The C-50 is as kindly on the water as it is luxurious within; it moves through a choppy sea like a Cadillac over a bumpy road. "The sharpness of the entrance angle determines the fore and aft motion of a boat," Calkins explains. "The angle formed by the hull lines sweeping back from the bow—it's like having the right size shock absorbers for your car."
The C-50 more than satisfied Ryan's specifications for comfort. How was it on sailing? Ryan showed the boat to a friend of his as hipped on sail as he was on powered luxury. The friend answered by ordering a C-50 of his own. A third order came in, and a fourth. Inquiries started to arrive from all over the country. And for each inquiry received, a personal reply from Jane was sent. By the end of the first year she had written more than 400 replies. She still handles all the correspondence; the operation remains small and very personal. "If you're going to buy your ultimate boat," Jane says, "you want your architect standing by like the family doctor." By last November Calkins could point with pride to a scarred coffee table just vacated by one of the cats and announce, "Every C-50 sale to date has been consummated on that thing, right in this living room."
But even success has a price. Since December 1, 1962 sales of the Calkins-50 have been consummated in an office on Byron Street Causeway down by the bay. Says Skip Calkins sadly, "We're growing. We had to do something. At home Squeaky, the cat, kept going to sleep on my drawing board."