America’s Cup 1983 : Newport, Rhode Island
When I was younger, sailing was a big part of my life. Through my twenties and thirties, I spent a lot of time on the water—day sailing, racing with friends, always drawn to the elegance of wind and sail. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was a world I loved being part of.
In 1983, that world was bracing for something it hadn’t truly faced in over a century. Dennis Conner, a Southern California skipper many of us had raced against, was helming Liberty, the 12-meter yacht defending the America’s Cup for the United States. He carried not just the weight of competition, but the burden of history. Since 1851, the Cup had been held by the New York Yacht Club. For 132 years, no one had taken it from them. The Cup wasn’t just a trophy—it was a symbol of dominance, of tradition, of American excellence on the sea.
That year, the challenger was Australia II, and it came with something no one had seen before—a winged keel. Below the waterline, it gave the boat lift and speed that caught Liberty off guard. Above water, it stirred controversy and awe.
I was on the dock in Newport, Rhode Island, the day Liberty lost. When the race ended, the air turned heavy. Dennis Conner was in tears. The Australians were euphoric. The New York Yacht Club—whose clubhouse had long stood as a temple of tradition—had suffered a defeat it never imagined. For the first time in its history, the Cup would leave American hands.
The devastation on the dock was real. People were stunned. There was a kind of silent reckoning, like watching an empire fall. What had once seemed invincible was suddenly—and very publicly—vulnerable.
My photographs from that day show all of it: the pride, the celebration, the heartbreak. It was more than a race. It was the end of an era.
