Dick(ie) Wheeler's Page

Dusty was the best friend I ever had. This has been a very difficult piece of writing. My mind is numb and in shock. But I have also been inspired by the many here who have contributed to his Tribute. So I wrote this thing and as I re-read it I’m thinking, “This is all about me?!” No it isn’t. It’s about us. Dusty will always be a big part of my life.

We lived right across the street when the Peaks moved to Pt Dume. What a great time and place to grow up! And what a great guy to share that with. I remember many a hard fought handball tournament against the Peak’s garage door as we waited for the school bus. Oh, the trouble we were in when we destroyed my sister’s skates to fashion skate-boards. Skim boards out of old plywood. There is a hill on the other side of the gully below the Peak’s that we slid down on the grass on cardboard, etc with pretty much wild abandon.

It was wide open then and we toured and played in every gully and trail on the Point. “Be home by dark,” was the only rule and off we’d go. Our boundaries expanded as we matured and I guess Dusty never quit exploring. I am quite sure there can be nobody who knows Malibu like him. I would spend much of my visits in later years riding around with him to job sites. I know he delighted in taking me on his “short cuts,” these amazing little hidden trails through the hills.

Of course the beach at Little Dume was central to our lives. Countless hours on the sand and in the water. We pretty much learned how to surf together. Remember those hard rubber mats? No wet suits. Somebody broke a board once and we salvaged and rode half of it for a long time. True groms. When I got my first Dave Sweet surfboard, we were in heaven. Dusty on the nose and me on the tale and we’d hike on down to the beach for hours of fun.

In the late 60’s the little Peak trailer in their yard was my summer and often a weekend home from college. Whoa! Now there was an infamous gathering place as we prepared for an evening glass-off. They say if you were really there then you don’t remember. So I’ll skip over this part. Crazy times.

By 1974 my wife (former Marilyn Stout) and I were in North Dakota managing 4000 hives of bees. The geographical center of North America, it is about as far as you can get from ocean. I think it’s a measure of our friendship that I talked Dusty into coming out and helping for a season. He was a bull in the beeyard and always fun. I can picture him even now as we were pulling honey off and in the midst of enormous amounts of very pissed off bees. “Surfing USA” comes on the radio and suddenly Dusty leaps to the top of a pallet of bees and begins acting out these giant cutbacks and barrels. Pretty soon we all were. Good times.

Eventually we got our priorities straight and took the beekeeping to Hawaii. Our honey house on Molokai was in the midst of a small grove of plumeria trees. I saw a diamond in the rough. They say don’t make friends your business partner if you want to stay friends. We ignored them. When Dusty sold some land he called and asked, “What am I going to do with all my money?” I suggested we buy the farm. So we did and Molokai Plumerias was born. Dusty and Denise have been incredibly generous through our whole business relationship. I am quite sure my family will be forever grateful.

One more thing. We were new Christians when Dusty came to work and live with us in N.D. Now more than ever I’m glad we had the great joy of introducing Dusty to Jesus. God changed our lives. And I have the hope and assurance of hanging with my old friend in the Great Bye ‘n Bye.

I’m right behind you, Dusty. Rest in Peace.