Uncle Bill Installment #19

I feel like the first 18 installments belong to “PART ONE”. I’m giving you a bit of a palette cleanser here…two installments, #19 & #20. These two pieces are a glance into the original protagonists of this story. Two people we still know little about, Donald Diehl and Uncle Bill. After these, I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT MY RETURN TO THE ISLANDS!

In 1958, Donald J. Diehl and my Uncle Bill took a boat, went skin diving and never returned.

When I began a search for insight into Donald Diehl, I came across a newspaper article that told of an incident with his sport plane. (More on that in a minute.) My first thought upon seeing the article was … How does a 23 year old own a sport plane?

In a later conversation with Ross Taylor, one of Uncle Bill’s childhood friends, he said Bill had told him that Donald Diehl came from money. “He had everything he ever wanted just handed to him.”

This doesn’t necessarily jibe with the Don I found.

Donald was born in Camden, New Jersey in 1935 to Walter Valentine Diehl and Mary Elizabeth Sprow-Diehl . Donald was Walter and Mary’s second child. Their first, named after his father, was born in 1931 and died 15 months later. Walter was no stranger to loss, having lost his father when he was only 5 years old. The couple were both around 30 years old when Donald was born, Mary being slightly older than Walter. At the time of Donald’s birth, [according to the census] Walt was employed by the local “Electric Department”. Donald’s brother, Douglas, was born in 1939. Mary, stayed home with the kids. Don was brought up with an emphasis on Christian values. In fact, Don’s brother, Doug, studied theology at an Evangelical Lutheran Theological Seminary and later was ordained as Reverend.

Camden is also the birthplace of RCA. The Radio Corporation of America was founded there is 1919.

Around 1945, Walter moved his family to Dade City, Florida where he found work as a sheet metal installer. [Again, needled out by me via the census.] Eventually Walter hired on with the US Postal Service where he worked for the next 25 years.

Donald “Don” spent the remainder of his childhood in North Miami, Florida. Just like my uncle, he enjoyed model airplanes. He attended Miami Edison High School, graduating in 1953. He was in band for 3 years … but, just like my uncle, he doesn’t seem to have participated in much else.

I have joined many groups in an attempt to find information regarding certain aspects of this Outermost Uncle saga. Quite a few have been very helpful. Some… not so much. Don’s high school alumni group is more hoo-hah regarding the school, than informative. Posts , like, the words to the song “I wish I was in Dixie.”

Don was a tough cookie for me to crack, not having many relatives still around when I began my search. I eventually found Sharon – Don’s cousin’s daughter, online. Her mom referred to Don as “Cousin Donny”, her favorite cousin. Sharon’s grandfather was an avid home movie buff. She shared some great clips of home movies from the family archive.

Don loved animals. Growing up, he had a menagerie of pets, including dogs, cats and a monkey.

After graduating from high school, Don attended some classes at the University of Miami, eventually transferring to what was then called New Mexico College of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts. Don did a lot in his short life. He graduated from high school then college, owned a sport plane, got a great job with GE, was a certified deep sea diver, died. All by the age of 23. I’m 64 and I haven’t done but a couple of those things.

Don graduated from college and went to work for General Electric. He eventually took up with my uncle. They both became what some referred to at the time as “fishmen”. [Oh! The British say “frogmen”! Isn’t that awesome?] Deep sea divers. What we now know as SCUBA divers. They both worked on San Salvador Island and Mayaguana in the Bahamas.

After his disappearance, Don’s parents were flown down to San Salvador Island. General Electric, Don’s employer, footed the bill. According to Nat Walker and Snake Eyes (who attended the memorial), the family took the Pan Am boat out to the coral shelf where the divers had been lost, and dropped a wreath into the water. There was a concrete memorial for Don near the shore.* That memorial lasted for many years, but was eventually removed when Club Med rebuilt the grounds. There was nothing done or left for Bill.

Don’s parents arrived home on July 21st of 1958. After that, something weird happened.

Someone stole Don’s plane. It was sitting in a hangar at the Melbourne Airport. The keys were hanging on the wall, but the thief hotwired it.

These newspaper articles are a study in how you can glean a tiny iota of new information (and misinformation) from each blurb.

The aircraft was valued at $3,000.00. It was held in the hangar in Melbourne while Don’s estate was being settled. $3,000 in 1958 money has the spending power of  $32,651.21 today.

When I shared my finds with her, my cousin, Kate, then found this:

So many questions. Did someone know Don was dead and the aircraft was tied up in his estate settlement? Did they not notice the keys just hanging there? Did they know the keys were there, but hot wired the plane to make it look like they didn’t? Was the plane simply taken for a joy ride? Why did the thief attempt to conceal the plane? Were they going to use it again later? If so, what for? Was the plane actually even hotwired?

While doing research, I join groups. I delve into newspaper archives. I Google. I search on Ancestry. I make phone calls. I write letters. I send email. I use “ask a librarian”. In this case, I wrote letters to as many people as I could find who might possibly be associated with Donald Diehl. I wrote to his few remaining family members. I even wrote to Mal Finger, who was a teenager in the airplane that spotted the stolen aircraft at Valkaria. [Funny side note, “Mal Finger” is also a physical ailment – so I had to dig through that mess as well.] None of my letters were returned-to-sender, which is unusual. On the other hand, none of my letters were answered.

I wonder what happened with those fingerprints that were “lifted” from the stolen plane? I emailed the police department in what I thought was the correct jurisdiction. They replied that I needed to contact another department. I’m going to wait until this hurricane season is over. If there’s an update, I’ll post it.

Not merely hurricanes but mysteries, too, broil in the Bermuda Triangle.

Gotta love me some Barry Manilow.

* My return to San Salvador Island [San Sal 2.0] had me attempting to track down this memorial. Someone had seen it – in a decrepit state- not too long ago. Kim, from the little shop across from the airport, “Simply Bahamian” led me along the rocky shoreline. We inspected every rock. Nothing remains. I did find this:

You can keep track of updates and photos, beyond what I post on my site, on my Whatsapp channel “Outermost Uncle“.

If you’d like to email me my address is junkstorecameras@gmail.com

Back to installment #18.