In Memoriam: Stockton Rush III

Stockton Rush III,

A man burdened with glorious purpose, a man who will forever hold my respect and admiration. Before I ever had the pleasure of meandering about the storied halls of Ol’ Nassau, Rush was on my mind. A fellow Washingtonian, and one of those who are drawn as inexorably to the sea as Tolkien’s faire race, in pursuit of the undying lands of Valinor. The siren song of the sea brought us together.?

Breathlessly, I tracked my hero, as the first reports of his daring exploits surfaced. Scientist, Inventor, Pilot, and consummate Adventurer, I saw an ideal to strive for. After I was inaugurated as a son of Nassau, and developed my sea-legs in Princeton’s BSE program, I cold-called Rush with bated breath.

My statuesque hero deigned to proffer a kind hand to this inexperienced lad, extending a site visit and an internship geared toward engineering and piloting submersibles. Driving 6 hours across the arid lands that fill the interior of our home state, I leapt at the opportunity. Stretching my legs upon arriving at the OceanGate, Inc. headquarters, I saw outside a towering man who could only be Rush. A spring in his step, a glint in his eye, with a firm handshake this gentle giant greeted his young admirer. We avidly discussed about how bottom of the sea is more alien and unknown than the surface of the moon, the future cures to be found in its unique bio-spheres, the irrationality of pursuing space colonization before commanding the seas, and the exquisite beauties of reef life. As he talked, I saw a piece of his soul, perhaps Icarian, certainly brilliant. There was a reflection of one of my potential futures in him—A branch in my timeline. To this day, I continue to strive towards emulating his sincere passion and sense of purpose.?

As we talked, the age gap seemingly diminished, his unfettered enthusiasm resembling that of a child whose dreams have not suffered the cruel impositions of dull adulthood – I had entered Neverland. Every young lad dreams of great undertakings, and of being someone whose daring-dos leave an indelible mark on the world that is uniquely their own. The vicissitudes of time, and daily frictions slowly turn most into Teddy Roosevelt’s “timid souls, who know neither victory nor defeat.” Not so with Rush!

Due to Covid, and other circumstances, I ended up turning down Rush’s offer, shrinking back into the realm of the safe, and secure. We did occasionally keep in touch, and I followed his adventures with a jealous eye.??

When I heard about the tragedy unfolding?in the Atlantic Sea, a divergent timeline once again proffered itself. Like many, I considered being among those who point out “where the doer of deeds could have done better.” Then, to my chagrin, I realized, I had earned neither the right to hallow nor denigrate Rush. Rather, the most I can do is point towards the “Man in the Arena” who “strives valiantly; who errors, who comes short again, and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming,” and say—Here is my hero. He spent himself in a worthy cause.

I grieve the loss of the brave souls, Hamish Harding, Shahzada Dawood and his son Suleman, Paul-Henri Nargeolet, and Rush. Any condolences I could offer to their families and loved ones left behind feel trite and strained. I, a mere admirer, cannot fathom the depth of their sorrow, nor pretend to understand.

I instead salute their lost, as braver men than I.?

So, I end, with a Princeton tradition, the Locomotive, as a final celebration of the exploits of one of Nassau’s bravest sons:

Rah, Rah, Rah,

Sis, Sis, Sis,

Boom, Boom, Boom,

Ah!

Stockton Rush! Stockton Rush! Stockton Rush!