Bill Sullivan - Eleven Miles South of Half Moon Bay

When you pass on from this life, how would you like to be remembered? What stories will you want your friends and families tell about you? When a loved one passes, its easy to become caught in reminiscing in the final years, the final moments even. Being able to look back on the lifetime spent with that person, and remembering those stories they would want you to recall, is both a gift to their spirit and a way of healing your own.

Eleven Miles South of Half Moon Bay is one-half beautiful memory and one-half recovering from the aftermath, as author Bill Sullivan shares his dearest, and most hilarious, stories about his late cousin, Bruce. Throughout the novel, Sullivan struggles to accept the flavor of guilt underlying his young memories of Bruce, and comes to peace with his untimely passing.

Sullivans novel begins as a crafty, fun, tongue-in-cheek recounting of boyhood in the 1950s. As Sullivan narrates, cousins and brothers Bill, Bruce and Bobby engage in clever and hilarious antics with their neighborhood buddies. They use apples as ammunition in war games, build buggy cars to race against their rivals, and generally engage in activities that make us adults look back and wonder at the resiliency of children. It is during these chapters that Sullivans humorous writing style really shines; for example in this passage, one of my favorite anecdotes, As if [the God of

mischievous boys and winter pranks] had not already provided sufficient recompense to his perpetually naughty followers, the temperatures began to rise, rendering the eight inch blanket of snow perfect for packing snowballs. Therein follows the most epic snowball escapade known to boyhood, followed by the boys being hilariously caught by the local constable.

The boys grow up in this pre-Vietnam era, becoming young men and beginning their own families. This is where Eleven Miles South of Half Moon Bay changes its tone. When the unspeakable happens, and Bruce sacrifices his life to save a drowning swimmer, Sullivans playful bildungsroman becomes a soulful memoir, a tribute to the loss of his cousin and spirit brother. As he recalls, the family must now come to terms with the tragedy of never seeing Bruce again, and indeed never recovering his body, something Sullivan remembers being an emotional struggle for them all.

Despite the devastating recounting of Bruces passing, Eleven Miles South of Half Moon Bay is curative. Reading its pages is like putting salve on a wound. While Bruces life ends far too young, the preceding stories of his boyhood paint him brightly. He is a witty and fearless boy, loyal to his brothers and cousins, quick to dive into trouble and equally quick to find a way out again. Even as the author grapples with his own childhood feelings toward his troublesome cousin, every memory of Bruce is befitting to the way he should be remembered. Sullivan crafted a beautiful memoir, lovely and honest, and a fitting tribute to a lost, beloved brother.

Eleven Miles South of
Half Moon Bay

Bill Sullivan

ELEVEN MILES SOUTH OF HALF MOON BAY

Copyright 2000 Bill Sullivan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-0-5950-9827-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-8029-8 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 06/10/2019

This book is dedicated to Bruce Michael Stevenson

the greatest cousin-brother a guy could ever have.

Contents

The day that I met Bill Sullivan I knew that there was something special about him. But more than that, there was an exquisite loneliness borne in his heart that needed expression. We seemed to be drawn together in a way that I could not describe at the time, but I believe now that it was the unquenchable desire to share our innermost souls with each other. And share we did.

When I heard about Bruce Stevenson and how he died, I wanted and needed to know more. He played such an important part in my soon-to-be husbands life. My desire was to know Bruce as Bill had known him.

Years later, as Bill was completing his manuscript, he asked me to read through it and give him my honest opinion of how his story made me feel. When I started reading Eleven Miles South of Half Moon Bay , I absolutely could not put it down. The words so touched my heart and talked to me so vividly, that I was sure that I could actually feel Bruces presence. I laughed at his boyhood shenanigans and agonized with his inability to fit in. I remember thinking that he was so different from me in so many ways, yet so endearing to my heart. I knew instinctively why Bill had loved him.

The motorcycle trips were so emotional that I longed to be a part of them. Sadly, as Bruce left for California to find some peace in his soul, I found my own heart breaking. Not now, please dont let them be separated, I thought. I have just met youdont leave yet!

I cannot put into words the utter sadness I felt that day on the beach when Bruce ran towards the sea to help in the rescue of another human brother. I can say, however, that I felt my husbands pain and agony as if I had lived through it with him. The funeral service on the same beach months later proved to be a small bandage hiding a very large wound. It was not until Bill found the stamped piece of metal that had once been held in Bruces hand and now, by some miracle, had been slipped into Bills hand, that he found some measure of guiltless acknowledgement.

This wonderful tribute to you, now, Prince of Tides, is complete. Our son, Bruce Michael Sullivan, carries on your legacyand your memory will ever live.

And so, Rest in Peace, Bruce Michael Stevenson. I am honored to have made your acquaintance. And am so very honored to have married your cousin, the love of my life.

Donna Sullivan

There was never any doubt that this book would be written and published. It was simply a matter of when. I have been compelled to write Eleven Miles South of Half Moon Bay as surely as I am compelled to breathe. One can only imagine the anxiety I have suffered in holding my literary breath for three full decades! Indeed, April 5, 2000the day my manuscript was submitted for publicationmarked exactly thirty years since the event that altered the course of my life. How glorious it is to breathe!

Lest the reader should question whether the story portrayed within the following pages is trueit isas true as mortal memory can faithfully attest with a few administrative adjustments to fill small gaps of recollection and administrative alterations to summarize details while improving story flow. While a reasonable amount of research has gone into the verification of certain facts, and interviews have been conducted with those having firsthand knowledge of many of the events described herein; the fact remains that the primary fountain of recollection that waters this work is my own. Only the dialogue has been desalinated in deference to decency and the protection of the innocent.