularly when his wife preferred a bigger, better house! It was transferred to Gosport where after some time I’d done all the necessary and it was launched without a log but otherwise seaworthy and we went to sea where I soon realised the benefit of roller reeling on the genoa at the front of the craft so a change was made which also included a log – cash had at last accumulated sufficiently for such perches. The rest is real pleasure, excitement, and total satisfaction, as well as much more!

I really enjoyed listening to you on the radio today, your story about your travels is fascinating, I wish you many more happy years of sailing. Enjoy your time in Falmouth, pop in to Trago’s while you are there x

Hi John, loved your interview on Jeremy Vine, incredible & inspirational. I’m not a sailor, (although I spend a lot of time bodyboarding in my spare time, LOL) but I guess deep down there must be a pull to the sea, love any documentaries about sailing. I was born in Plymouth & lived their for 30 years & I was lucky enough to have a big connection to the RWYC in Plymouth. I was there & I met Sir Francis Chichester when he came ashore at the steps of the RWYC after his first single handed cicumnavigation back in 1966/67 (was only 8 years old but I remember it vividly) Keep on sailing & keep up the blog. Stay safe.

enjoyed your conversation today on the jv show,very refreshing during difficult days.

I listened to the call you made yesterday and then the interview you gave on radio 2 with Jeremy Vine. Amazing story, I am going to read all the information on this page, perhaps there should be a film made on your adventures. Good to know that there are some positive stories to come out of this corona virus epidemic.

Inspiring story told on Jeremy Vine today, loving reading your blog and all about Samsara, we have a Southerly 100,(Opps… with a huge saloon!) and taking our first overnight sail this weekend since lock down and can’t wait.

I heard you on Jetemy Vine , really enjoyed listening to your travels. Would love to go sailing, only hate sardines!

Hats off to you , many dream about venturing out of the norm but hesitate, due to financial restraints , Hopefully one day I would like to travel the world in a campervan and leave the rat race behind, If anything Covid 19 has taught us ,there is more to life then Money and to appreciate Nature ,Family,Friends and The NHS which we take for granted. Stay safe and good Health …. BP solihull

Brilliant, listening live now on Jeremy Vine, Great story to listen to !

I just listened to you on Radio 2.What a great story and super inspiring!Good for you and good for your encouraging sister!!!

Just heard you on BBC radio 2. Lovely story, and well done for doing what you have done. Ps it’s raining and dull here today!!

Loved your Jv interview, know Woodbridge well. Have fun boy .

If u ever want company I have always wanted to try something like this and learn more about boats and the way of sailing lol

Absolutely wonderful…… Well done……

Hi John I listened to you on the Jeremy Vine show. Very inspirational stuff. Being a Sailor myself, I found your story amazing. So glad I turned on the radio when I did, I caught your slot by chance. Good luck regards Mike

Great interview…loved it we live in a narrowboat and also the isolation… Will look forward to reading your blog.

Billionaire fights to dock his boat on water behind his house. His 164-foot boat, that is.

The love of the water, and a mega-yacht to enjoy it, is putting one resident at odds with village of north palm beach leaders..

For some people, the ultimate Florida lifestyle is a waterfront house , a private dock and a boat parked next to it. But what if that boat is a mega-yacht , and the mega-yacht stretches 164 feet?

That's the conundrum facing the Village of North Palm Beach.

This tiny community in northern Palm Beach County, with only 13,000 full-time residents, has an identity so tied to the water that a ship's steering wheel is the village's emblem.

But it's that love of the water that is putting one resident at odds with village leaders.

For the past several years, homeowner Michael Bozutto has been battling the village for the right to park his 164-foot Westport, dubbed Honey, behind a home he owns at 932 Shore Drive.

The house, built in 1961, is a one-story, ranch-style property with three bedrooms on a half-acre lot. Bozzuto paid $840,247 for the house in 2014, according to Palm Beach County property records.

Lawsuit rooted in dispute over where to dock mega-yacht

What makes this plain house special is its location. It's on a rare corner bordered on the north and east by navigable waters that provide access to the Atlantic Ocean via the Lake Worth Inlet. The east-facing dock is large enough to accommodate Bozzuto's motor yacht.

