Some people come into our lives and, although the years pass and life takes us in different directions, they never really leave. They remain in our memories because of the warmth they brought into the lives of those around them.
I first met him in the mid-1970s in Clovelly, Cape Town. He was a friend of a friend, and they had travelled down from Johannesburg by train to visit family in the area. What I remember most from those early days was his excitement about the sea. He was fascinated by the ocean and already talking enthusiastically about diving.
A few years later he was back in Cape Town, this time involved professionally in a perlemoen diving operation. It seemed fitting for someone with such a sense of adventure — a person drawn to exploring, discovering and pushing beyond the ordinary.
In those days we spent time together at places like the St James Hotel and the Canterbury Inn at the Fairmead Hotel — affectionately known simply as “The Cant” — which was a popular meeting place in those years. They were places where friendships were formed, stories were shared, and memories were made.
Eventually he moved back to Johannesburg and became deeply involved in the world of skydiving. He went on to complete more than 3 000 jumps, became a jump master, and experienced the skies not only across South Africa but internationally as well. For someone like him, it must have been the ultimate freedom — floating above the world, surrounded by clouds, looking down from a place few people ever experience.
He was a man of many talents and many chapters. I sometimes forget all the different things he did in his younger years — from being a firefighter to working as a sub-editor on a business publication.
During the 1980s he also worked at a restaurant in Northcliff where they had one of those bucking bronco mechanical rides. I remember going there, and I think it was probably the Thunder Gun restaurant, which remarkably is still going today despite the decline of that main road. I heard recently that it is still doing well.
Later he established a company producing security products and did very well with it. His life was never confined to one path.
And through it all, he lived his music. Music was part of who he was. It was not just something he listened to; it was something he felt.
A few months ago I had a dream about him. He was standing on a stairwell looking down at me, and he had this beatific smile. It felt so real that I woke up calling out, “No, no, no.” I wondered afterwards what my subconscious was trying to tell me. Perhaps it was simply the mind bringing back someone who had left such a lasting impression.
He was always friendly and kind. He loved his dogs. He was the type of person who could tease his friends, make them laugh with an intelligent little joke, and still offer wise advice when it mattered. He had a maturity beyond his years.
I remember once he gave me some very good advice about someone else — advice that still applies today.
Like all of us, he had his ups and downs. The road became difficult towards the end, but that is also part of the adventure of life. He faced his final days stoically, as he had faced so much else — never one to complain, always finding a way to carry himself with dignity.
It is interesting how we remember people from long ago with such warmth. Perhaps it is because they themselves were warm people. They come into our lives, they leave again, but certain friendships become part of who we are.
That is why people like this keep living with us. They remain in the stories we tell, the memories we carry, and the moments when something reminds us of them.
On the anniversary of his passing on 25 June 2020, we remember a man who truly had the freedom of the skies, who lived with courage, curiosity and adventure.
We remember Rob McCullum, fondly known as Mac.
