Finding Gary, Part 1

After 21 years, Donna Weaver seems to finally be zeroing in on her lost husband

The first two trips to Nassau were quick and easy. He was gone a couple of days and brought home a few hundred dollars -- along with gifts for her and the twins from the capital city's famous straw market. Then came the third flight on December 2. While a neighbor watched the babies, Donna took Gary to the airport at 6 a.m. After walking him to the gate, Donna was eager to return home to the girls.

"Oh c'mon, Donna Mae; come and sit with me until it's time to go," Gary urged her.

"I need to get back and feed the girls and give them their bath," she told him. Even though she was seven years younger than her 30 year-old husband, she was always the practical one.

Lauren and Leanna on Santa's lap the day their father disappeared
Lauren and Leanna on Santa's lap the day their father disappeared
Donna's babies helped her get through the torture of losing Gary.
Donna's babies helped her get through the torture of losing Gary.

"It'll be fine," he pleaded.

But she wouldn't hear of it. Donna gave Gary a hug and a kiss and headed home. Later that afternoon, he called her and, with excitement in his voice, said he was staying in a big house with big windows on the water. The owner was a man named Jeff Fisher, whom Gary described as a fine host.

During the next couple of days, however, his enthusiasm drained away. "I'm not doing anything," Gary complained. "It's nice here, but I miss you, and I miss the girls."

He finally booked his flight home for December 9, and Donna was at the airport that Friday morning, waiting for Gary with her babies in the stroller beside her. She watched the faces as they passed, expecting to see her husband's visage at any moment. But the last passenger left the gate, and there was no Gary. He must have been held over, she thought as she strolled Leanna and Lauren back to the car. She hoped he'd arrive on the next plane and take a cab to meet them at the Mother of Twins Club in Fort Lauderdale, where they were to see Santa.

At the club, Donna snapped photos of the girls sitting obliviously on Santa's knee. She kept an eye on the door, half-expecting Gary to show up. He didn't.

When she got home, Donna called Jeff Fisher's Nassau place several times. No answer. At 5:51 p.m., according to phone bills she kept, Donna also repeatedly paged Krugh, who didn't call back. The silence weighed on her nerves. Where was everybody?

She had planned to cook a big meal for Gary. Without him, there was no reason to turn on the stove. She ate a Hungry Man turkey frozen dinner, fed the girls their formula, and put them to bed in their matching bassinets.

The next morning, on her anniversary, Donna again couldn't get through to Fisher or Krugh. It wasn't until that afternoon, more than 24 hours after Gary hadn't shown up at the airport, that she finally reached Fisher. Seeming rushed, the man assured her that Gary was fine, that he'd just been delayed on the job and would soon contact her. Donna was relieved but couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. How could Gary not find a way to call her on their anniversary? For dinner, she reached into the freezer, above the wedding cake, for another Hungry Man.

The next day brought more torturous silence. With growing desperation, she called John Sims, whom she remembered had once purchased engine parts that Gary took to the Bahamas. Sims, who lived in Delray Beach, promised he'd try to find out what had happened to her husband.

Then she called Fisher again, and this time, he told her that Gary hadn't returned from a work trip and seemed to be missing. He assured her that he'd contacted the U.S. Coast Guard and other authorities and that they were conducting a thorough search.

He was officially missing. Anxiety turned to creeping panic. She called her mother, who became so upset that Donna ended up having to comfort her. That night, she had the vague realization that she would have to bear this alone. Her will, however, was strong. It began telling her, like a mantra, He's going to come home, he's going to come home, he's going to come home.

When Donna met Gary, his sparkling brown eyes seemed to smile at her before he did, promising fun. And having just moved to South Florida to find a new life, she was ready for some. But on that day -- December 26, 1981 -- she was still very much a mama's girl. In fact, Donna, who'd recently had her 21st birthday, was sitting with her mother, Carol, in a Coral Springs restaurant when Gary walked over and changed her life forever.

She'd lived a guarded existence, almost literally, in a little town on the Jersey Shore called West Long Branch. Her youth was populated by cops. Two of her uncles were lawmen, and her grandfather Jack Piantinida was a Milan-born town councilman and construction contractor who literally built the police department in West Long Branch. His unlocked home served as an unofficial hangout for neighborhood beat cops; Donna's grandmother Eunice always kept a hot urn of coffee for them to drink in the kitchen.

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