In Memorium: Charles “Chuck” Webster

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January 20, 2024 by Doug Webster

This is a tough one to post. 

Brother Chuck Webster passed away last week (Wed. Jan. 17th) in Florida after a battle with bladder cancer. He was 75.

He had been diagnosed with the cancer in 2022 and underwent surgery. It recurred in 2023 leading to another round of surgery, chemo and radiation, but it was inexorable and spread rapidly. His doctors had given him perhaps six months in November. He was gone in about two.

Sister Barbara and brother Tom and I flew to Orlando and then went to his home in the Villages the weekend before his passing. He had gone for chemo treatment a week before but became disoriented on the way and was immediately hospitalized. Not long after, the decision was made to discharge him to Hospice care and he was moved to the home of his former wife who also lives in the Villages. We were joined by his three daughters and their husbands/partners and for several days sat vigil. He ceased all intake on Saturday and was gone the following Wednesday morning, passing peacefully but under heavy sedation to deal with pain.

Chuck was the youngest brother of our family. He attended Westown School and Syracuse University. He and Tom both served in the Navy during the Vietnam conflict and were both assigned to the same destroyer, working as radar operators.

All of us attended Otter between the mid-50’s and the latter part of the 60s.

After discharge from the Navy, Chuck completed his education at Syracuse and then began working in the media, for the Associated Press and ABC radio in New York and then for Marathon Oil and British Petroleum in corporate communications. Chuck was the lead media liaison during the Huntington Beach oil spill in Feb. of 1990, and received kudos for his handling of the crisis and responsiveness to the press and local authorities.

That experience and further work in the field eventually led to the formation of his own crisis communications consulting firm, an enterprise that he headed for the remainder of his career. He traveled so often and so widely that he joked he sometimes had to call the front desk of whatever hotel he was at and ask, “Where am I?”

Over the years he served a wide range of clientele ranging from major companies in the oil, gas and petrochemical sector as well as the California Water Authority. A significant portion of his work involved training sessions on effective crisis communications and media relations.

He moved to the Villages upon his retirement and enjoyed a rich life with many friends in the community. In recent years, the four of us would gather weekly on Zoom to stay in touch. It became a tradition that as the end of our 40-minute session was in its final minute or so, Chuck would start telling a joke, but always made sure that he never got to the punchline before we all were timed out. He was an intense competitor and dearly loved family games of Hearts as well as cribbage and Scrabble (in which he excelled.) 

We will keep Zooming……he will be sorely missed.

ADDENDUM: Sister Barb sent me a couple of items from the family files and Chuck’s attendance at Otter.

In 1960, Chuck had the honor of winning the Miss Otter contest, having borrowed a bathing suit from the girls’ camp to compete. The victory included his very own Otter pennant,

Not surprisingly, Chuck rarely mentioned this honor during the remainder of his life.

Chuck maintained a love of the outdoors after Otter and loved to take canoe trips in the Boundary Waters area with friends. One of those friends, Jack Wichita, recently sent us his memories of some of those adventures.

Many of our adventures together happened while we were paddling canoes either in the wilderness boundary waters between Minnesota and Canada (the BWWCA) and some on local rivers near my home in northern Wisconsin. 

The BWWCA is a true wilderness area—canoes only, no motorboats or motors of any kind. It’s a couple of thousand square miles of pure water lakes, trees, and wildlife of every description—loons, bears, moose, wolves, bobcats, lynx, hares, ruffed and spruce grouse. And, oh yes, fish, Fish of every size and description and for our purposes we stalked northern pike, smallmouth and largemouth bass and walleyes.  

Our annual trip took place over the 4 day weekend that included the first of June.  Often it was chilly, low 40’s or so. But other times it was glorious—sunny, breezy with temps in the 60’s and 70’s. Often there would be eight of us including you, me, John Casperson, Steve, and Jerry as well as other invitees. You always brought your cribbage and scrabble boards and thus became a legend.  No one can remember you having lost at either game during the trip. Some assumed that you must be cheating, but that was never the case, or at least not ever proven.  

One of my most treasured memories of one of our early trips was that morning when you and I were fishing far down Smoke Lake, a good mile or two from our campsite. The fishing was okay, but not spectacular.  We were about to paddle back to camp when we saw perhaps a quarter mile away what looked like a small water spout with churning, roiling white water and noise like a small waterfall right in the middle of the lake. We cautiously and quietly paddled over to see what the commotion was about. Indeed, as we paddled closer the noise of the disturbed water became louder and we could hear some excited chittering as well. As we approached, suddenly furry heads with dark, curious eyes started popping out of the water around us.  We had come up on a conclave of perhaps two or three dozen river otters splashing and playing together in one merry group.  Curious and unafraid, they let us get to within 20 feet or so of the group.  They seemed as interested in us as we them. Then they gradually began dissipating and we began paddling back.  

