Ninety-Nine Years and Counting

Stanton Waterman was a leading icon during the four formative decades of scuba diving - 1970-2010. While a cinematographer for notable films (he's won five Emmys) such as the documentary Blue Water, White Death and the Hollywood blockbuster The Deep, he could be found on endless liveaboard and diving trips, where hundreds of divers enjoyed great conversation and countless stories. And while Stan hasn't been diving for a while, his two fascinating autobiographies, Sea Salt; Memories and Essays and Sea Salt II; More Salt, continue to sell well among divers who learn of the splendid man. He's about the only human being I've ever met about whom no one has a bad word.

This month, April 5, Stan turned 99. To honor him, we're carrying two short pieces by divers who know him well: John Bantin, our senior editor and author of two books, including Amazing Dive Stories, and Bret Gilliam, the founder of SDI/TDI (one of a dozen of major occupations in the scuba world) and the author of several books, including Deep Diving.

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Stan Waterman has spent the greater part of his life underwater, diving well into his 80s. In fact, he celebrated his 80th birthday aboard the Sea Hunter, diving at Costa Rica's Cocos Island, a place not known for easy diving conditions. He went on to have a second birthday party aboard the Tahiti Aggressor, at Rangiroa, in French Polynesia. Pioneering 3D underwater filmmaker Howard Hall dived with him and said, "Stan made his move across the current (through the massed sharks) at the last possible moment, kicking ferociously. His timing was perfect. As he swam up to the others and me, Stan, filled with enthusiasm, pumped his fist and yelled, 'Wow!'" loudly through his regulator mouthpiece."

Stan became famous after working with Ron and Valerie Taylor to film oceanic whitetip sharks feeding off whale carcasses for Peter Gimbel's award-winning documentary Blue Water White Death. He was an underwater cameraman for the 1977 blockbuster The Deep, starring Nick Nolte, Robert Shaw, and Jacqueline Bisset.

Years later, he came to Britain to attend an annual Dive Show. For his first presentation, it was standing room only, even though the hall had a seating capacity of 600.

That evening I sat next to him at dinner. "What an incredible audience," he commented. "I've never seen so many people turn up for one of my talks. Normally, I'm happy if a dozen or so show," he added modestly. "However, I must say that they were an earnest bunch. They didn't seem to laugh very easily."

I offered a reason. "Stan, you gave a very interesting talk and showed some pretty slides, but it was all about the wonders of coral reefs. These people know you as the famous cameraman who shot The Deep. They want to know what it was like to spend all day with Jacqui Bisset wearing a wet T-shirt!"

The next day, his presentation was completely different. He told several stories about working on the film, and one, in particular, caught everyone's attention.

Jacqueline Bisset was to surface from a dive by the stern of a small boat. This was to be filmed both from the main production boat, which held about 20 crew members, as well as from water level.

The three underwater cameramen, Stan, Chuck Nicklin, and Al Giddings, decided to shoot the scene with their lenses half in and half out of the water. When they heard the command to "turn over," they switched on their cameras and ducked underwater to look through their viewfinders. At the same time, the production boat cameras began to roll.

When the director called "Action," Jacqueline Bisset swam down and then turned and surfaced next to the ladder of the small boat. She looked wet but divine. At the same moment, an unplanned object floated into view between her and the cameras. She stopped acting and became fixed on this object. As Stan lifted his head from the water, he heard the director going apoplectic with rage.

"They all stared incredulously as a huge turd floated by," Stan reported. "Some nerd in the camera-boat had gone below and used the head and flushed it at the precise moment of the call to Action!"

He was always a great raconteur, and his story went down like a storm with the audience. Afterward, I congratulated him on a great presentation and was somewhat surprised when he looked at me and asked, "Do I know you?

"Well, we had dinner together last night, Stan!" I responded. He never forgot that.

As I noted earlier, Stan celebrated his 80th birthday aboard the Sea Hunter, diving Cocos Island, which is subject to strong currents and the surface is often unprotected from the wind. He was starting to look a little frail because of his age, so younger divers on the Sea Hunter were inclined to give him advice. They forgot that with the absence of gravity underwater, his years disappeared, and his long experience out-ranked their youthful vigor. He'd been underwater longer than most of them had been alive.

As I rose from a dive, I encountered him recording the activities of a tiny jawfish with his enormous underwater video camera, oblivious to the chaos of hammerhead sharks circling his head. Obviously, he had seen enough sharks to last a lifetime. Agreeing that it was time to ascend, we made our way to the anchor line of the pick-up boat. We paused at 20 feet for a few minutes. The line snatched as the boat above plunged and bucked on an uninviting sea. We looked up to see the occasional explosion of vomit from some of the other younger divers in the boat.

We broke the surface, and I let Stan climb up the boat ladder first. He paused, looking at the green faces of those suffering the demonstrably debilitating stages of "mal de mer." He turned back to me. "When you get to my age," he said with a wry smile, "it's best to be the last one in the boat."

He carried on regularly diving for another 10 years.

- John Bantin

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We've noted a benchmark date on April 5: Stan Waterman turned 99 years old. Salute!

For divers, the one person most likely to hit 100 percent on recognition, popular approval, and appreciation scale simultaneously is, of course, none other than diving's eloquent ambassador, Stan Waterman. His contribution to the popularity and initial recognition of scuba diving is virtually unequaled.

Stan's an articulate, erudite, profound intellectual with a rare gift of oration and a captivating speaking demeanor. He also looks good in a tuxedo. And more recently, in an embroidered eye patch. That's a hard fashion statement to pull off. Especially when you're diving with great white sharks just before your 90th birthday, as we did in the fall of 2012 out at Guadalupe Island some 250 miles or so off Mexico's Baja peninsula. That was his upcoming 90th birthday, not mine.

But there's another side to him.

Stan is a hero and mentor to me in so many ways. But most importantly, he's a dear friend. We also share a deranged and somewhat deviant sense of humor. In my case, I make no effort to conceal my underlying depravity, but Stan musters up the resolve to behave himself (for the most part) in public speaking appearances and his writings. But just beneath the surface, somewhat like a stonefish in the sand waiting to strike, lies a mischievous and meandering streak of ageless mirth. He tends to catch you by surprise and off guard. It's insidious.

He studied under the legendary Robert Frost at Dartmouth. I've been studying under Stan's guidance in a similar tutelage for decades but have yet to achieve my mentor's distinguished dialogue and reflective writing style. But he has shared more than a few fart jokes when no one was within earshot.

Stan, congratulations on your 99th birthday.

- Bret Gilliam