Dad will be laid to rest later this AM. Given his own love of reading and of recounting events in his life as stories, it seems entirely appropriate to add one about him to his Tribute Page as Dad moves on from this life.

One morning, Dad, Neil and I were on our way to what was then the Cayman Islands High School. As we approached the turn off for the Turtle Farm in West Bay, a man came off his motorcycle several cars in front of us. He had a helmet on but no shoes. Three cars drove around the man lying under his bike just out from the edge of the road but Dad swore under his breath, stopped the car and put on his hazard lights. He told me to get a beach towel and a bottle of water out of the boot of the car. Neil was told to move over in the back seat where I would join him once we got the man into the front passenger seat. Dad moved quickly to get the bike off the man and to clean as best he could his left foot and leg below the knee where the man had sustained asphalt burns typical of this type of accident. I was told to put the towel in the wheel well and then to help Dad get the man into the car. "Sorry Boss" the man kept saying but Dad simply nodded and maneuvered the man into the passenger seat. Once he was in, Dad did up the seat belt and got into the car to drive to the hospital in George Town. The man was clearly in pain and in an effort to distract him from it, Dad talked to him as we drove along Seven Mile Beach. I don't remember the conversation but I suspect it might have been about football. Many of Dad's conversations were. Once we got to the hospital, the three of us helped the man to A&E where he was quickly seen by the nurses on duty. One of the nurses looked at Dad and I think was about to ask him how he was involved in the accident when the man intervened. "Sister," he said, "tree worthless people drove by me lying in de road dis morning. Dis man stopped. I don't know him, he don't know me but he is my Good Samaritan dis morning. Now leave him alone. He is a teacher at de high school and he have work to do." With that, the man nodded his thanks at the three of us and was wheeled into the dressing station. On the way to school, I worried out loud that people passing the accident while we were there would think Dad had hit the man off his bike. Dad turned to me and said; "Roy James (he always added my middle name when he wished to make a point), the man needed help. We could help him. We did. It is as simple as that." And it was. I found out later that Dad had called the hospital from school during his break time to check that the man was okay. He was, and some of his friends had since come by to take him home. Cayman was a small place in those days and we did on occasion see again the "Ghostrider" as we called him. With both helmet and shoes on. A big wave and smile was always the response from the man. My father did not suffer fools gladly, but he cared about people whether he knew them or not. Safe travels Dad.