On December 21st of 1988, Thomas Britton Schultz was returning from a semester abroad in London and boarded Pan Am 103. His young life along with 257 other passengers ended abruptly. Tom’s death left his family and friends shocked and shaken. The following is a recount of my experience with what would be my first tragedy and significant loss.

Tom was only 20 and a student at Ohio Wesleyan when he died. He left behind his mother and father Jack and Jane Schultz. He also had a younger brother Andrew who tragically died at the age of eight. Tom lived in Ridgefield Connecticut and New York City. He had a lot of friends and was an outgoing good-natured young man. His death was a tragedy.

I recall being in New York City the night he died. I had met with some of our mutual friends from Pine Island Camp. About 10 PM that evening I could see the news breaking on the televisions behind the bar of some establishment I was at in NYC. In the moment I thought nothing of it. However, as I drove home to Connecticut that night, I distinctly recall thinking about whether Tom might have been on that flight. I knew he was in London for school and guessed he might be coming back for the holidays. I am not a big believer in the ‘supernatural’ but in this case, my ‘spidey-senses’ were definitely tingling. Approximately 48 hours later, we got confirmation through local news that Tom was on the flight.

This article came out from Tom’s ‘hometown’ newspaper and gave a good overview of who Tom was, his impact on the world in his brief time and who he was trying to be. Oddly enough this was a picture of me hugging who I believe was Pat Ditmars, the mother of some fellow Pine Islanders and one-time van driver at the camp. Looking on was Whit Fisher who was a central figure in our PIC gang.

I recall aspects of his funeral in some detail. The day was overcast and cold. There was a very large outpouring and many people attended the funeral. Tom had clearly touched a lot of people in his short life. His father was also an influential CEO in high-end retail. I recall the church was somewhat modern and large; after some research to remind myself, it was at St. Leo Parrish in Stamford. The ceremony itself I don’t recall much other than the family priest did a good job of describing Tom and who he was. Tom had a meaningful relationship with the church and this priest based on what I would guess was the result of his younger brother’s death years earlier. At the end of the ceremony, they played Dionne Warwick's ‘That’s What Friends are For’. I recall it was played over and over because people stayed in the Parrish for quite a while afterward consoling each other. The Pine Island Camp contingent congregated right after and shared both memories and sorrow.

I was a pallbearer which was a first for me. I was honored to be selected. I remember that the casket was surprisingly heavy. Putting it into the herse to drive to the cemetery was straight-forward. We drove to the Cemetary and we carried him to his final resting place. This effort was hard both physically and emotionally. The distance from the herse to his gravesite was kind of far and the ground was snowy and a bit tricky. On top of it, there was a near mishap placing the casket over the hole. This procedure was not easy as you had to continue to lift it but away from your body. One of the pallbearers nearly fell in. I don’t remember who other than it was an older gentleman. I will say that watching his casket get lowered into the ground and the throwing of flowers and dirt did give his death some finality for me. It was a memorable day and not in a good way.

This was a video I believe his parents took of Tom’s last year of Pine Island in what I believe was 1987.

I knew Tom from Pine Island Camp for boys in Belgrade Maine. I think the first year we were there was 1981. He was an older camper and I was a young counselor. I was only a few years older. He hung out with a bunch of the older campers most notably Frank Petitio and Christian Albert.

I remember a couple of interactions with Tom in these early days. The first was one of my first trips and probably one of Tom’s as well called Big Flag. The trip was a combination of hiking and canoeing. Typically there would be two groups, one would start hiking Bigelow mountain and the other group would canoe Flagstaff lake. Both groups would meet at the far end of both the lake and the mountain and switch activities. My grandfather created this trip when he was at PIC in the 1920s. On our trip, there was only one group. We were going to canoe Flagstaff, then hike to the top of Bigelow and then retrace our steps. On the first day as we were landing at our campsite from canoeing, Frank Petito wanted to get a cast from deeper water to see if he could catch a fish. We were all in a war canoe together. There were maybe ten of us crammed into that very large canoe. While Frankie was casting his lure, he caught the thumb of another camper, Chris (I can’t remember his last name) on his backswing. The hook went right under Chris’ thumbnail and he wouldn’t let anyone take it out. The brief view any of us got was the hook was right under the nail, and pretty deep in. The full details deserve a thorough review but the short story is a local had driven down to our campsite to collect driftwood the following morning after what must have been a very long night for Chris. We asked the man to drive us into town to the closest hospital, which was quite a distance. The man agreed but insisted he get a look at it first. I remember Chris offering him his hand for an inspection, but instead the man grabbed his wrist and with a pair of players that had been hidden from all of us, he grabbed the hook and ripped it out. Chris was collectively horrified, in some pain but I think mostly relieved. We never di go to the hospital. The injury got bandaged after a thorough soaking in hydrogen peroxide and resolved about four days later when we returned to camp. This is a story I will likely never forget. The rest of the trip was a bit of a dud as it rained relentlessly. We made it only halfway up Bigelow and turned back.

Another distinct memory from Pine Island Camp was a time when Tom and Frankie were busted doing a raid after lights out. Campers went to bed at about eight and at nine in the evening was the time campers were supposed to go to bed. Considering there is no electricity on the island, it was a fairly realistic requirement, but less so for the older campers. Counselors would typically go to Honk Hall or maybe congregate in the kitchen or cove. Older campers would like to cruise the island after lights out enjoying their freedom and rebellion or trying to steal food from the trip locker or kitchen. I forget the details but somehow I and another counselor busted Tom and Frankie. We made them undress to their underwear, hold rocks out at arm’s length and we would shine our flashlights on them. The point of this was to have mosquitos bight them. If they tried to use their arms and lower the rocks, their time would be extended. This all took place on Monte’s dock and there was a bright moon reflecting on the water making it pretty light out. Tom was standing up with his rocks and for some reason, Frankie was sitting almost below him. The memory etched in my brain from this was Tom could have very easily dropped that rock right on Frankie’s head. Like most of these raids and following punishments, they were dumb and never well thought out. This particular punishment didn’t last that long and mercifully, no one was hurt.

This was a picture of Tom, myself and Pope Ward and Whit Fisher. I believe it was some time in late August of maybe 1986 or 1987 and we did this after camp was over. We climbed Mt. Washington in New Hampshire via Tuckerman’s Ravine.

Tom and I became real friends later when he was a counselor at Pine Island. I believe his first year as a counselor was 1984. The camp staff from 1984 through 1987 was a large crew that was pretty close. Not only did we have lots of adventures during camp, but we would connect often during the rest of the year. Both Tom and I had summer houses close to the camp so we would often host our staff friends during the season, particularly on nights and days off. As young people, these nights and days off were where we were most reckless but this resulted in the most memorable stories.

In 1987 I did now work at the camp. I had just graduated college and took the summer off. Much of the time I spent at my summer house and would connect with friends still working at the camp, which included Tom and my brother. Generally I was connecting with them on days and nights off.

Tom Schultz and his Pine Island Community