A MEMORIAL SERVICE HONORING the late shark-fishing guide and conservationist, Capt. Billy Sandifer, will be held Sunday, May 20 at 11:00 a.m. at the Briscoe King Pavilion just behind the Bob Hall Pier on Padre Island National Seashore. (Photo by John Jefferson)

by John Jefferson

A reluctant legend has died. But his deeds live on.

Capt. Billy Sandifer fought his last fight on March 30. He was a Coast Guard licensed captain, qualified to guide on the Gulf.

He grew up tough in Premont, south of Alice. Most who challenged that wished they hadn’t. A raw-boned, 155-pounder becoming a bouncer in a biker bar attested to that.

He also handled guns with deadly precision. During basic training, an instructor observed his bullseye-riddled target and said, “Nice shooting, Audie.”

Not knowing he was being likened to Audie Murphey, the most decorated soldier in WW II, he replied, “My name’s not Audie, it’s Billy Sandifer.”

Later, in Viet Nam, many of the enemy could have wished their paths hadn’t crossed.

Ours crossed several times. The last was when I asked to accompany him down the length of Padre Island for an article in Texas Parks and Wildlife magazine.

“Sure,” he snorted, “as long as you buy the gas.”

That all-day jaunt was unforgettable. He had just re-built the engine in his old rust-bucket Chevy Suburban. It ran well considering its lifetime of salt water abuse traversing the Padre Island National Seashore.

Billy knew the island as well as any man ever did. Returning from the horrors of Viet Nam, he wanted peace, quiet, and solitude. The island provided it. A cartoon I once had showed a solitary canoeist on a stream.

Its caption read, “Solitude is sometimes a disease, sometimes a cure – depending upon the dosage.”

Billy probably understood that concept during the year and a half he lived out of his car on the island, alone. His companions were coyotes, gulls, fish, and a few friends that brought him provisions during his sabbatical from civilization.

One curious coyote ventured close to Billy’s cot, sniffing his face. Billy, with reptile-like quickness, licked it on the nose. He said the little sand dog let out a yip and raced through the edge of the surf with its chin in the sand, trying to scrape off the human scent of an unwanted lick. Today, Billy’d be sued.

During our island trip, he stopped the truck once to investigate tracks of suspected dope runners. As he got out, he opened the glove box. I expected to see a .45. Instead, he pulled out a meat cleaver. And trudged over the dunes to possibly confront smugglers with it!

Later, we discovered four dead bull sharks. Poachers had cut off their fins, leaving them to die, unable to swim. His fury over that was frightening. I began understanding the meat cleaver.

His respect for the island and its critters led him to initiate a beach clean-up. This was the 23rd year of the Billy Sandifer Big Shell Beach Clean-up.

Over 8,525 volunteers have removed 1,357.26 tons of trash! Sandifer shunned praise for his conservation efforts saying, “It was the deed, not the dude.”

But he was the dude that began the deed. That’s why he’s remembered respectfully as the “Padre of Padre Island”.

JJ