Since Bozutto bought Honey for an undisclosed sum a decade ago, he mostly has parked it at the Old Port Cove Marina, near Tiger Woods' 155-foot showy mega-yacht, ironically dubbed Privacy.

More recently, Bozzuto has wanted to park Honey alongside his Shore Drive house, one of four houses he owns in the village. While Bozzuto keeps some personal property at the Shore Drive house, he lives at a house he owns at Harbour Isles Court.

Village officials warned Bozzuto he can't park Honey at 932 Shore Drive because boats can only be parked on docks behind houses that are occupied by the homeowner.

But village rules do not define the word "occupied." For instance, the rules do not state that occupied means the house is a residence where the owner lives. Village rules also contain no restrictions on the size of boats that can be kept at private docks.

After years of pushing back against what he believes are fuzzy rules, Bozzuto in March filed a lawsuit against the village.

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He alleged the municipality is illegally depriving him of his property rights because nothing in the village code prevents him from mooring Honey at his house. He is asking a Palm Beach County Circuit Court judge to rule that he has a constitutional right to dock Honey there.

Gregory Coleman, Bozzuto's West Palm Beach attorney, said the village has plenty of waterfront homes with yachts parked behind them. But Coleman said the village is illegally blocking Bozzuto from docking Honey at his house because the village is bending to pressure from a handful of neighbors who think the boat is too big.

The selective enforcement is wrong, said Coleman, a former president of the Florida Bar.

"He's a very under-the-radar guy who doesn't cause anybody any problems," Coleman said of Bozzuto. "He pays his property taxes, and he wants to be left alone by the village of North Palm Beach. Unfortunately, they are singling Mike out."

Neither Leonard Rubin, the village's longtime attorney, nor Village Manager Chuck Huff responded to requests for comment.

Eric Stettin, a Fort Lauderdale-based attorney who is representing the village in the Bozzuto lawsuit, said he could not comment on pending litigation.

What good is a man's castle if he can't have a boat in his moat?

Coleman's lawsuit describes the conflict as a battle over property rights, but real estate and yachting experts say it's also a sign of the times.

As wealthy new residents pour into the county wanting all the perks of the Sunshine State, they want a boat to go along with their waterfront homes and golf club memberships. Some longtime residents fear Palm Beach County is turning into a playground for billionaires, to the detriment of everyday people who also want to live in sunshine and peace.

This conflict between Old Florida and new money is an ever-present tension, but even seasoned yacht brokers say they've never seen interest in luxury yachts quite as strong as it is now.

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"What we've seen in the marketplace right after COVID in the yachting industry, and especially the superyacht segment, is the most incredible growth ever seen in the history of yachting to date," said Shannon McCoy, a luxury yacht advisor and broker with Worth Avenue Yachts in Palm Beach.

"A lot of people are moving here with serious money," added Pascal Savoy, U.S. managing director of Camper & Nicholsons International yacht brokers in Fort Lauderdale.

While in the past Palm Beach County was not considered lively enough for some buyers, Savoy said the county's growing sophistication is putting it on the map in a way never seen before.

"It's a mini-Monaco for us," Savoy said.

Prices for mega-yachts can range from $18 million to $60 million, or many times that, for the largest and most decked-out mega-yachts, Savoy said.

While some yachts can be glitzy, a 164-foot Westport is considered a more low-profile boat, Savoy added.

Michael Bozzuto's interests: Houses, boats and philanthropy

Bozzuto is no newcomer to North Palm Beach. He's been a resident of the village for 20 years.

He is the billionaire owner of a family-owned supermarket wholesaler in Connecticut, and an investor and philanthropist who likes to collect houses and yachts, Coleman said.

In addition to the four North Palm Beach houses and several yachts he owns, Bozzuto in February paid a whopping $31.1 million for a house in the Town of Palm Beach Shores. The house, which has two docks, sits just north of the Palm Beach/Lake Worth Inlet.

