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National Geographic : 1982 Aug
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trouble with term papers at Yale, Melville wrote him some good advice: "As you write, remember 'Keep it interesting' and tell it as if you were writing me or Mom. . . . Don't try to impress with too many big words. That's ponderous, pedantic, pontifical. .. Keep it light and breezy. . . . If you have a good out line, the writing should flow along and sud denly become fun." His longtime chauffeur, Ernest Funches, used to carry stacks of printers' proofs, dum mies, layouts, and manuscripts-the weighty luggage of editorial labor-to and from his car. "He was a really working man," Ernest recalls. "And he loved it." He read and scribbled in the car as Ernest drove, also at night, even at breakfast: his idea of fun. Proofs and queries followed the Skipper on holidays and field assignments. With his wife, Anne, at his side, he was an inveterate traveler, climbing over archaeo logical digs, fording forest streams, filling his pockets with notes. He was a pioneer in ae rial color photography, taking pictures from a dirigible. When Presi dent Lyndon Johnson asked him to attend the coronation of the King "The Skipper" stee of Tonga, Mel Grosve- made the National nor wore striped trou- the largestnonprof sers, cutaway-and a organizationon ea Leica camera hidden the enrichment of t inside his silk hat; he thus made for history the only photograph of the moment of coronation. He always took time for people. At a party he would "radar his way through a crowd until he found someone who had been some where interesting," as Bill Garrett recalls. "The conversation would soon become an interview. He might have a story idea, but he was sure to have a friend." Once, in Australia, when he and his wife were on their way to Heron Island on the re G it rth he Great Barrier Reef, their helicopter crashed on takeoff. The dozen passengers were shaken. It was Melville who saw the flam mable fuel spilling onto the pavement and shouted to the others, "Petrol! Get out!" Fellow passengers described how the Skipper helped others to safety, then leaped through flames to escape. His cameras actu ally melted. But later when I asked him about the experience, he shrugged it off, say ing only, "We were lucky." His retirement was cluttered with his causes. He campaigned to create Redwood National Park, and he headed the National Park System Advisory Board. Universities gave him honorary de grees; nations awarded medals and citations. On his office wall hung photographs inscribed by half a dozen U. S. Presidents. All his children fol lowed his life's inter ests: His daughter Helen ("Teeny") has taught sailing since she was 16 and is an expert ocean racer; the late Alexander, a career naval officer, orga nized the sailing pro a gram at Annapolis; Y Gilbert became Editor, then President of the Society; Edwin edits da course that and publishes Portfolio eographic Society magazine; Sara has educational been a reporter and is -his bequest to now a graduate student mind of man. in journalism. He was, as so many friends remarked, a gentleman of the old school. And his death, on April 22 at age 80, was as gentle as the man himself. He simply went to sleep. His grave, beneath the pink bracts of a dogwood tree, was wet with a soft April rain. Sou'wester weather. Bill Garrett said it for all of us who knew "this great, lovable man: His impact will be felt as long as there is a GEOGRAPHIC." We wish our friend a brisk breeze for his far horizon! O National Geographic,August 1982 278
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