My Uncle Craig

Small Craft Advisor co-founder Craig Wagner crosses the bar

They say when an old person dies, a library burns down. This was certainly the case with my uncle Craig Wagner’s passing last night. He was a voracious reader with an uncanny memory and powers of recollection. Long before Google, he was who most of us in the family turned to for answers. 

He was a master mechanic who could explain the differences between various engines and walk you through a carburetor rebuild without being there. I remember many times my parents calling him and imitating the sound our car was making to get his diagnosis. I would do the same thing years later. If you were broken-down somewhere and could get to a pay phone, his was the number you called first. 

Automotive repair was hardly his only area of expertise. He could expound on the virtues of each caliber of ammunition, explain how aperture affects depth of field, dissect your home electrical problems, and tell you when to use a comma. 

He collected books, guns, lanterns, old radios (oh man did he collect radios!), and any tools he found useful, and he couldn’t resist opening the back of whatever new electronic gadget he’d purchased to see the guts and better understand how it worked. 

Craig was fascinated by the human body and health. As with most of his interests, he was attracted to dissenting opinions and heterodox thinkers, so his ideas would often sound outlandish (Wait, you’re telling me butter is better for me than margarine?) until many years later when he’d be vindicated. From vitamin D supplementation to the effects of creatine, to healing your shoulder injury, he was well versed on most health-related topics. 

He was patriotic, though never blindly so. He saw his country as the next logical extension of family and acted accordingly. He loved his family and was fiercely loyal. Whatever their differences, most of his closest friends would share that characteristic. He was a true libertarian, happy to see you living your life however you saw fit. As long as you weren’t hurting anyone, live and let live. 

He was introverted, maybe even bordering on antisocial at times. He loved people, but didn’t suffer fools. His tough exterior and physically imposing demeanor were intentional—a reaction, in part, to events from his childhood. When he was just a boy his parents (my grandparents) moved the family from the country, where he’d spent his afternoons playing in the creek and building tree forts, to the concrete and asphalt of a city school where he was kicked around and bullied. Somewhere along the way he learned to fight back, and soon after was poring over boxing and judo books and lifting weights. He discovered something he was good at, something that gained immediate respect. His new persona—and a vicious left hook—would serve him well over the next several decades as a hot-rodder, biker, and barroom pool player. 

Anyone who’s heard him talk about his son (my cousin, John) or heard him talk lovingly to his wife (my aunt Debbie), to his pets, or to little kids, will recognize that beneath it all was a sensitive person. Throughout my childhood he would surprise me with thoughtful gifts (my first CB radio), and years later he and Debbie would do the same for my kids. He didn’t lack for opinions, but he was universally regarded as “fair” in his dealings—a vastly underrated virtue—as he was usually able to stay impartial and see the other side of an argument or negotiation. He had a highly-developed sense of right and wrong. 

His sense of humor was dark and thoroughly British. Fawlty Towers and Monty Python were among his favorites. He enjoyed flexing his Ferrari of a brain, whether it was defining words, talking politics, or watching Jeopardy. He was a fine writer and spectacular editor—and as with every one of his talents—entirely self-taught. His lack of “credentials” would sometimes make him hesitant to edit the “professional writers” and professors who would submit articles, but his edits were almost always justified and I’d push him to trust his judgment. I wish he could give this eulogy a once-over. He’d likely find an error or two and suggest a word that would better convey my intended meaning. 

Boats and sailing were obviously a big part of his life (and eventual livelihood). He’d caught the boating bug as a child from his uncle, who took him sailing and taught him boat building. As a kid in Los Angeles he’d sail an inner-tube down Ballona Creek to the ocean and then ride the onshore breeze home. But it wasn’t until we started the magazine in 1999 that he was able to fully explore his nautical passions. Having lived in small homes, trailers and even a bus, he was fascinated with cruising or living aboard little boats, and having read all of the famous small-boat adventure books, he was enthralled with small-boat seaworthiness, a subject that became central to our magazine. 

He absolutely loved Small Craft Advisor, the magazine we started together. “So much better than pounding nails…” he used to say about being a writer and editor. A lot of his sailing was vicarious—spent at the keyboard—but we had a few memorable trips together, sailing in Morro Bay and at various California lakes. He admired so many of our writers and contributors—Bill Mantis’ dry wit and writing style, Captain Paul Esterle’s prolific output and loyalty to SCA, his pleasant email exchanges with Hugh Horton, Paul Guajardo and Larry Brown’s magical way with words, David Omick and Steve Ladd’s many adventures and contributions, the humorous musings of B. Frank Franklin, and so many others. 

My uncle wasn’t religious. In fact he was a professed atheist. But it wasn’t for a lack of imagination, or for not having an open mind—he just needed more evidence. He was eternally curious. Subjects like Bigfoot, UFOs, and reincarnation fascinated him. I guess now he’s finally getting some answers. Or not. 

Our family is fortunate in that Craig’s siblings, my aunt Diane, my uncle Bob, and my mom, Debra, share so many of Craig’s qualities—from their autodidactic nature and sharp minds to their deep love of family, but we are still going to miss him terribly. 

I’ve never tried to sum up someone’s life—especially one so colorful—in so few words like this. My uncle would tell me to wrap it up now. Editing for him was mostly removing unnecessary text. As one of his heroes, the legendary English professor William Strunk commanded: Omit needless words! 

Craig was in pain these last few months, so I think we all understood it might be time for him to go. He mostly preferred things the way they used to be to the way they are now, (he’d often regale me with stories of driving the open highways when you’d barely see another car) so if not for Debbie and his family, I’m pretty sure he’d have been happy to leave even sooner. 

Alright uncle, I’ll sign off. Hope to catch up with you again. Keep your ears on for my call, “CQ CQ CQ.” Over and out and, as the ham radio guys say, 73. 

My uncle Craig and aunt Debbie. Photo circa 1980-something.

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