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An essential part of learning how to sail is learning what to do if the boat capsizes.
Mike Finocchiaro remembers that lesson, and the man who taught it to him—Robert Stelling—many years ago off the shore of the Southampton Peconic Beach and Tennis Club on the Great Peconic Bay in Shinnecock Hills.
He was on a Hobie Cat catamaran with Mr. Stelling and others, mentally preparing himself for the intentional capsize that was part of the lesson. He was frightened: He’d heard stories about Mr. Stelling being tossed into the rigging and getting scraped up.
So he asked Mr. Stelling if purposely flipping the boat over was really necessary.
“He hauled in the sheetline, looked at me, and said something to the effect of, ‘You can’t learn everything from a book—you’ve got this. I’ll be with you the whole time,’” Mr. Finocchiaro recalled earlier this week. “It was what he was all about: teaching and making you grow. He knew he wasn’t always going to be there with you, but he made sure he set you on the right path. It was that way with everything.”
Mr. Finocchiaro is one of countless people who learned about both sailing and life from Mr. Stelling during the nearly 40 years that his family has owned and operated the family-friendly beach club.
He’s also one of many community members now mourning the loss of Mr. Stelling, who died on Saturday at the age of 50 when a small private plane in which he was flying crashed into a house in San Diego, California.
He was a passenger in the six-seat single-engine airplane with his wife, Dr. Dawn Stelling, and two family friends. Dr. Stelling survived the crash with minor injuries and returned home to Southampton on Monday to be reunited with their three children.
The pilot, who was not immediately identified, also survived—but one family friend, still unidentified by authorities, also died.
Dr. Stelling, a veterinarian who owns the Olde Towne Animal Hospital on County Road 39 in Southampton, was in California with her husband for a veterinary conference. It’s not clear why the group was on the airplane, a 1995 Beechcraft Bonanza registered to Altitude Aviation Inc. of Hermosa Beach, California.
Earlier this week, multiple publications reported that the plane took off from Montgomery Field in San Diego, just east of Clairemont, California, at about 4:30 p.m. on Saturday. According to The San Diego Union-Tribune, the pilot reported engine failure shortly after takeoff, and tried to make an emergency landing in a schoolyard.
After touching ground, the plane crashed into a fence and into the back of a house at approximately 4:35 p.m., the Union-Tribune reported. An investigation into the cause of the crash is being conducted by the National Transportation and Safety Board.
Earlier this week, friends and family were struggling to come to grips with the sudden loss of Mr. Stelling, who many described as a larger-than-life figure in the Southampton community.
They described the unique family vibe at the Southampton Peconic Beach and Tennis Club, and how Mr. Stelling cultivated a down-to-earth atmosphere reminiscent of a bygone era. Members describe a place steeped in old school nostalgia, with brightly painted cabanas, an ice cream counter, and faux palm trees “planted” on the beach.
Children who spent their summers jumping into the pool from the diving board and sharing a well-worn collection of communal toys stored under the beach deck often became employees as they entered their teenage years. Tradition and memory-making were sacred—and Mr. Stelling was a key part of it all.
Members fondly recalled how Mr. Stelling and his father, Robert Stelling Sr., known to most as Bob, attached a large bell to a wooden post bolted to the side of the restaurant. The younger Mr. Stelling would ring the large, loud bell several times just as the sun dipped below the horizon, as families sat on the outside deck, enjoying the spectacular views of the bay while eating dinner.
Gil Flanagan, a Southampton-based attorney, is a longtime club member and said he knew Mr. Stelling for at least 20 years. “He was the greatest host,” he said. “He always made a point to make everyone feel special and welcome.”
Mr. Stelling was idolized by many children who grew up going to the club with their families, learning to sail under his watch and paying those lessons forward years later, as they become sailing instructors at the club themselves.
One of them, Andy Schwinn, said he owes his love of sailing—and so much more—to Mr. Stelling.
“Robert had this ability to make you want to be involved with what he was doing. And it wasn’t to seek his approval or make him proud of you—it was because he was enjoying it and, in a way, you wanted to enjoy things as much as he was,” Mr. Schwinn said. “He made everything fun, period.
“He taught hundreds of kids how to sail, and the lessons weren’t just about sailing. I think he gave us all a sense of responsibility and freedom that you couldn’t get playing on a sports team or doing other activities.
“I don’t think that Robert was intentionally trying to shape lives, teach people life lessons, or make you idolize him,” Mr. Schwinn continued. “He just had this inherent quality that made him do that by being who he was. I can’t think of a single person who went to the beach club and grew up with Robert who didn’t feel that way about him.”
Similar sentiments were expressed on Facebook by others close to Mr. Stelling and his family: stories of his joie de vivre, his love of the beach and sailing, and how he was at once a dear friend, mentor and role model.
“When it came to working for the beach club, Robert and his father had very high expectations for the employees,” Mr. Finocchiaro said. “Myself and so many others attribute our work ethic and where we are today to Robert and his father, Bob.”
Mr. Finocchiaro said he will miss his friend, but, in a tribute to Mr. Stelling on Facebook, he spoke about how he would remember him—sipping on a Red Stripe beer, wearing a floral shirt and sunglasses, relaxing at the beach, toes in the sand, with steel drum music playing in the background.
“I will never forget you,” he wrote at the conclusion of his post. “I went to your parents’ house last night. We spend hours talking. My eyes kept getting drawn to a small sign that sat in the window. I can’t get the saying out of my head, and hope I never do. It read: Memories made at the beach last a lifetime.”
Funeral arrangements were incomplete as of Tuesday afternoon.
on Dec 12, 2017