Greater Love Hath No Man Than This

Dear Boo and Bubble,

The summer of 1962, I was poised to enter high school which made your great uncle Bryant a rising senior.  It had become the norm all my life up the educational ladder to be compared to my older brother.  (This will probably be your fate, Bubble, as you grow up.  But, it’s okay.  You’ll figure out a way to distinguish yourself.)  Bryant was held in such high esteem by his teachers and peers that the inevitable comment always came my way.  “So you’re Bryant Kendrick’s sister.”  Going into his last year at Wade Hampton High School, he garnered two leadership positions – president of the student body and captain of the football team. 

That year, we delayed our trip to Albejose by a week.  Bryant needed to complete his senior lifesaving certification and your cousin Jay Weems, whom we had invited to join us, couldn’t go until then.  He was my first cousin on great grandmother Mary’s side which I think would make him your first cousin, twice removed.  It makes me sad that you will not get to know Jay because he, like great uncle Bryant, is no longer here with us.  My description of him falls inadequate in explaining his broad toothy smile or loud and infectious laugh.  A few years older than Bryant, he had come to Greenville to attend Furman University.  His regular visits to 3 Lakecrest Drive made him an adoptive bigger brother for us three Kendrick children. 

Jay worked as a lifeguard at the Furman pool that summer and couldn’t get off until late August.  Even though we had to postpone our Albejose trip because of that, it was well worth it to have him come along with us.

Traditionally, Bryant used the week at the beach to get in shape for football.  He rose early every morning before the intense heat of the day and ran for several miles in his football cleats.  At dusk, he repeated the exercise.  This regimen not only built up his leg muscles and fortified his breathing, it also forced blisters on his feet, so painful at first but with time and soakings in the salt water began to callous over by the end of the week.  By the time practice started at the opening of school in September, he was physically ready.

My pursuits had no such nobility.   The weighty purpose of everyday involved a bathing-suit clad stroll down the beach in pursuit of glances from teenaged boys or possibly even conversations.  I spent more time shaving my legs, plucking my eyebrows, and applying mascara than anything else.  Before, when younger, I always enjoyed a game of handball on the beach or a romp in the surf with the family.  Now, I spent hours combating my naturally curly, totally rebellious hair by rolling it on curlers the size of orange juice cans hoping to straighten it out.  The humidity at the beach always won, though.  As soon as I stepped outside, my hair recoiled into a mop of frizz that would make Bozo the Clown proud.  

The afternoon of the last full day of that vacation, I sequestered myself in Albejose’s living room under my portable hairdryer, painting my toenails in preparation for one final bittersweet saunter down the beach before leaving.  There was a tremendous rattle as the front door flew open and your great uncle Gene rushed into the house. 

“Somebody’s drowning!” he frantically yelled through the dull roar of the dryer.  He was almost gone before he got there as he hurried back down the stairs, through the yard and across the street where a slatted, wooden walk stretched the two rows of houses between Albejose and the beach. 

I panicked.  My whole family was there.  Could it be one of them?  Ripping the dryer hood from my head, I clumsily threaded my toes into my flip-flops, totally destroying the polish.  In the halted run that the shoes allowed on the wooden slats, I made my way towards the ocean.

As I crested the dune overlooking the wide, hard span of sand that Ocean Drive presents at low tide, I saw a group of people surrounding a man’s body lying face-up on the beach.  I accounted for dad and Bryant who was bent over at the waist.  Gene had joined them, standing next to mom.  Jay was not among them.  I assumed the worst.

As I approached the circle I glimpsed the figure in the middle.  It was no one I knew. 

I learned that during a game of handball with the four guys, they heard a woman scream.  Bryant looked and saw a man’s body about 150 yards out floating in a wave as it rose to a slow peak before folding into its break.  He ran into the surf and began swimming to that spot.

Simultaneously, Jay spotted a woman almost 300 yards out and a little farther down the beach in a white bathing cap, waving her arms.  It was her voice that pierced the air above the sounds of the surf.  He bolted in that direction. 

Bryant didn’t see the woman; Jay didn’t see the man.  They were called to two different missions.

In providential irony, Bryant used the skills he had mastered only the week before in his lifesaving class.  He knew to keep his eye on the spot where a person is last seen.  Once he swam to it, he dove down into about ten feet of water.  The ocean, with its undercurrents and riptides, can wreak havoc with this rule, but by the grace of God, when Bryant made his dive, the man was still there at that spot but on the bottom.  Bryant pulled him up, secured him in a hold and began swimming back to shore.

Initially, the salt water gave Bryant the advantage of buoyancy, but when he hit the shallow surf, the full weight of his victim’s unconscious body made it impossible to continue.  Dad waded out into the surf to help.  The two of them dragged the man up onto the beach. 

Bryant immediately began resuscitation, not mouth to mouth, but the old-fashioned chest compression method.  By then, someone had alerted a lifeguard who approached the situation ready to take over if Bryant’s efforts failed.  That proved unnecessary.  Within a few compressions, the man spewed water from his lungs and began breathing on his own. 

As this unfolded, Jay deliberately swam towards the woman.  When he reached her, she became so frantic that she threatened to drag both of them down.  As with Bryant, Jay was prepared.  He had long been a lifesaving instructor and knew the techniques for managing a distraught victim.  He wrestled her into a secure hold to demonstrate how she was now safe.  Once she calmed down, he had her lie back, resting her body against his as he kicked them safely to shore.  The undertow was so fierce, they emerged from the water almost a half-mile down the beach. The lifeguard ran to meet them.  Fully spent, both Jay and the woman wrapped their arms around him and they slowly walked back towards us. 

An ambulance carried the two victims off to the hospital.  Reunited with Jay, we made our way back to Albejose. 

We had come to the old house for the last six years – our summer retreat of frolic and levity.  We knew every nook and cranny.  Our names, ages and heights were etched on the wall at the back steps.  Now, it was another purpose she served – one of comfort and solace in a time of need.  For the remainder of the afternoon and evening, a hush fell over us.  Bryant and Jay collapsed on their beds and slept deeply, the surge of adrenaline from the day’s events having long worn off.   What normally would have been a lively last night at Albejose morphed into a poignant silence, a soft recognition of each other’s presence and importance.  That night, as we feasted on one last dinner of the week’s leftovers arranged on the lazy Susan, we held hands and offered a prayer of gratitude so deeply felt it truly must have reverberated in the halls of heaven – gratitude that our boys were prepared in body and skill to accomplish the task – and had the courage, faith and spirit of men to answer the call.

Both Bryant and Jay were later awarded Carnegie Medals for the bravery they demonstrated in saving the lives of those two people.  The motto for Carnegie comes from the Bible – John 15:13 – “Greater love hath no man than this ,that a man lay down his life for his friend.”