Dave and Joyce Keel were stationed overseas in Naples, Italy.
One weekend another couple joined them to camp on a Mediterranean beach further north than where they usually went. Al and Sonnie were into snorkeling and had brought their gear along. “Joyce, you have to try it,” Sonnie urged her. “You’ll love it.”
Joyce warned Sonnie she was not a proficient swimmer, but her friend persuaded her to try. Al and Sonnie gave Joyce a snorkeling crash course and despite her misgivings, she decided to give it a try. “Stay real close to us,” Sonnie told her. “If you do run into trouble, we’ll be right there to help.”
“Well….” Joyce already had her gear on, and it seemed relatively simple. Al had forgotten something in the car, but urged Joyce to go ahead anyway.
“At the beginning, it was so fascinating,” Joyce says. “I couldn’t believe everything I was seeing. The sun was out, so I could see a long way off, and we were moving along the beach instead of going out in the sea. I was so enthralled that I forgot about staying with Sonnie and Dave. Then I began to notice that the waves were getting stronger, and the tide was coming in.”
When Joyce looked up, she could barely see Sonnie and Dave. They were far ahead of her. The waves swamped her, filling the breathing tube in her mouth. “They had told me to blow the water out, but I couldn’t get it out fast enough to take a breath in,” Joyce recalls. “So like any novice, I pulled the tube off so I could get my head up, and breathe.” But the waves were higher now, and the fins on her feet seemed to be pulling her down. Joyce gulped for air. “Help!” she screamed. Water pushed over her head and she went under.
“They say you go down three times before you drown,” Joyce says. “But I think I popped up four or five times.” At one point she felt the bottom and she pushed off as hard as she could. But it was no use. She bounced helplessly along, tossed by the sea’s power, each wave pulling her under again and again. Where was Dave? Their friends? She screamed again, but her strength was fading.
Suddenly, an arm came around her. It must be Al, she thought, though she couldn’t see, flailing to get her head above the water. “Stop fighting me! I’m trying to help you!” the man shouted, and began to swim, pulling her along. His grip was strong and Joyce noticed he was wearing a wet suit. Had Al brought one along? She could hardly think…
In a moment or two, she was lying, exhausted, on the beach, and her husband and Sonnie were running towards her. “We saw you thrashing around and we knew you were in trouble,” Dave told her, grasping her hand, “But we were so far ahead…”
“It took us a while to get to you,” Sonnie explained, tears gathering. “How did you make it to shore?”
Joyce looked at her, puzzled. “Why, Al saved me.”
“Al?” They turned as Al came running up, completely dry. “I saw you struggling, but it was too late for me to go in,” he explained. “Dave and Sonnie were closer to you than I was…”
“You didn’t grab me?” Joyce asked him, bewildered. “But…” She looked around. The man in the wetsuit had disappeared. And one other odd thing: her rescuer had spoken perfect English, not Italian.
An angel? “I have always wondered,” Joyce says today, glad that on her first day of snorkeling, a mysterious diver had come to her rescue.
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