MEET MARK MCMANUS
APACHE POWERBOATS OWNER TALKS HAVANA RIDE, KIDDINGLY USES A BENGAL CAT TO SCREEN BUYERS
Even the privileged are to please Raju, who is a big Bengal cat Mark McManus says helps him screen buyers at his Apache Powerboats in Fort Myers. At least that’s the satire upon entering McManus’s office off U.S. Route 41, which holds Native American artifacts, an Apache model boat made of Legos, exquisite butterflies pinned inside picture frames, a slowly spinning desk globe, the book Mafia Kingfish― alleging a conspiracy in President John F. Kennedy’s murder.
Like his boats, the butterflies represent freedom, the transformation of one being into one another, says McManus, who is 62 and builds Apache Powerboats. McManus talks a lot about personal freedom, perhaps why he’s attracted to extreme performance boats. His hold records for speed and endurance, including a run in August from Key West to Cuba. He modernized his business in cockpit and engine placement designs, and this year plans a dozen or so custom boats in Fort Myers, he says. He is a legend in an industry shaped by Don Aronow, a former business partner. Aronow designed the Cigarette-style superboat and was reported- ly tied to South Florida’s drug smugglers, the Mafia figure Meyer Lansky, among many others.
Aronow died violently, shot dead in 1987 in North Miami. Two men were implicated, including Ben Kramer, who pleaded no contest to manslaughter. Kramer was a convicted drug smuggler, boat-racing legend and Aronow’s business partner. Kramer once tried a prison escape―by helicopter. The pilot crashed. Kings and dictators wanted Aronow’s boats, movie stars drove them and, reportedly, smugglers loved that his boats outraced drug enforcement. The performance-boat business is one unbelievable story after another, many of which McManus will share. But you must endure the initial screening by Raju.
Spin forward to Raju sitting on his boss’s desk, big eyes watching the visitor. It feels odd, as if the cat’s taking notes. It’s also difficult to decipher McManus―is he serious, does Raju really sense an honest heart? Or that you pretend to like cats and Raju will report back to McManus? You imagine a potential buyer wondering if this guy’s crazy, even if he does construct machines that skim the ocean like a water rocket.
Welcome to fantasy power sports. If Raju doesn’t like you, McManus insists, it could doom the hopes of acquiring a custom powerboat ― that Apache in August, for instance, raced 110 miles from Key West to Havana in 90 minutes. McManus was throttleman for the hard ride over, the boat’s captain clearing 8-foot waves on the 3,000-horsepower boat. Apache Star, almost 50 feet, tested at 130 miles per hour. The boat in 1992 ran $1.2 million and became a prototype for Super Boat Championships. Apache Star is today insured at $3 million.
Ultimately you discover, of course, that McManus uses Raju as a gimmick to break the ice. He is private and places extreme value on integrity, using Raju, perhaps, to dig a little deeper with potential buyers, do they deserve an Apache boat, he asks aloud. “We’re helping [you] realize a fantasy,” he says. “I have the right to know you.”
Powerboating, especially in the Sunshine State, has a rich and sometimes mysterious history. The industry itself dates to the late 19th century, with a small Daimler motor fitted into an English launch. Boats then puttered along at 4 to 5 knots. The business evolved, but was mostly uninspired ― until Aronow arrived in South Florida in 1961.
A New Jersey construction contractor, Aronow at 34 was rich and dashing ― and intelligent. He raced for fun but quickly started Formula Marine, introducing the deep-V Cigarette powerboat, a name still defining quick and sexy. Aronow developed land in North Miami into Thunderboat Row, which is where other boat builders set up shop. Smugglers, the wealthy and even the government bought his boats. McManus’s family purchased Aronow’s company for $8 million after Mark McManus discovered Aronow’s Cigarette boats in Fort Lauderdale. The design blew his mind, he says. “Get on your jet and get down here,” McManus says he told a cousin in Louisiana, the family’s home state and where McManus’s grandfather built barges. McManus ended up partnering with Aronow, men as different in values as is possible, McManus says. Aronow, for instance, would pay a client’s wife for sex ― with the man in another room, McManus insists. “Don just wasn’t a nice person,” he says.
HIS EXTREME SUPERBOATS HOLD RECORDS FOR SPEED AND ENDURANCE, INCLUDING A RUN IN AUGUST FROM KEY WEST TO CUBA.
Which played out in some capacity in 1987, when Aronow was shot on Thunderboat Row. Police found him in the still-running Mercedes. McManus at the time was designing Apache boats for federal agencies and he raced high-performance boats. In his own right, McManus achieved what Aronow never could ― integrity. Apache boats are the gold standard, shipped around the world. McManus, says business partner Kelli Thurman, “is extremely creative. It’s just that he’s so low-key, you don’t know it.”
The secret to Apache Powerboats is a carbon-infused hull. They can last for decades, McManus says, which is why the boats are collected and retain a high resale. And which was crucial to the August ride to Havana in the Apache Star, the former Apache Heritage that won numerous world speedboat championships in the ’90s. The boat’s new owner, Roger Kluh, piloted it for the Key West-to-Havana crossing. The 90-minute ride got rough, McManus says. He endures a superboat’s pounding ride by focusing solely on throttling three supercharged engines. While the boat is balanced and built for rough conditions, 8-foot waves at up to 100 miles per hour can get brutal, he says. The orange Apache Star was welcomed by Cubans lining the harbor. The boat remained in Cuba through the new year, however, bound by red tape.
Years in powerboating have reduced McManus ― there’s a noticeable limp watching him motor around Apache offices. He will replace a knee, he says. Yet he looks sturdy and strong, like a boat hull. He has no plans, insisting he’ll remain in business, occasionally race, which he says, “is like ballroom dancing, working together with your partner. There’s a romance to it.”
While there are thousands of boat owners in Southwest Florida, a select few own an Apache, certainly one of the 41-footers introduced in 1983―the boat’s colorful graphics can run $50,000. McManus changed paint schemes seven times for a customer, he says. “[You] think guys living on the edge, a Miami Vice kind of thing,” says John Jensen, a former offshore-boat enthusiast and co-owner of the Captiva marina bearing his family’s name. “It’s a whole different world.”
“WE’RE HELPING [YOU] REALIZE A FANTASY.” ― APACHE POWERBOATS OWNER MARK MCMANUS