ON THE 22nd of
October, several hundred people met at Paddington Uniting Church for the
funeral of Sam de Brito. As an author, columnist and amongst many other things
supporter of the Disabled Surfers’ Association, he’ll be sorely missed.
Waiting for the ceremony to
begin, it was impossible not to overhear snippets of conversation. “He was a
rattish rogue,” said one friend; “possibly the most infuriating person I knew,”
said another. Sam loved to goad, see, and was not afraid of a good verbal stoush. The
minister of the Wayside Chapel recalled how one evening Sam rang saying, “so
what’s Luther’s problem?”
In his eulogy, Sam’s brother-in-law
spoke of how he was called once just before a news conference. “What’s up, Sammy?”
he’d asked. “Nuthin’,” came the reply. “Just called to say I love’ya, mate- you
love me too, right?” “Of course I do, Sammy!” “Well, how do I know if you never
say so?” “Okay Sammy- I love ya’ too, mate.”
As the ceremony ended, the
reverend told us he’d once been dragged along to a game of baseball. “Never
understood the thrill of whacking a ball about with just a matchstick,” he
said, “but that night a player hit the ball right out of the park and he got a
standing ovation.” It was like he had covered all the spectators with glory, he
explained, and in the way he had lived with his genuine quest to understand
life, Sam did much the same for us.
