Mourners recall young man who touched lives

GREENVILLE — Travis Cale’s plain oak casket rested along the shore of Round Pond, a tranquil place where he, his family and his closest friends lounged, laughed and loved.

Cale, one of seven college students who died in an Ocean Isle Beach, N.C., fire last week, was eulogized Saturday at the spot where his young life was richest.

Eight friends gently laid down the casket as Cale’s 14-foot johnboat bobbed nearby as it had hundreds of times in the fishing hole across from his home.

One youthful pallbearer rested his palms at the head of the coffin, hung his head and sobbed. He turned away toward the pond for consolation and composure.

On this day, the johnboat was not filled with bright-faced boys competing to catch the most fish.

It was laden with sprays of magnolia leaves and mums — and Cale’s fishing pole strung with one of his raggedy Gamecock ball caps.

The Cales decided they wanted to send off their youngest — a teenager with an All-American look and a prospective future to match — the way he had lived, embraced by his circle.

Even those with whom he had died a week ago in the beach house fire were there in spirit.

Seven yellow bows clung to oak and maple trees along the shore that were taking on their autumn hues.

Each bow represented Cale and those who died with him: lifelong friend Justin Anderson; girlfriend, Emily Yelton; Lauren Mahon; William Rhea; Cassidy Pendley and Allison Walden. None had reached 20.

Mourners wore bracelets etched with “Remember the 7,” followed by the initials of those who died.

Connie Cale said the untraditional wake is what her 19-year-old son would have wanted.

So, she, father Steve Cale, and remaining son, Burns Cale, were the first to step to the casket and write their goodbyes onto the bare wood.

She wrote simply. “You are my heart. Love you, mom.”

Burns Cale, 24, had shed his dark suit from the church service just minutes before.

Wearing a T-shirt, shorts, flip-flops and a visor, the older brother knelt and wrote: “Watch over mom and dad. I’ve got a place for you in my heart. You touched my life so greatly. Love you, Big Bro.”

Then, by the tens, the bereaved took Sharpies from funeral home workers. In a rainbow of colors, they wrote their messages.

Within minutes, the coffin was covered in notes of red, lime, aqua, and (gasp) Clemson orange. It looked like a huge yearbook for the most popular guy in school.

From under a large green tent, the rousing notes of “2001,” which has become USC’s signature song, signaled the start of a photo chronology of the freshman’s life.

A 40-inch, flat-screen displayed the early years: baby pictures, baseball games, holidays and, always, Travis Cale and his beaming smile surrounded by his buddies and his family.

The event spoke to the words his friend Tripp Wylie had uttered earlier to hundreds more at Brookwood Church.

“They’re gone after just 19 years,” said Wylie, who survived the inferno by leaping from a third-story window into a canal.

“But then I found myself measuring with the wrong tool. When I measure with love,” he said, “I realize that I have memories and experiences that will last an eternity.”

Reach LeBlanc at (803) 771-8664.