Remembering Gregg Stanton.
By Travis Kersting
On Jan. 1, 2009 I lost my job, due to a shifting economy, via text message just before I planned to leave for work in the morning. I had been working as a welder and metal fabricator in a small northern Minnesota town with a population of just 2,565 people. By this point in my life I had already become obsessed with the activity of scuba diving, with nearly a decade of experience. I’d gone so far as joining a public safety dive team, manufacturing and servicing some of my own equipment, and blending trimix breathing gases at home but without proper training.
With a lack of potential employment locally I opted to go back to school and by the fall of 2009 I was enrolled in a technical program with the express purpose of trying to make myself more attractive to a scuba manufacturer. More specifically I wanted to design, build, and test rebreathers though I had never used one before.
As a broke student it was irresponsible of me to take off for some scuba convention but when the opportunity came up to attend the Ghost Ship Festival in Milwaukee and test dive multiple rebreathers I couldn’t say no. In March 2010 I met Gregg Stanton, Richie Kohler, and a handful of others for a try-dive event which cost just $75. Following the event I stopped at a booth where I spent more time talking to Gregg, learning he was opening a new dive business in Wakulla County. He couldn’t leave out the fact that he drove up for that event in a Jetta propelled by home-made biodiesel, a 17 hour 1,100-mile one-way trip. He gave me a business card with an AOL email which was outdated even then, and asked me to send a resume when I finished school in 2011.
In February 2011, I drove to Wakulla Diving Center from Minnesota, stopping only for fuel and one short nap. Why? Because Gregg invited me to come see his facility, stay at his house, and interview/intern for two weeks. Today this seems absurd but I was sort of chasing a dream as well as warmer weather.
For the entirety of my visit I barely saw Gregg, not even in passing. He had double-booked himself a rebreather course plus my visit so I spent the time with his daughter Nicole, his business partner Joerg, and a funny little guy from the Isle of Mann (he needs his own article). It was the last night of my stay and Gregg had finished his rebreather course so he invited me to a proper one-on-one interview in, of all places, his hot tub. When I showed up he was in the nude, something I wasn’t accustomed to but which was normal for him and his family. Have you ever been offered a job making almost no money from a nude man in a hot tub?
Oh, the things we do when chasing dreams. Obviously, he offered me a deal I couldn’t pass up; I’d never have to shovel snow again and I wouldn’t be homeless.
I made the drive back to Florida. This time with a 24-foot moving truck and towing my Kia Optima, to start work on May 10, 2011. I didn’t have a home or an apartment, instead unloading everything I owned in the back of Wakulla Diving Center and living at Gregg’s house. See, he couldn’t afford to pay me much. Deep Horizon had happened right after I had first met him and the business took a real hit.
I didn’t care, Gregg’s forever optimistic persona and generosity of housing/meals/etc meant I had at least made it to Florida and was one step closer to my goal.
To be continued next week.
