Tribute by a friend to his father, George

At around 11:30 AM today, while riding his bike on the Village Green
neighborhood bicycle path, My father George collapsed suddenly and
died instantly. There is as yet no official explanation of how it
happened, probably a blood clot, heart murmur or stroke. He was 74
years old.

My father was born in the Green Mountains of Northfield Falls,
Vermont, and always wanted to fly airplanes, a hobby he had learned on
the same grass practice strip Amelia Earhart used to train for her ill-
fated transglobal flight. Although he had little love for the water
besides building speedboats to run on the mountain lakes as a
teenager, he became a US Coast Guardsman in 1951, serving for over 30
years. He served aboard search and rescue cutters in his early years,
once fighting a fire aboard the SS General Greene in Boston Harbor. He
next transitioned to duty as a lighthouse keeper, serving at several
famous lights around the Eastern seaboard before attaining the rank of
Chief Petty Officer, attending the Warrant Officer Candidate's Course,
and meeting my mother in 1963.

As a Warrant Officer, my father commanded several buoy tenders and
icebreakers- USCGC White Heath, White Holly, Sumac,and Foxglove, and
was the captain of an experimental program involving an icebreaking
hovercraft barge on the Mississippi River. In 1971 he captained the
USCGC White Heath in a transitory cruise from Ketchikan, Alaska to its
new home at Boston, Mass. This trip was the source of many stories of
harrowing adventure in the Gulf of Mexico and Panama Canal. He retired
from the Coast Guard in 1985 as a Chief Petty Officer-4, and as the
Chief of inspection operations at USCG Base Charleston's Marine Safety
Office.

After retiring from the Coast Guard, my 50-year old father hated doing
nothing, and so became a firefighter for the St. Paul's District in
the Hollywood area. He rose quickly to the position of Fire Chief,
serving in that capacity until 1993.

Finally retired, George pursued canoeing, woodworking and bicycling to
stay busy. He bicycled at least 10 miles per day, sometimes doing
twenty as he tried to maintain a 4,000 mile per year average. He did
all of this not on the latest in high-tech composite road bikes or
even a comfortable cruiser, but on the rust and leather seat of a
steel-framed 1976 Columbia ten-speed that he constantly tinkered to
improve (although he enjoyed the Autobike for a while, while it lasted).

My only consolation today has been that my father died doing something
that he loved, and he did not suffer. I selfishly wish he had
contracted some incurable disease that laid him up for months so I
could have had at least one more chance to give him a hug, tell him a
war story, complain about politics with him or tell him all my long-
lost friends had now said "hi" on Facebook. But what's good for the
living is never the best for the dead, and I thank God I cannot go
back in time and get my wish.

Godspeed Chief Matheson, Chieftain of my Clan, teacher of all I know.

You sail on seas of clouds at last.

I miss you so much.

Fac et Spero.