Dear Fellow Rustonians,

I would like to add to the recollections about our friend Terry, including an incident that happened off the coast of Cuba when we were thirteen or fourteen, one that we were not to forget.

We had been neighbors during the fifth and sixth grades—contiguous but not next-door neighbors.  We became great friends when we got our motor bikes and our independence, dropping by regularly to check on the state of our engines and on the extent of our travels and of our adventures.

About that time, Terry and I also began to explore in great detail the coral reefs running from the Biltmore Club to Playa San Sebastian (where I had moved).  One summer day, while on the reef, we decided to change the scene by having our lunch on the horizon-- or in the Gulf Stream even, which we had heard was abruptly a deeper blue than the coastal waters.  By then we had read The Old Man and the Sea, after all.

After paddling out to the horizon in a red and white, twelve foot, Portuguese ocean kayak—the hills of Havana barely (and not always) visible—, we were suddenly visited by a commercial fishing boat.  It had changed course to announce to us that we should definitely head in right away or returning would present grave difficulties.  Had we not taken account of the tormenta that was at the point of arriving?  Adult rhetoric, intruding on our adventure.

It was not long before we felt the reality behind the words.  The sky darkened, the rain hit us hard and we made no progress at all paddling towards shore.  Immediately, we were tired and doubtful that we could make the effort to survive.  What followed was hours of struggle and tears, as we cut across waves and unfriendly ocean currents.  Working together, however, Terry and I learned to make headway, revising our strategies, taking turns bailing (and resting) and joking to keep our spirits up.  Finally, we reached land way down the coast—near Rio Jaimanitas. 

My mother got a phone call as it was getting dark and dove over in her lovely 1955 sea-green Ford station wagon to retrieve the two sea-worthy young men and a brave kayak.  It was dark by then.

We laughed about the incident finally at one of the Ruston reunions, nervous laughter really because we still believed that we had just barely escaped our first encounter with major difficulties.  And neither of us had ever told anyone about what we had had to do to survive, not even our moms.

As I join you, my former classmates, sharing memories of Terry, I would like, at the same time, to extending my condolences to his wife and family.

Warmest best wishes to all,

Doug

August 8, 2007