More Than Just a Course: A Lesson That Saved a Life

Long before arriving on campus in the early 1980s, Smith had a strong connection to the university. Growing up in Decatur, he was familiar with the campus, especially since both of his parents were Emory alumni. He grew up hearing about Oxford’s tranquil beauty, but he had also heard whispers of the one infamous graduation requirement that made even the strongest of swimmers nervous. It wasn’t calculus or biology, but a mandatory physical education course that had a huge reputation among the then-current and past students. Yet, the looming shadow of the pool and this course didn't dampen what would become an idyllic college experience. Smith, affectionately nicknamed "Smitty" by his peers, moved into the top floor of Stone Hall, kicking off what he describes as "some of the best years of my life."

Smith recalls his Oxford experience in the early 80s as a peaceful place where everyone seemed happy and, for the most part, knew one another.

But if the academic professors were there to guide you to success in studies and in your next steps towards career goals, the physical education professor during that time was there to help you in a different way by throwing you into the deep end. Literally.  

Smith recalls the drownproofing course as a grueling course run by a strict professor. He remembers the echoing shouts and that unforgiving stopwatch that timed each student on how quickly they could get across and out of the pool.

Much of the anxiety surrounding the class centered on two infamous final challenges that you needed to complete in order to pass. The first required students to jump off the high dive in full clothing, strip underwater while fighting the heavy drag of wet clothing, and then tie their pants into makeshift life jackets by trapping air in the legs of the pants.

The second was an underwater length-of-the-pool swim that broke many students' spirits. Smith remembers a close friend of his who spent days practicing it and ultimately made it to the end on a single breath. He remembers watching his friend surface ecstatically, thinking he had accomplished this feat, only for the professor to coldly fail him. "The top of one of your feet hit the top of the water," the professor said to the shocked student. "And if there were oil and fire on top, you would've caught fire. So, you fail, you’ve got to do it again."

"Kind of ridiculous," Smith reflects now, chuckling at the memory of a professor letting authority go to his head. Yet, it was precisely this "ridiculous," uncompromising standard that ensured when life finally threw David Smith into the ultimate test, he wouldn't fail.

That test arrived during spring break in 1989, long after he had graduated from Oxford, when Smith and his three friends took a carefree boat trip to Longboat Key to relieve stress. It was their way of escaping the academic pressures of their first year of law school for some fun, rest, and relaxation. 

Smith recalls it being a picture-perfect vacation; they were out on the boat, enjoying the sun, listening to music, and just enjoying this much-needed break. After one of those long days out on the water, he recalls the group taking the boat to a restaurant right offshore, where they dropped the anchor and grabbed some dinner. When they came back out, nightfall had slowly crept across the ocean, and they noticed the strong currents had carried the boat farther out to sea. Smith recalls telling the group that he would go out and get the boat. He said, “I learned in drownproofing that you don't go out in your clothes, so I stripped down to my underwear.” Jokingly, Smith said, “I will say that’s the last time I've ever worn tighty whities.”

During the swim out to the boat, he realized that the current was stronger than he thought. He had gotten 20 to 30 feet from the boat, and he remembers the boat hitting a strong current and taking off. He says, “It looked like the engine cut on, and I realized I'm not going to get to the boat.” At that point, he turned around to swim back to his friends, but he was still moving backward with the current, farther away from the group and deeper into the pitch-black ocean.

As the shoreline vanished, panic threatened to paralyze him. But then, muscle memory kicked in. He told himself that he needed to relax and survive. He tried everything from the "dead man’s float," which he learned in the drownproofing course, to even resting on his back, but the ocean wasn't a controlled campus pool, and nothing seemed to work. With three-foot swells, water repeatedly crashed directly over his face, suffocating him and choking him with ocean water. Smith had to try something different in order to stay alive and make it to safety, so he pivoted to treading water and dog-paddling. His peak condition from running, playing soccer, and his own pact of not becoming a “fat lawyer” became his currency for survival throughout the night.

Meanwhile, on shore, his friends informed the Coast Guard of the incident, but nighttime conditions prevented helicopters from being deployed, and the boats that they did send out to try to rescue Smith couldn’t see or hear his calls for help. Unbeknownst to Smith, dangerous currents in that part of the Gulf initially led the Coast Guard to call off their search and notify his parents of the news that no parent is ever prepared to hear: Your son is dead. Nobody survives out there this long.

Using all of his Oxford skills and energy to keep treading water, Smith recalled thinking that, since the boats couldn’t locate him, he would just need to survive until morning. When the sun came up, he was greeted by what he described as the most beautiful sunrise he had ever seen in his life. “The sun was over the water and it was just beautiful,” he reflects. “But then I realized how far away I was from shore. I could not see the shore at all at that point.”

What Smith didn't know was that a massive donation from the father of one of his friends on the trip was the only reason the Coast Guard had resumed the search, sending helicopters into the sky as soon as day broke. Yet even with eyes in the sky, saving seemed almost out of reach for Smith. Three or four times, he recalls seeing a helicopter fly directly over his head. He waved his arms frantically, but they kept flying over, scanning the deep blue ocean water for even the slightest sign of life.

As discouragement set in, his body began to fail, and severe cramping started to take over. He became exhausted from treading water all night long. He had cycled through every bit of survival technique he learned in the drownproofing class. At one point, looking down into the ocean, he thought that the ocean floor appeared deceptively close. He attempted a resting technique by sinking to the bottom to push off and get air, but the bottom was an illusion. He kept sinking, almost failing to resurface. Barely making it back to the top, he switched back to the “dead man's float" to conserve what little energy he had left.

As the hours dragged on, it became a battle of faith and will. Smith found himself talking to God, collapsing into moments of total surrender. A couple of times, he was convinced he couldn't go on, and he asked for forgiveness. He recalls saying, “I can't do this anymore." And taking his last breath.

It was at this moment that he said something kicked in and gave him the energy to keep fighting. He remembered all the amazing times at Oxford and the lesson he learned on enjoying life and fighting hard for something that’s important. He knew he had to survive for his family and the people who loved him. Not only that, but he was driven by a fierce refusal to make his mother endure the grief of losing a child. This motivation kept him moving until a final helicopter passed overhead on its way to refuel. As it pulled up high into the sky to head home, a crew member happened to look over his shoulder. From that higher vantage point, Smith's head was finally visible between the swells.

Exhausted and struggling to swim toward his rescuers, some of his final memories include the helicopter landing on the water, pulling him aboard, and a Coast Guard crew member remarking, “He might not make it.” Smith recalls saying, “I made it this far. You better save me now.” Then, everything went blank. The next thing he knows, he’s waking up in a hospital bed, suffering from hypothermia and intense thirst.

Looking back on the whole ordeal, Smith knows he wouldn’t have survived without the specific and unique preparation he received at Oxford years prior.

Beyond the physical survival tactics, it was a deeper mental resilience that pulled him through moments of despair and near-giving up. He credits Oxford with shaping not just his skills but his overall perspective on endurance.  “Oxford taught me that balance of how important it is to just look at life as a whole,” Smith notes. “A lot of life skills at Oxford translate into your career, and your life now. I learned that there is a balance to life, and I think that helped me survive here, too. It’s helped throughout my whole life to know that balance.”

For Smith, surviving that night in the water wasn't just about fighting the current. It was about knowing when to fight, when to stay strong and be resilient, when to take a moment and float, and how to apply the class he took back at Oxford into the skills that have followed him throughout his personal life and career. 

While Oxford's curriculum has evolved over the decades, its mission remains the same: preparing students not only for academic success, but for the unexpected moments when resilience, adaptability, and confidence become life's most valuable lessons.