Eulogy by Gary Beard

We began as a family of 4-boys in the 50’s, living next to Lois, who later married Paul, in Merrick, Long Island. During the summers, our parents took us camping, often at Blackrock State Park, 20-minutes from where we live now. Around 10-years ago, Skip, Debbie, Lynn and I climbed that same mountain at Blackrock that we climbed as kids.

Our family moved to Dix Hills in 1962 to a house with a big yard. The 4 of us had a natural 2 on 2 while playing football and kickball, until our dog, Ruff, wanted to play. He put holes in the football and kick balls, so we chased him around the yard, then played hide-and-seek with him.

In the 60’s, we were privileged to have horses and went to horse shows. A few years ago, Skip told me he wished he had spent more time with the horses. That explains the recent interest in taking riding lessons and competing in jumping. It was so exciting to see him win an award.

As a teenager, before getting his driver’s license, Skip had a motorbike. It was just an engine bolted to a bicycle frame. You had to lift the back wheel off the ground and run next to it, then drop the wheel to the street to get the engine going, then jump on it while it was moving. No brakes, no helmet. It was the 60’s. Homemade motorbikes like this were how Skip and his friends got around.

When Skip got his driver’s license, he put a pair of Cherry Bomb mufflers on our mom’s ‘63 T-Bird.

I cried when Skip left for Emery Riddle. I remember watching him pull out of the driveway from the upstairs window. That was the end of us 4-boys playing in that big yard.

When he came home between semesters, Skip rented Cessnas 3X, with money he made while bartending. The first one was a 150, which was a 2-seater. Since Skip bought a date, I rode in the luggage storage area. We flew up and down the south shore of Long Island; past Jones Beach, Fire Island and the Hamptons. Then, we climbed up and did “lazy 8’s”. These made the Cyclone at Coney Island seem like the kiddies’ ride. I tried my hardest not to scream. Skip’s date didn’t hold back. Then, we climbed up high and did “stalls”. The throttle is pushed in to an idle and the plane slows and is angled up to gain lift. You can feel it coming. The plane just fell from the sky. The weight of the engine gradually pulled us into a nose dive. I had to push down on the roof because the plane was falling faster than I was. This time, I didn’t hold back. The louder we screamed, the bigger Skip’s ten-mile smile. As the engine revved up while diving, he pulled up on the yoke and we could feel the g-forces. He said we dropped about 3,000 feet. We climbed up and did it again. For some reason, when he came home next time and asked if I would go up, I said “sure”. This time, it was a 172, so I got to sit in a seat behind his date. The third time, it was just me and Skip and he let me fly it. I said, “Don’t go anywhere.” You could feel every puff of air.

For my high school graduation, I flew down to Daytona Beach. Since Skip had classes, I spent the time with his friend, Dave during the day. We hung out at the beach that you could drive on and later had a couple drinks where Skip bartended.

We were fortunate to have a summer house in the Adirondacks. That kept us together as a family. Our dad bought a damaged 21-foot Glastron speed boat which Skip repaired. I remember taking it to Calves Pen in Lake George, where we would jump off the cliffs, then take it to Lake George Village, where we docked and ate pizza. We pretended to put the $5 fee in the on-your-honor box at the boat launch. We also used to water ski in the Hudson River. It was the ‘70’s. Those were the days. Later in life, Skip got a Checkmate speed boat. We waterskied in the Great South Bay.

I remember driving down Straight Path and seeing a Harley turn up our street. It was Skip, riding home from Pensacola after graduating from Naval Flight Officer Candidate School. He said the thought of buying that new 1974 Harley was his motivation for graduating.

I took a detour while driving home from college in 1978 and visited Skip and Ester when he was a flight instructor in Meridian, MS. Who knew I would be attending “A-School” there a few years later.

Skip was best friends with Jon while stationed in Japan. They were in the same squadron onboard the USS Midway. I remember the stories Skip used to tell. Some were a little unbelievable until I was in the Navy myself. Now I know, all those stories were true.

A few years later, I was in the Navy onboard the USS Kitty Hawk. We just got a new airwing and pulled into port in San Diego. I was driving the Special Services van back to the pier. A group of about a dozen sailors spotted the big grey van and flagged me down. I asked, “Where do you guys want to go?” “Take us to the E-Club”, they responded. It was 1000 hours. I noticed a sailor in the back of the van kept looking at me. Finally, he asked, “Hey, you got a brother named Skip” I said “Yeah”. “I’m Studley”, he responded. I instantly knew who he was from Skip’s stories. During the cruise, we hung out together while visiting other countries, along with our friend Kevin. I became best friends with Skip’s best friend.

Debbie and Skip raised two wonderful boys and put them through Roger Williams University. He became the proudest grandparent on the planet.

I have always looked up to Skip as a role-model. He got me into working out, which was very influential in choosing my profession.

On the Saturday before Memorial Day, we went to visit Debbie in Coldspring. Later in the evening, Debbie’s sister, Diane, and her husband, Kevin, came over. I brought about 25-pictures of Skip growing up from our family’s photo album. Only one was in color - the one of him on his horse, Lover. We looked through the pictures as I explained what each one was. As we finished with the last picture, a crash was heard from across the room for no apparent reason. Debbie went over and picked up a small, plastic American flag. I murmured an expletive and we all stood up. Almost in unison, we yelled “We love you Skip”.

We all miss him. He was a great brother.

SALUTE