logo
Richard Eastland: Hero Camp Mystic Director Confirmed Dead While Trying to Save Young Girls During Devastating Texas Floods

Richard Eastland: Hero Camp Mystic Director Confirmed Dead While Trying to Save Young Girls During Devastating Texas Floods

Camp Mystic co-owner Richard "Dick" Eastland has been confirmed among the dead while heroically trying to save campers from being carried away by the deadly floodwaters in Texas. Eastland, 70, lost his life while attempting to save campers from the catastrophic floodwaters that swept through Texas on July 4.
At least 11 girls and one counselor remain missing from Camp Mystic in Hunt, Texas, after the rushing floodwaters tore through the private Christian summer camp for girls, claiming the lives of five campers. The death toll has climbed to 59, including 21 children, after the Guadalupe River rose as much as 30 feet above its normal level during Friday's flood.
Real Hero
Eastland had been part of the private Christian girls' camp since purchasing it in 1974 and had served as its director. The camp director's wife, Tweety, was found safe at their home, according to Texas Public Radio.
Kerr County Judge Rob Kelly told the Washington Post that Eastland, a father of four, died in a helicopter while being rushed to a hospital in Houston.
His nephew confirmed his death in a Facebook post.
"It doesn't surprise me at all that his last act of kindness and sacrifice was working to save the lives of campers," The Kerrville Daily Times guest columnist and former camper Paige Sumner said in a tribute to Eastland.
"Dick was the father figure to all of us while we were away from home at Camp Mystic for six weeks.
"He was the father of four amazing boys, but he had hundreds of girls each term who looked up to him like a dad. I would never have taken a fishing class if it wasn't taught by my new friend Dick."
Family Devastated
Eastland used to teach fishing to the younger campers, and former attendees remembered him as a warm, grandfather-like presence. Both he and his wife were highly respected by the campers and were often spotted teaching or roaming around the campgrounds.
The couple has 11 grandchildren, and several of their children and their spouses are actively involved in running the camp.
Their eldest son, Richard, oversees the kitchen operations, while their youngest son, Edward, and his wife serve as directors of Camp Mystic Guadalupe River, as mentioned on the camp's website.
Both Eastland and his wife attended the University of Texas at Austin and live on the camp property.
Eastland represented the third generation of his family to lead the all-girls Christian summer camp, which was founded in 1926.
Eastland had previously battled and survived brain cancer, according to the Kerrville Daily Times. He also served on the Hunt Independent School District Board and was formerly a coach for both the West Kerr County Little League and the West Kerr County Little Dribblers, the outlet reported.
At least 23 girls from the camp are still unaccounted for.
Authorities have confirmed that the flood death toll has risen to 59, including 21 children who were swept away by the raging waters. At the time the flooding began on Friday, around 750 campers were present at the camp.
Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Richard Eastland: Camp Mystic Owner Waited 45 Minutes to Evacuate Young Girls after Receiving 'Life-Threatening' Flash Floods Alert
Richard Eastland: Camp Mystic Owner Waited 45 Minutes to Evacuate Young Girls after Receiving 'Life-Threatening' Flash Floods Alert

International Business Times

time15-07-2025

  • International Business Times

Richard Eastland: Camp Mystic Owner Waited 45 Minutes to Evacuate Young Girls after Receiving 'Life-Threatening' Flash Floods Alert

Camp Mystic's co-owner waited for more than 45 minutes after receiving an emergency warning about the "life-threatening" flash floods before he started to evacuate the campers, it has been revealed. Richard "Dick" Eastland — who died trying to rescue young girls at his Hunt, Texas camp along the Guadalupe River — received the initial National Weather Service alert on his phone around 1:14 a.m., according to a family spokesperson who spoke to ABC News. However, he didn't start moving campers to higher ground at the private Christian camp for girls until around 2:00 a.m., just as conditions were rapidly getting worse. The alert came too late to save the girls from there. Too Late to Survive Richard Eastland Facebook "They had no information that indicated the magnitude of what was coming," the family spokesperson, Jeff Carr, said of the floods that killed 27 children and counselors. "They got a standard run-of-the-mill NWS warning that they've seen dozens of times before," Carr said. Eastland began using a walkie-talkie to coordinate with family members working at the camp right after receiving the alert, which did not include an evacuation warning, according to Carr. He added that they only started moving the campers to higher ground once they noticed the floodwaters rising rapidly. Carr said that the timeline—still considered preliminary—was put together based on conversations with Eastland family members who had worked at the camp and played a key role in the evacuation of the girls and the counselors. He insisted that the family choose to share this timeline publicly to avoid speculation and misinformation, following the tragic flash floods that took the lives of 27 children and camp staff. Died Saving Others Richard Eastland Facebook Eastland had been part of the private Christian girls' camp since purchasing it in 1974 and had served as its director. The camp director's wife, Tweety, was found safe at their home, according to Texas Public Radio. Kerr County Judge Rob Kelly told the Washington Post that Eastland, a father of four, died in a helicopter while being rushed to a hospital in Houston. Eastland used to teach fishing to the younger campers, and former attendees remembered him as a warm, grandfather-like presence. Both he and his wife were highly respected by the campers and were often spotted teaching or roaming around the campgrounds. The couple has 11 grandchildren, and several of their children and their spouses are actively involved in running the camp. Their eldest son, Richard, oversees the kitchen operations, while their youngest son, Edward, and his wife serve as directors of Camp Mystic Guadalupe River, as mentioned on the camp's website. Both Eastland and his wife attended the University of Texas at Austin and live on the camp property. Eastland represented the third generation of his family to lead the all-girls Christian summer camp, which was founded in 1926.

