Another story which just happens to be Stu, Don, and me. Of course, we three were neighbors in East Williston, and all shared the joy of our summers out east, so there were lots of times like these that span almost 50 years: I got the Super-8 camera thing going as a hobby for surf and general horse-around movies when we were all about sixteen. I'd take it to the beach all the time, and get some cool surf movies if there was someone willing to man the camera when the surf was up. Many of the trips were, "By Sea", loading boards, cameras, girls, and sandwiches aboard the Pequod, or the Last Fling, or whatever someone's Dad's boat's name was at the time. So passing through Shinnecock Canal on the way to the beach, with camera, led to the inevitable group leap off the Shinnecock Bridge. We set the camera on slow-mo, gave it to one of the girls or the sandwiches, and Stu, Don and I scrambled up there for the shot. Now, this was Stu's first time, so his step off the rail was a total attempt to get as close to the water as possible before the freefall, arms clamped to his sides, and you could see his eyes squeezed shut from 40 yards away. I might have jumped a little, just so I wouldn't hit my head on the rail, but I sure wasn't looking for any extra distance. But Don does this leap, with his full wing-span, like he wanted to get his head above the guy wires before he started his descent, and maybe jump out far enough so he could touch the other bridge before having to eventually come down and hit the water. The shot was hysterical, like it almost wasn't possible for so much time to elapse between Stu and me hitting the water, and Don eventually coming in for a landing, when we all took off at the same time. The guy really could fly.