Condolence From: Jeff Johnson
Condolence: I knew him as cousin Georgie. The most interesting person I ever knew. Last time I saw Georgie was in Silverton around 1980. My wife and I took a vacation to Purgetory to ski. We took a day to go to Silverton and see if he was still there. Stopped in the post office and I asked how I could find my cousin George not really expecting an answer. Her answer..he's across teaching his gym class at the high school..go on over there. So we went. I hadn't seen Georgie since London (another story involving skis on a double decker bus) and he wasn't sure exactly who I was at the gym. He told me to go across the street, have a beer and wait for school to end. He came in busting through the doors and said "Johnson...I thought you were the CIA". Yet another story. We ended the day hunting rabbits in an avalanche vally....typical Georgie! The XX beer guy couldn't hold a candle to you Georgie. I was just a kid in New Jersey but my first fishing trip was with you and my last rabbit hunting trip was with you. They are grand memories. Thanks!
Wednesday February 13, 2019
Condolence From: Wick Beavers
Condolence: I tried to find young Jorge several times over the last several years and the closest I got was hearing he had croaked in Costa Rica a long while back. Even a pal staying in Silverton for a few days reported back to me George had "died in Costa Rica." Not so!
George was a free spirit with a partial Viet Nam vet's view on things. Add a little hard of hearing due to having so many guns going off nearby and you might remember him as being pretty "loud". But George was really one of the kindest, most generous people I knew and I wish I'd found him before he croaked.
It would have been fun to catch up, old dog!
I first met him at Colorado Outward Bound and due to my interests in offshore fishing and a little pheasant hunting, we bonded pretty fast. Plus, as a minorly eccentric guy, I found George to be much more "interesting" than many of my older Goldman Sach's pals. Through the years, we got together and I'll not forget hunting pheasant with him and my now deceased kid on some plot of land outside Cortez where Charlie, my son, age 11 or so, got his first pheasant. To this day, I really don't know if we were on private or public land, but it was a great fun trip!
After my trip sailing around the world, I had a bigger boat, ex Matador, a maxi formerly owned by (the better) Koch brother Bill, and I had set it up as an offshore charter racing yacht. I can't remember how George heard, but he was there, on the dock in Virginia when we set off, signed on as "chief galley mate", on an offshore race in which we broke all records -by days!- racing from Norfolk, VA to Tortola, BVI. Jorge asked- and I agreed- to invite his cousin along, Juan Carlos Crespo, from San Jose, Costa Rica. whom, I won't forget, was genuinely one of the nicest people I've met, but sadly, his stomach didn't quite match up to the trip and Juan, I believe, then and there, swore off offshore sailing for good. Jorge/George/Pastor (all names work!) always volunteering to cook befuddled us all, until one of the trusty shipmates, hot bunking in his rack below, pushed aside all the junk under the sheets to find a really nice stash of fine Bourbon and Cuban cigars, which went against one of our offshore shipboard rules of "no liquor" for anyone on deck off shore. So THAT is why George became such a great cook and such a colloquial and well-liked member of the crew!
I also, at one point, worked for Southwest Outward Bound down in Mexico, sea kayaking in the Sea of Cortez, where the fishing was infamously insane! When you got a handle on your "Mexican spinning reel" (a Tecate can with 100 pound test wrapped around it about 150 times), you could hook a 50 pound "yellow tail" with no bait, just a treble hook, which you "cast" just beyond the frantic melée of feeding thrashing schools off the beach, when you'd "snag" or foul hook a sardine, then "BANG!" a 50 pound Yellow Tail would hit that! Nobody believed it unless they saw it, swear, but I used to head south between courses to go surfing at some of the finest "secret spots" on the Baja and Mexican coasts. Somehow, I ran into George in Guadalajara where he made me a deal (I was broke, so I had no foot to stand on in this one!): "Wick", he said, "you give me that sea snake skin (it had bitten me down near Escondido and I'd kilt and skinned it for doing so) and that juarape (sic?) jacket (it was getting cold at night) and I'll give you a ride to the border." Took him up on that offer- hitchhiked the rest of the way with my dog and have always wondered where my snake made it to since then. That would have been one of the questions I'd liked to have had answered, George.
I know George didn't live his life looking for normal consent (in an acceptable way, to me, anyways), but he was always ready to go anywhere or do anything different and fun, a true adventurer. And I believe he did some pretty good things for his school kids' programs in Silverton.
Old pal, I hope you are still traveling and enjoying every minute of it. Just don't lose too much sleep bunking with that Bourbon or your 12 gauge! You're up in 4!
Love you,
Wick Beavers
Wednesday June 06, 2018
