You Must Remember This: Barney Lehman – known for designing the Lehman 12…and a little bit more

By NANCY GARDNER

In his many years here, my father met and wrote about a number of local luminaries, but more often than not, rather than focusing on a litany of accomplishments he would zero in on some little idiosyncrasy of the individual, and such was the case when he wrote of Barney Lehman, as I discovered in a recent look through the files.

Not being a sailor, the name meant nothing to me, but the story itself sent me to Wikipedia, where I learned that not only was he a well-known local sailor, but he designed one of the first fiberglass sailing boats – the Lehman 12 which appeared in 1953, and which is still sailed in a local regatta – the Lehman Championships. If you are a sailor, the Lehman 12 and its successors the Lehman 14 and the Lido 14 are well known to you. For the rest of us, the Lehman 12 has a “loose-fitted catboat rig, a plumb stem and transom, a transom-hung rudder…,” and I hope that information helps you more than it helped me.  For added local color, Lehman’s company, PlastiGlass, was eventually bought by another Newport Beach resident, William Schock, and Schock Boats carries on to this day.

All that boat stuff was of little import to my father. He mentions the Lehman 12, he mentions Lehman’s sailing prowess, but his real interest in Lehman was otherwise. He knew Mr. Lehman well, having roomed with him one summer where they shared what he describes as “one of the shacks” on top of the Knight Apartments at Bay Avenue and Main Street. Of that experience he remarks that Lehman was a good roommate, and that he has nothing but good memories of the man, except for one thing. While Lehman, working as a lifeguard at the time, paid his share of the rent, bought his own food and clothes and was otherwise a self-supporting member of society, he never bought a drink. In fact, he became notorious for his ability to avoid picking up a tab. When it came his turn to buy a round he was like the great Houdini – a master of the disappearing act. It became a local sport, trying to get Lehman to pay for a drink, but he always managed to avoid it.

Finally, my father and his friends Tagg Atwood and Spenny Richardson had had enough. They sat down and carefully formulated a battle plan: In one night they would go and go and go, buy round after round after round, never ceasing, ever vigilant until they had Lehman cornered, and he would have to finally pay for a round himself. This time, they vowed, he would not escape.

Having selected the desired evening, the plotters caught up with Lehman at Gus’ Seashell Café, where he had already conned one unsuspecting soul into buying him a drink. If that soul thought he would be treated to a drink in turn, he was quickly disabused of that notion. As soon as my father and his cohorts entered, Lehman slid over to them where my father put the plan into action, ordering a round for the four of them. Drinks finished, the three plotters suggested Lehman join them in a little pub crawl. They moved to the Doll House, to Christian’s Hut, to the Blue Room, to the Bamboo Room. At each spot, a round of drinks was ordered, but no matter how closely they timed things, when the bill came Lehman was in the restroom, chatting with someone at another table – it was uncanny, his ability to not be there. Still, they persevered, determined to succeed, and then they noticed a slight flaw in their plan. In their effort to trap Lehman, they were drinking far more than normal. Far more. My father wasn’t feeling that hot, and when he looked at his fellow plotters, their complexions had taken on a sickly green cast.

It was at this point my father remembers that Lehman studied each of them closely. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he gave a big smile and said, “Guys, it’s my turn to buy a drink.”

The magic moment? Hardly. The thought of one more drink sent the three plotters bolting for the door, leaving the field to Lehman. Once again, the champ had retained his title.

As far as my father could tell, no one ever did any better than he and his friends – Lehman kept his record unblemished. Now it’s quite an accomplishment to utilize a new medium for an old craft, to design several iterations of a popular boat, to have a sailing race named in honor of both you and your creation, but to go an entire lifetime drinking on other people’s dime? That’s some kind of genius – at least in my father’s book.

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Nancy Gardner, former Mayor of Newport Beach, long-time resident and daughter of Judge Robert Gardner, is a regular contributor to Stu News Newport.