Out of four crew members, our kids, the quietest won an award.
Mack, stuck on a plane.
Bill, down for the count, sea sick.
Ashley, down for the count, sea sick.
Bill, the protective one, as he was about to go down, made sure that Gordy was at the helm and instructed him to never give up. “He needs to see someone every time he looks up here. It’s you Gordy.”
Gordy did just that. He even had fun. I remember seeing him allowing the boat to toss him around and waving his hands like a bird. I remember seeing him eating a sandwich on deck. The only one on the boat to eat, anything. I remember hearing him sing to the boat captain’s surprisingly American music. I remember him getting mad at me when things were getting tough. “What are we doing here? This is not safe. What if something happens to him.”
When it was all said and done Doug recounted that every time he looked up he saw Gordy. Out of 40,538 strokes, one half of which were 20,269 turns to the right side looking up, it was Gordy, the 3rd son, the smallest of the three, standing tall. Doug gave him the award of MVP of A Long Swim. And on the wall of the White Horse, that historic bar in Dover where all channel swimmers sign their names, Doug made sure that the world would know.