"I can't serve you," said the manager. "You're not a member of the club."
"I'll pay," pleaded Capune.
"All checks are signed. No money exchanges. I can't serve you."
"Sir," said Capune, drawing himself up. "That is against the law. You don't have to feed me, but according to federal law you have to give me water."
The manager still refused. Capune eyed a footbath, but was leery of what germs he might pick up, and so, thirsty and hungry, set off on his surfboard again. He put in at Cooper's Neck Beach for lunch, then went on to Quogue, where he met a girl who invited him to spend the night with her family.
Off Fire Island, he spotted the 15th shark of the trip—"a good six or seven feet"—and hit the beach. "The next thing I see is a boardwalk called a street. It's Fire Island Pines, and I see these strange guys with little dogs pulling little red carts behind them." Setting off toward a gaily colored hotel, Capune rented a room ("$23.85 with tax") and then went to eat. "It was tea dance time," he says, "and there were these guys wearing women's bathing suits and dresses. I was getting the willies. I went into a boutique to talk to a girl, and she says, 'The queens are here.' I asked, 'Where are the queens?' and she said, 'There's a queen over there.' I went up to my room on the top floor and locked myself in. During the night there were five knocks at the door, and voices asking, 'Harry, is that you?' In the morning I went down for breakfast, and they charged me $4.80. I got my surfboard and went back into the ocean. At the next place I see a guy on the beach and I say, 'Where am I?' He says, 'Cherry Grove.' I said, 'Fella, this is one place I don't want to stop.' By now I had to talk to someone straight. At Ocean Bay Park I came in and talked to a man with a family just to keep my head."
Capune thought of going into New York Harbor and on up to the Statue of Liberty, but was afraid that the polluted waters could infect a cut on his arm with a disease or two that science would never cure. Capune got the cut his second week out when he moved a refrigerator. "Whenever I stop, people always ask me to help move the refrigerator."
Capune cut 28 miles across the Atlantic from Long Island to Jersey to avoid New York Harbor. Still a mile and a half out from some Jersey community, he ran straight into sewage boiling up from an outfall pipe. He was also harassed by several schools of large bluefish that made passes at his fingers. Then, at Long Branch, fishermen on a pier threw heavy sinkers at him. Capune went ashore, called the police and accompanied them to the pier. "Everybody played mum," said Capune. "You can really hurt a guy with a sinker." In Atlantic City, Capune met with a far better reception, receiving the key to the city.
Heading south, Capune was prepared to pay off an old score at Stone Harbor. While passing along the coast in 1965, he had been arrested there on two counts: failing to stop for a lifeguard's whistle and surfboarding in a no-surfing zone. He was also threatened with a charge of inciting a riot when bathers thronged around chanting, "Let him go! Let him go!" He was found guilty of failing to stop for a lifeguard's whistle and was obliged to pay a $35 fine. For this trip, Capune registered his surfboard as a vessel with the State of California and would regard any attempt to stop him or seize his craft as impeding navigation or piracy. The registration certificate lists his craft, CF 1503 EG, as "hand" powered.
Capune's worst moment of the trip, he hopes, is behind him. It came in Hyannisport when the Kennedys suddenly learned from a newscast that he is a registered Republican.