From print to podcasts, The Straits Times has been a 180-year ritual
From print to podcasts, The Straits Times has been a 180-year ritual

Straits Times

time14-07-2025

  • Straits Times

From print to podcasts, The Straits Times has been a 180-year ritual

The newspaper is a city's start to the day, though now, in its digital form, it is an all-day companion, says the writer. It is 1849 and Moby-Dick is yet to be published and construction of the Eiffel Tower is yet to begin. The modern zipper has not been invented and neither has colour photography. The Washington Post does not exist nor does The Wall Street Journal. But The Straits Times is already four years old and in its pages you can find all manner of things. Bayonets for sale. Horsehair petticoats. Punkas. Gunpowder. If you're not interested in such items, you can read dispatches from New York, the long, formal letters written to the editor, or the birth of a child under the quaint subhead of Domestic Occurrence. The first newspapers arrived around the 17th century and in time most lands had their version of a Dispatch, Courier, Inquirer, Examiner, Advertiser, Tribune, Gazette, Herald, Chronicle and Post. We are simply The Straits Times. In 1845, the year Elizabeth Barrett received her first love letter from a fellow poet named Robert Browning – 'I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett', it began – we started our own relationship with this city. The playwright Arthur Miller, author of Death Of A Salesman, said that 'a good newspaper, I suppose, is a nation talking to itself'. Very quietly, of course. This conversation began at dawn, for the newspaper is a city's start to the day, though now, in its digital form, it is an all-day companion. The newspaper, often trying to be all things to all people, glues us all. As people unwrap – or click on – the pages, they are in fact wrapping themselves in the city. The writer Alain de Botton put it neatly: 'To look at the paper is to raise a seashell to one's ear and to be overwhelmed by the roar of humanity.' Families snatch sections and fold themselves into corners of rooms. News is opened, Sports rifled through, Business examined. Bylines become ignored or turn into trusted friends, a case of two strangers intimately connected by words. Once a taxi driver berated me on discovering that I had not read the latest Sumiko Tan column . The Straits Times has been a 180-year ritual and for readers, through time, everything must be in the right place. When the box scores were removed from Sports, letters of protest followed. When a masthead font is changed, a grumble rises. As if one's morning tea has been fiddled with. In the beginning The Straits Times' front page was crammed with wordy advertisements and to surf through the paper's long history is to be met with all manner of curiosities. On Jan 20, 1920, a new stock of Colt automatic pistols was announced. In 1954, a headline shouted 'Podgy stockbroker kept his mistresses on the loot from phantom oil'. On one corner of the front page was a box titled The Law Of Storms which requires explanation. 'The Editor of The Straits Times,' it was written, 'will feel greatly obliged by Captains of Vessels furnishing him with particulars (extracted from the Ship's Log, including observations of Barometer and Thermometer) of occurrences of typhoons or hurricanes in the China Seas; more especially for notices of typhoons from the Bashee Group northwards to Chusan or Shantung.' The Straits Times was read, then perhaps carried on a bus where it was bent and pleated, and then at day's end probably used to swat flies. A newspaper has historically had many uses. It lines drawers but is also cut and framed and put behind glass, as May and Colin Schooling did with the story on Joseph going to train in America. Phil Graham, the great publisher of The Washington Post, once told Newsweek correspondents, 'So let us today drudge on about our inescapably impossible task of providing every week a first rough draft of history that will never be completed about a world we can never really understand.' The Straits Times did this every day, becoming a city's habit and its reassurance. Now we bookmark pages on our phone, then the page of a particular edition was occasionally kept and forgotten. In the insides of old cupboards we often find these clippings after our parents pass. It tells us what they cared about, these pages their precious written proof of extraordinary days. The Straits Times has been a citizen's inheritance. Parents read it and children in time picked it up or downloaded its app. A bit like trying on your father's shoes. It became a first introduction to Singapore, telling stories of its moods, its grievances, its cosy corners, its grimy nooks. Reporters have wandered the ports of this city, the riot-strewn streets, the circus tents, the sporting fields. Like those the paper has reported on, it is itself fallible. There are more opinions of a paper than there are those within it. Yet everything has been done