I’ve researched this phenomenon and spoken with wildlife biologists about this behavior, but none were able to explain it.  More than anything, it seemed that the otters just wanted to have some fun, socializing with family and fishing with their friends. What a fine otter and human thing to do!

A couple of rescues.

Another trip to the same lake found us on a particularly long portage.  It was a warm day for portaging canoes with mosquitos and black flies buzzing around our heads and our shouldered canoes blocking our view.  We soon separated on the trail, with the younger guys pulling ahead and us elders pulling up the rear.  We finally came to the end of the portage and did a head count. Oops, one missing—Chuck.  Did he somehow get ahead of the others on the trail and go on to the.next lake?  We realized that the portage trail intersected several long hiking trails, some of which end up in the Canadian wilderness.  We backtracked and hiked a couple of the intersecting trails.  I found Chuck far down one of the trails, canoe resting in the crotch of a big birch tree and him sitting on a log, exhausted, dejected and dehydrated.  Everything okay and we finished the trek to our canoes and eventually our campsite.  You were grateful to be rescued and somewhat subdued for the next day.  

After that, we had a couple of fine days fishing until disaster struck again and you were able to return the favor.  I had hooked a large northern pike, perhaps 5-6 lbs or so and as I was unhooking the beast, it gave a huge flip of its tail and hooked me through my hand with the front set of hooks while it tried to struggle free from the lure’s back hooks. The hooks were also tangled up in the net.  I was starting to panic but Chuck took charge, giving me instructions on how to keep the fish from damaging more of my hand (he said kneel on the fish to quiet it) which I did with all my weight.  With me Unable to paddle, Chuck paddled the 3/4th mile back to camp alone in record time.  Back at camp, our woodsman friend John Casperson performed some back woods surgery with a quart of brandy for both anesthetic and antiseptic purposes, a pair of wire cutters, and a very sharp pocket knife. 

We ate that devil fish that night and it was great!

Jack tells another Chuck story which is something of a classic…..how he turned the tables on a couple of young con artists during a golf outing:

A third and perhaps most vivid memory, (which I think of as “the bet”, )was the day we played the Ohio State University course. I was a graduate student at Ohio State and of course member. It was a warm summer day, and we were scheduled to play on the scarlet course, the Premier Ohio State golf course, on which they’ve sometimes played the NCAA championships. We were paired with two “kids“ who were no older than 15 or 16 years of age. They said that they were just learning to play and asked us to be patient and to give them some advice. And they looked as though they needed it. They played terribly, often, duffing shots, missing putts, throwing clubs, and altogether playing poorly for the first 9 holes. You and I were playing reasonably well and offered to play the next nine holes for a wager. The wager was for lunch and we gave them each a stroke per hole to even things out. Well, once the wager was on the table, they suddenly started playing like pros – – their drives were long and straight, approach shots rarely missing greens in regulation, making no three putts, and scoring mostly pars, birdies, and an occasional bogey. We realized that we were being hustled and hustled very well. We got back to the clubhouse after the round. and they were ready to collect their free lunches (and some laughs) at our expense. But you weren’t ready to give up yet. You persuaded them to go double or nothing on the bet where if we won, we wouldn’t owe them lunch. But if they won, we would owe them lunch and $5.00 each (big bucks in those days). 

The wager was that you could do between three and 400 push-ups in under three minutes. They argued that they had won fair and square and we should just pay up. They were also concerned that you might have a heart attack (as was I, as you were somewhat heavy at the time 😊)..  You finally prevailed and with some fanfare, you got into position and started the push-ups: 1-2-3-4… and then you stopped, got up and dusted off your shorts. The kids were already planning their lunch menu and how to spend their ill-gotten gains. Then you told them in no uncertain terms that they had lost. They had agreed to between 3 and 400 push-ups, not between 300 and 400 push ups. And you did the required 4. Oh, did they whine and complain. But they couldn’t deny the wording of the wager and they finally relented. And maybe they took the experience as a valuable life lesson—listen closely, read the fine print and don’t bet against Chuck. 

This was one of your finest moments, and we’ve told the story many times over without embellishments – none were needed for such a clear Chuck moment