In the darkest hour of Texas’ July 4 flood disaster, one man’s final moments became a lasting testament to courage. Richard “Dick” Eastland, the 70-year-old director of Camp Mystic in Hunt, Texas, gave his life trying to save the girls he’d spent decades mentoring, guiding, and protecting. As the Guadalupe River rose more than 30 feet and tore through the all-girls Christian summer camp, Eastland didn’t run from danger—he ran into it.
Witnesses say Dick pulled at least nine girls from the rushing water, refusing to leave anyone behind. Without a life jacket and with no regard for his own safety, he carried them to higher ground one by one. But when the final, monstrous wave came, it swept him away. He died en route to a Houston hospital—his last breath taken in the very fight to save others.
“He was the father figure to all of us,” said one former camper in a heartbreaking tribute. “Hundreds of girls called him ‘Dad’ each summer. He didn’t just run a camp. He built a second home for us.”
The Eastland family has run Camp Mystic since 1974, continuing a legacy that began in 1926. Dick and his wife Tweety lived on the grounds. They raised four sons there and now share it with 11 grandchildren. Three generations of Eastlands helped run the camp. On July 4, that legacy turned into legend.
Camp Mystic’s community is grieving hard. At least five young campers have been confirmed dead, and 11 others, along with one counselor, remain missing. Among the victims: eight-year-old Renee Smajstrla, nine-year-old Janie Hunt, and Alabama native Sarah Marsh. Also lost were best friends Lila Bonner, 9, and Eloise Peck, 8—beloved daughters of Highland Park families in Dallas.
Texas Governor Greg Abbott, who visited the site, called the destruction “unlike anything I’ve ever seen in any natural disaster.” Cabin windows were blown out. Interiors lay buried in mud. Dozens of families are still hoping, praying, and searching for their daughters.
Amid growing questions about why the camp and nearby homes weren’t better warned—the flood alert wasn’t escalated until 1 a.m., and the emergency wasn’t declared until nearly 4:30 a.m.—one thing remains painfully clear: Dick Eastland died a hero. He didn’t wait for sirens. He didn’t hesitate. He acted with the only thing he ever needed—his heart.
And what did the girls say after? According to one survivor: “He told me I was brave. But he was the brave one. He saved me. He saved us.”
Even in death, Richard Eastland reminded Texas—and the world—what real leadership looks like.