in the service of the reader. It is why The Straits Times has overseas correspondents in 11 nations. In time the world has become our beat. But primarily Singapore is our world and how far Singapore has come and who Singaporeans are as a people have always been recorded in headlines, photographs, illustrations, videos and graphs. Der Spiegel, the German news magazine, means The Mirror and like it this paper reflects how Singaporeans have lived, stumbled, improved and changed as a society. In October 1972, a front-page headline read: 'It's dearer after two: Govt acts to cut down size of families'. By January 2013 the shift was clear: 'The big push for more babies' insisted the front page. The Straits Times has been this city's voice, its explainer of the world, its guide, its informant and connective tissue. How many things do you have in common with your great-great-great-grandfather? This paper might be one. It has outlasted cinema halls, parks, roads, and is as intrinsically local as a curry puff or an HDB building. It is loved and loathed and people shut doors on reporters even as they recognise them as allies of a sort. After all, as Gay Talese wrote in The Kingdom And The Power, his history of The New York Times: 'News, if unreported, has no impact. It might as well have not happened at all.' This paper has proclaimed war, announced freedom and declared independence. It has also noted that an 'Enraged buffalo falls to six police bullets'. From news on Mahatma Gandhi's assassination trial to the winning goal scored by a school footballer, we have found room for the global saint and the local hero. Inside its pages births have been listed, deaths catalogued, weddings announced and jobs advertised. One might say a nation lives and loves and works in its newspaper pages. In a shaken-up media world, bruised mostly by a digital revolution which ensures news – not necessarily verified or fairly presented – is available 24 hours on the phone, over 2,500 newspapers have closed in the United States since 2005. The Straits Times has endured yet takes nothing for granted. As a city's landscape alters and its citizens' lives change, so have our designs, our ambition, our sections, our ideas. To stay relevant is to adapt. When this paper began, typewriters had not been invented. Now we don't use them any more. Old journalists could adroitly change a ribbon and impale rejected stories on a metal spike (thus the term 'spiking a story'). Their inheritors design magical graphics and can film and edit on their phones in a flash. The paper can be found at your doorway and in neat piles on supermarket shelves but it's also online and in the digital universe of Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, X, YouTube and LinkedIn. News no longer rides on a solitary vehicle. Old-timers still like to feel the actual paper. But everything alters, even the sound of newspapers: once it was only a rustle, now the digital 'ting' is an alert to a new story on the phone. And so The Straits Times comes to your home but also to your phone. We're happy to meet you wherever you go and however you find information. If your world is Instagram, The Straits Times will see you there. If you prefer the app, then through myST you can personalise your newsfeed. The written word remains sacred but the newspaper world has expanded that idea. News is expressed digitally through podcasts, videos, graphics or complex, cutting-edge interactives, whether it's a ride through the 100 years of the Johor-Singapore Causeway or how a person on a wheelchair can navigate the MRT . The boundaries of creativity shift every day. 'Live' blogs follow events as they unfold and during the 2025 General Election , The Straits Times often sent three reporters to a rally. One to write for the newspaper, two to make videos. Perhaps one for Instagram and the other for TikTok. No one, the newspaper understands, sees the world the same way, through the same medium and for the same length of time. The traditional and the modern are intertwined. The old-fashioned, door-knocking journalism that defined newspapers remains but it is bolstered by revolutionised newsrooms where entire teams are devoted to breaking news. But nothing works at a single speed. Reports on a disaster may arrive on the website in seconds, but an imaginative construction of Max Maeder's waterworld might require nine months. But irrespective of form and tools, we know what is expected of us. One hundred and eighty years is a privilege and a weight. Tastes alter and so does a nation's pulse. It is our job to have a sensitive, intelligent, reliable finger on it. When we don't meet a high standard, we expect you to tell us. Of course, we cannot guarantee we will always get it right, but there are some things we can say for certain. Like a repeat of the front page of the very first edition of The Straits Times on July 15, 1845, is unlikely. It noted, among other things, that two milch goats were for sale. They were, it was boasted, in excellent condition.