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Coleman said there is plenty of room for other boaters to navigate the waterway when Honey is parked at the Shore Drive house in North Palm Beach. And while other people may not have as large a yacht, there are other sizeable yachts parked on docks behind other North Palm Beach homes, too, he added.

At a 2017 village council meeting, then-Mayor Darryl Aubrey commented on the issue, according to the complaint.

"When I didn't live here full time, I had a boat sitting in my dock, I was gone nine months of the year. I don't see how you can say that someone has to be in a residence year-round, seems to be some interpretation of occupant, there would be an enormous number of violations," Aubrey said.

Another member of the village council asked if the village had a definition now, the complaint said.

Rubin, the village attorney, replied: "No, we don't," according to the lawsuit.

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Palm Beach County's waterways run deep, and they are popular

The yacht docking dispute is particularly timely, given the scarcity of dock space for boats of all sizes.

The most convenient place to park a boat is on the water behind a house, brokers say. But not every waterway or channel can accommodate the draft, or depth, of a mega-yacht.

However, the dock behind Bozzuto's Shore Drive house can.

Not only is the Westport not known for its deep hulls, but the waterway also is typical of northern Palm Beach County, which boasts deep water and easy access to the ocean via the Lake Worth Inlet, said Coleman, a lifelong boater.

"In Palm Beach County, they have deeper water, and it allows people to have larger yachts," Savoy agreed.

But not every waterway is deep enough for every boat.

McCoy said she specializes in helping advise potential yacht owners about the county's varied water depths before they buy a house, if they plan to dock their yacht behind it.

If yacht owners don't have a private dock, the other option is a marina. But marina space is hard to find, with many dock berths reserved for months in advance, McCoy said.

Despite the challenges of owning a boat and finding a place to dock it, yacht brokers say demand continues.

They see interest continuing from business executives moving here with their families as they relocate their companies to Palm Beach County. There's also a growing demand for yachts among female buyers, McCoy added.

They also see younger mega-yacht buyers, some even in their early 30s. This is in sharp contrast to the mostly older buyers in the past, Savoy said.

Palm Beach County may not be as go-go as Miami-Dade County when it comes to showy ships, but if interest continues, "it's coming," Savoy said. "You're going to attract bigger yachts."

Put another way: "No one needs a boat, but everyone needs a boat," McCoy said. "It's the ultimate lifestyle."

Alexandra Clough is a business writer and columnist at  The Palm Beach Post . You can reach her at  [email protected] . Twitter:  @acloughpbp .  Help support our journalism. Subscribe today.

Sheriff: Man, 13-year-old girl shot at Dane Co. deputies before deaths

The man is a person of interest in a woman’s death in dubuque county, iowa..

TOWN OF ALBION, Wis. (WMTV) - A person of interest in a woman’s killing in Iowa was found dead in a Dane County home after a 13-year-old girl was also found dead in the woods. Dane County Sheriff Kalvin Barrett said Thursday that the man and teen were firing rounds at authorities while on a chase earlier in the day through multiple jurisdictions.

Sheriff Barrett explained that they received a call for a check person around 5:30 p.m. Wednesday in the Town of Dunn after an infant was dropped off at a home there by a male and female suspect.

Officers determined what vehicle the pair were driving in and chased it through numerous jurisdictions after they allegedly refused to stop. Sheriff Barrett described how both suspects fired weapons at law enforcement before the vehicle hit spike strips and both suspects ran away in the Town of Albion.

The 13-year-old suspect ran away and went into a wooded area, off Washington Road. Sheriff Barrett stated that authorities found her using technology, but she was unresponsive. Deputies tried to save her life, and she died. Officials did not indicate how she died, nor was she identified.

The other suspect, who the sheriff identified as Alexander Grunke, ran away and fired several rounds into a home on Ramsey Road, in Town of Albion. The suspect then ran into the home, where a woman and two children were inside, and barricaded himself in the basement.

Dane County deputies ran into the home and rescued the family from inside while the allegedly armed suspect remained in the basement.

“The courageous acts of the deputies and the courage of the family is the reason why they were able to be removed from the house without further incident,” Barrett said.

