On Monday 15 June 1970, I was playing an afternoon board game of Risk in the Arthur Bernier’s basement with half a dozen others (likely Ward Ganger, Arthur Bernier, Al Stitt, and Andy Tucker) when one of Arthur’s beautiful sisters (Leslie, class of 1973), ran in with breathless news that someone had drowned or gone missing while swimming at the “Old Res.” I phoned the Lexington Fire Department and offered my skills as a SCUBA diver— at the time pretty rare— and told them I knew the Res pretty well. They accepted my help. Andy Tucker’s mother drove me to my house in her blue station wagon and quickly drove myself and Arthur Bernier to the Old Res. With a gathering crowd watching, I quickly donned my tanks and regulator.
Entering the water, I immediately noticed visibility was zero— I could not even see my feet when up to my knees in water. All my diving experience had been in the ocean— which, although usually three to five feet of visibility was far greater than the few inches of visibility in the silty brown water of the Res. I wasn’t swimming so much as I was wrapped up in a thick, brown curtain. Unknown things swirled before my narrow mask vision and surprised me. I kept focused on the idea I was on an important mission and looking for a classmate, but I didn’t know what I would find (and couldn’t have seen it anyway).
After about 15 fruitless minutes I sensed a loud commotion. I surfaced and saw a couple of men in a boat pulling on limp shoulders— the young man now about 20 or 30 minutes dead. I aided them in pulling his body into the boat by pushing on his arms and legs.
Anthony DiPietro, 16, of 14 Green Lane, lived about a mile and a half from the Old Res. He was also a sophomore (same year as I) at Lexington High School. Why he drowned that afternoon will forever be a mystery, although some speculated early-season cramps had been the cause. When I saw his face loll back, I knew he was gone. It was sobering. I’d known Tony all the way from Muzzey Junior High. He had been easy enough to get along with, a broad smile for everyone, and had caused me no grief— which in school is a major thing. But now I became one of the last people on the planet to ever to touch him. The thought occurred to me that if I’d been a few minutes earlier, perhaps my touch could have snatched him away from death. Likely no, but what I wouldn't have given to see him sputter and cough and come back. But no.
All my life I’ve clearly recalled how Anthony’s upper arm felt in my hands. It felt just like anyone living’s arm. His skin was firm and muscled, the girth surprisingly thick and strong. His virility was unaffected by his lifelessness. He appeared as if he fallen asleep this lazy afternoon, and was now being carried to bed by father or uncle. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But as Tony’s body crumpled into the bottom of the aluminum boat, the loud thump reminded me he wasn’t asleep. Still, I rather expected Tony would awaken at any moment and begin sputtering back to life, but from the moment the police boat rowed off until I last saw him put into the waiting ambulance, he was still forevermore.
Funeral services for him concluded on 18 June. I did not attend. The rest of that summer and every summer since then I've carried his memory. Funny how people build homes in your heart. This day was pregnant with a lesson on the meaning of life and yet the outcome seemed pointless. In retrospect, Anthony has been my teacher many times over.
What a touching story, and beautiful memory of Anthony! I was in a class with Anthony in sophmore year and was devastated at the time, hearing a few days later, that he had drowned. I didn't know him well, though I knew him as a classmate and have remembered him all these years.
Sometimes we can't save the people we love, but he was lucky to have a friend who was there at the end, and remembers him in such a passionate way.
I was in some classes in my sophmore year with Anthony. He seemed like a nice kid and I liked him. When I heard he had drowned I was devastated. I will always remember him. Rest in Peace, Anthony.
Anthony was my buddy in French class at Muzzey. He used to let me wear his Masons ring. I loved the way he always had a lock of hair that would fall across his foreahead. He was so sweet. I still think of him often.
R Lee Richan
On Monday 15 June 1970, I was playing an afternoon board game of Risk in the Arthur Bernier’s basement with half a dozen others (likely Ward Ganger, Arthur Bernier, Al Stitt, and Andy Tucker) when one of Arthur’s beautiful sisters (Leslie, class of 1973), ran in with breathless news that someone had drowned or gone missing while swimming at the “Old Res.” I phoned the Lexington Fire Department and offered my skills as a SCUBA diver— at the time pretty rare— and told them I knew the Res pretty well. They accepted my help. Andy Tucker’s mother drove me to my house in her blue station wagon and quickly drove myself and Arthur Bernier to the Old Res. With a gathering crowd watching, I quickly donned my tanks and regulator.
Entering the water, I immediately noticed visibility was zero— I could not even see my feet when up to my knees in water. All my diving experience had been in the ocean— which, although usually three to five feet of visibility was far greater than the few inches of visibility in the silty brown water of the Res. I wasn’t swimming so much as I was wrapped up in a thick, brown curtain. Unknown things swirled before my narrow mask vision and surprised me. I kept focused on the idea I was on an important mission and looking for a classmate, but I didn’t know what I would find (and couldn’t have seen it anyway).
After about 15 fruitless minutes I sensed a loud commotion. I surfaced and saw a couple of men in a boat pulling on limp shoulders— the young man now about 20 or 30 minutes dead. I aided them in pulling his body into the boat by pushing on his arms and legs.
Anthony DiPietro, 16, of 14 Green Lane, lived about a mile and a half from the Old Res. He was also a sophomore (same year as I) at Lexington High School. Why he drowned that afternoon will forever be a mystery, although some speculated early-season cramps had been the cause. When I saw his face loll back, I knew he was gone. It was sobering. I’d known Tony all the way from Muzzey Junior High. He had been easy enough to get along with, a broad smile for everyone, and had caused me no grief— which in school is a major thing. But now I became one of the last people on the planet to ever to touch him. The thought occurred to me that if I’d been a few minutes earlier, perhaps my touch could have snatched him away from death. Likely no, but what I wouldn't have given to see him sputter and cough and come back. But no.
All my life I’ve clearly recalled how Anthony’s upper arm felt in my hands. It felt just like anyone living’s arm. His skin was firm and muscled, the girth surprisingly thick and strong. His virility was unaffected by his lifelessness. He appeared as if he fallen asleep this lazy afternoon, and was now being carried to bed by father or uncle. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But as Tony’s body crumpled into the bottom of the aluminum boat, the loud thump reminded me he wasn’t asleep. Still, I rather expected Tony would awaken at any moment and begin sputtering back to life, but from the moment the police boat rowed off until I last saw him put into the waiting ambulance, he was still forevermore.
Funeral services for him concluded on 18 June. I did not attend. The rest of that summer and every summer since then I've carried his memory. Funny how people build homes in your heart. This day was pregnant with a lesson on the meaning of life and yet the outcome seemed pointless. In retrospect, Anthony has been my teacher many times over.
Rest well, Anthony. See you when I get there.
Lee Richan
Salem, Utah
July 2012
Linda Gilman (Weinstein)
What a touching story, and beautiful memory of Anthony! I was in a class with Anthony in sophmore year and was devastated at the time, hearing a few days later, that he had drowned. I didn't know him well, though I knew him as a classmate and have remembered him all these years.
Sometimes we can't save the people we love, but he was lucky to have a friend who was there at the end, and remembers him in such a passionate way.
Thank you for sharing your story,
Linda Gilman Weinstein
Susan Marie Calligandes
I was in some classes in my sophmore year with Anthony. He seemed like a nice kid and I liked him. When I heard he had drowned I was devastated. I will always remember him. Rest in Peace, Anthony.
Leslie Spiers
Anthony was my buddy in French class at Muzzey. He used to let me wear his Masons ring. I loved the way he always had a lock of hair that would fall across his foreahead. He was so sweet. I still think of him often.