Archbishop of Canterbury could scale back global role to avert Anglican schism
Archbishop of Canterbury could scale back global role to avert Anglican schism

Straits Times

time11-07-2025

  • Straits Times

Archbishop of Canterbury could scale back global role to avert Anglican schism

Sign up now: Get ST's newsletters delivered to your inbox FILE PHOTO: Anglican priest Charles Baczyk-Bell and his partner, Piotr Baczyk-Bell, walk through St John the Divine church in London, Britain, January 27, 2025. REUTERS/Muvija M/File photo LONDON - The Anglican Communion is exploring diluting the Archbishop of Canterbury's role as its central symbolic leader, in an attempt to prevent internal divisions over ordination of women and inclusion of the LGBTQ+ community from tearing apart the world's third-largest Christian faith. For centuries, the man who crowns British monarchs as the seniormost bishop in the Church of England, which formed after Henry VIII's 16th-century split from Rome, has also been the titular head of 85 million Anglicans across 165 countries. But that headship, stemming from the British empire's role in spreading Christianity to its former colonies, has been pushed to breaking point by splits over LGBTQ+ rights between England's now more progressive church and the more traditional churches in Africa and Asia. Forty-six different Churches make up the global Anglican Communion, with the Church of England considered the "mother church" to reflect its historical role. To avert an all-out split, a representative body within the global Communion, which was asked to review its structure and decision-making processes, has proposed a rotating international figurehead, assuming some of the current organisational duties of the Archbishop of Canterbury, while they would focus on personal and pastoral ministry to the Communion. The position could rotate between the Communion's five global regions of Asia, Africa, the Americas, Europe and Oceania, with a term of six years. Bishop Graham Tomlin, who led the work for the Inter-Anglican Standing Commission on Unity, Faith and Order (IASCUFO), told Reuters the existing structures needed to change. "We are very different than we were 100 years ago," he said. The recommendations state a rotating figure "would add a welcome and overdue diversification". Tomlin is hopeful that the proposals will be adopted at a 2026 gathering. VACANT SEE OF CANTERBURY The tension between progressive and traditional Christians is not unique to Anglicanism, but the CoE's identity as a national church and Anglican mother church has forced a fundamental reset. Unlike the Pope, who holds ultimate authority over 1.3 billion Catholics, the role of the Archbishop of Canterbury, a town considered one of the birthplaces of Christianity in Britain, is loosely defined and rooted in colonial-era deference. "Some people think of the Pope as infallible; no one thinks the Archbishop of Canterbury is infallible," Bishop Nick Baines told Reuters. Sometimes, individual bishops have been heavily criticised, such as when then Archbishop Justin Welby was forced into an unprecedented resignation following calls to resign from within the CoE over a child abuse cover-up. The office, dating back to 597, remains empty. Frontrunner Bishop Martyn Snow said recently he could not unify even the CoE on sexuality and marriage. BATTLE FOR ANGLICAN IDENTITY Divisions erupted in 2003 with the U.S. branch of the Anglican Church consecrating the first openly gay bishop, and deepened 12 years later when it allowed same-sex marriage rites, prompting sanctions from the Communion, whose doctrinal tone is shaped by the CoE. The rift widened in 2023 when the conservative Global Anglican Future Conference (Gafcon) - claiming to represent 85% of Anglicans worldwide - rejected Welby's leadership over the CoE's own move to bless same-sex unions. It has rejected Tomlin's proposals because it wants those churches willing to bless same-sex unions to leave the Communion. "Gafcon is the Communion," Archbishop Laurent Mbanda, Rwandan church leader and Gafcon Chairman, told Reuters. "Gafcon has never left the Communion and will not leave the Communion, but we let those who choose ... to depart from the orthodox teaching, leave the Communion." Those who oppose same-sex relationships cite scripture as authoritative on sexual ethics, while others argue that ancient texts should not be applied directly to modern understandings of sexuality. SHIFTING GRAVITY The Communion's centre has been shifting from Canterbury for decades, with its churches in Nigeria, Uganda, and Kenya together home to a third of all Anglicans, countries where homosexuality remains illegal. While attendance at CoE churches has risen in the last four years, that follows decades of falls, and Linda Woodhead, head of theology at King's College London, said the CoE had hurt its reputation in Britain by trying to preserve its historic global leadership. "It's not keeping the allegiance ... of the population for which it's meant to be the official established Church," she said. The CoE declined to comment on the suggested reforms as the selection of the 106th Archbishop is underway. The Anglican Communion Office said the proposals "would not take away" the Archbishop's historic global role, but explore ways to share some responsibilities. GAY CLERGY The disconnect in the Communion is felt acutely by gay clergy like Charles Bączyk-Bell in London, who had to marry his partner in an Anglican church in New York, as the CoE stands by its teaching that marriage is between a man and woman. He said he sometimes found it very difficult to hold together his identity with that of a CoE priest. "There was a sense of sadness that we couldn't do it around friends and family at home ... it's meant to be the day when you feel most at home," he said. Baines said the next Archbishop shouldn't be fearful, given they will inherit a "broken Communion." Bishop Joanne Grenfell supports a more collegiate model. "I feel passionate about the Anglican Communion, but the role of Archbishop of Canterbury, that's enormous," Grenfell said. "Perhaps a bit too big for one person." REUTERS

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store