Sheriff Barrett detailed how his agency used a hostage negotiations team, tactical response team, crisis negotiators and other technology to try to speak with the 38-year-old suspect. After several hours of negotiations, authorities indicated in a Facebook post at 6:45 a.m. Thursday that they found Grunke, a Middleton resident, and indicated he took his own life.

The woman found dead in Iowa, identified as Tana Poppe, had two children according to Dubuque County deputies. The 13-year-old, who was with Grunke, and the 5-month-old, who was dropped off at the Dane County home.

“Before I get started on the summary, I want to be very clear, that our hearts ache today for the friends and family of those who passed away,” Barrett said. “No matter the circumstances, we at the Dane County Sheriff’s Office take the loss of life very seriously and we send our deepest condolences and our empathetic to the loss of life that occurred yesterday evening.”

Barrett said law enforcement are still determining how Grunke and the 13-year-old know each other. WMTV 15 News has confirmed through a criminal complaint filed in March out of Iowa County that Grunke faces charges of child abduction, interfering with child custody, knowingly violating a domestic abuse injunction.

The criminal complaint states that Poppe reached out to the Iowa County Sheriff’s Office in January to report her 13-year-old daughter ran away from home. The complaint continues, stating she believed her daughter was with Grunke, who Poppe identified as her ex-boyfriend. Officers later used the girl’s phone location to find the teen and Grunke at Dutch Mill Park & Ride, on Stoughton Road.

Dane County CSI investigators will continue to process the scene in the Town of Albion, Barrett said.

No deputies were hurt during the shoot-out with the suspects, nor did they fire their weapons.

Sheriff Barrett also added that the infant is safe and unharmed. The infant is currently in the care of Dane County Human Services.

Dane County authorities reported Wednesday night that man armed with a rifle and a woman armed with a handgun were last seen in the 1300 block of Washington Road in Albion. They had only confirmed at the time that they believe the man was barricaded in the building.

The Dane County Sheriff’s Office stated in an update Thursday morning that the man found dead inside the Ramsey Road home was believed to have taken his own life. A female suspect was also found dead. Officials did not say how she died.

BREAKING‼️ We now know four people are dead ranging from Iowa to Dane County, following this event. We are still working to learn more details this morning and will bring you those updates when we know them. https://t.co/SQddhzbY45 — Brooklyn Andres (@BrooklynAndres) April 11, 2024

Dane County Emergency Management asked people to stay inside, lock their doors and avoid the area around Ramsey Road in the town of Albion. The Dane County Sheriff’s Office Tactical Response Team and Crisis Negotiators were on scene.

An Albion neighbor’s Ring camera footage captured the moment deputies and police parked in his driveway, ran through his backyard and into the woods to try and stop an armed suspect.

Quarry Kennels, a business located on Ramsey Road, reported Wednesday that “Quarry kennels is safe and dogs are safe” on its Facebook page. On Thursday, the business posted that it was only open for boarding pick-up and drop-off. Online records show the property is 37.5 acres.

Highway 51 between CTH W and Washington Rd was closed off Wednesday night as authorities investigated. Ramsey Road was still blocked off as of around 8:30 a.m. Thursday.

Grunke’s past criminal history

Alexander Grunke’s name may sound familiar to some in Wisconsin, as he made national headlines in 2006 after being accused of trying to dig up a young woman’s body so his twin brother, Nicholas, could have sex with it. Grunke, who was 20 at the time, his brother, and a third man, Dustin Radke, were all booked into the Grant County Jail.

The case was part of a 2008 state Supreme Court ruling, which reinstated charges against the three men. In the 5-2 decision, the state Supreme Court said that Wisconsin law makes sex acts with dead people illegal because they are unable to give consent.

The ruling reinstated the attempted sexual assault charges against twin brothers Nicholas and Alexander Grunke and Dustin Radke, all 22 at the time of the ruling.

In 2018, Grunke was also accused of stealing a gun to harm his ex-girlfriend. He pleaded guilty in 2018 to being a felon in possession of a weapon.

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