In 1962 the United States announced another round of nuclear tests in the Pacific. This time we decided to build a boat and sail it into the testing zone. I was appointed to head up the construction of a thirty-foot trimaran sailboat because I was a builder—even though I had never built a boat! When I told Arthur Piver, the designer of the boat, that we had to build the boat in little over a month's time, he told me that was impossible; it would take six months. I decided to decentralize the process by delegating the construction of the various parts to eager builders in the San Francisco Bay Area. Then the parts were brought to Sausalito (on the Bay) to a friend's workshop and assembled there. Our efforts stimulated and directly involved many people in the construction process and gave the media something to write about practically every day.
As it became clear that we were going to meet our one-month time schedule, the U. S. Attorney in San Francisco decided to try to stop us by issuing a "cease and desist" order. Someone from the U. S. Marshall's office delivered the order to us at the boat site the evening before our announced launching date. Thinking that this was all that was needed to deter us, he left for the night. But the U. S. Attorney had neglected to have a judge sign an important legal paper needed before he could have us arrested. The next morning the boat (without me on board) left on schedule, and he had to scramble to try to find the judge, who had left town for the weekend.
Meanwhile, the Everyman was sailing serenely out under the Bay Bridge and into ocean waters with a crew of three. Following the boat was a Coast Guard cutter with a U. S. Marshall, who was waiting for the papers to arrive so that he could arrest the sailors. Following the Coast Guard cutter was another boat with about fifty reporters and photographers waiting to get the story. Hovering above it all were several helicopters, also with reporters and photographers. All of this was being carried on local radio and TV news so that practically everyone in the San Francisco area was aware of the story.
Many San Franciscans are sailors, and they were well aware of the International Line (twenty-seven miles off shore, I believe) beyond which no arrests can be made by any national officials. It seemed a race between the Coast Guard and the Everyman. Finally, the papers arrived by way of another fast Coast Guard boat—too late! For the Everyman had crossed the line. But no, the U. S. Marshall, with the help of the Coast Guard, was trying to board the Everyman and hand the sailors the arrest papers.
The next morning the San Francisco Chronicle had a front-page story and a photo of the Marshall leaning over the gun wale of the Coast Guard boat trying to hand the papers to the crew, who were ignoring him. Eventually, with the help of the Coast Guard, he managed to arrest and handcuff the crew and return them to San Francisco. I was also arrested and spent the night in the San Francisco jail along with the sailors. Meanwhile, the word had gone out. Hundreds of supporters arrived at the Federal courthouse where we were being held. They filled the entire building before closing time, refusing to leave when ordered to do so. The Federal officials gave up and let them stay. We turned our night in jail into a party. Joan Baez lead the singing and we danced all night long. The next day the Feds dropped the case against me but charged the three sailors, who spent a couple of months in jail.