There was always an epicurean aspect to Cousteau’s explorations, a sensual delight in his own discoveries. You could see it in the way he smiled and laughed. This is how he described his first dive of 60 feet: ““I experimented with all possible maneuvers - loops, somersaults and barrel rolls… Delivered from gravity and buoyancy, I flew around in space.’’ The bland note-takers of academic oceanography occasionally criticized his methodology and sniffed at his lack of formal credentials. But Cousteau knew ““the power of beauty,’’ said one of France’s most prominent researchers. And he worked tirelessly to give that power to the people, especially to children. Generation after generation grew up with him. He was one of the most familiar faces on the planet, one of the most enduring and one of the most comforting. He wasn’t saving nature for its own sake but for ours, and for generations to come.
Until just the last year or so, Cousteau’s energy and resilience seemed limitless. He flew all over the world on the Concorde, dropping in on the Calypso or the Alcyone, his two research vessels, which were parked in one or another of the seven seas. Well after his 80th birthday he was still diving with equipment specially modified to compensate for the diminished lung capacity that comes with age. He fought to save Antarctica. He denounced French nuclear testing in the South Pacific. But he was leery of what he came to see as environmental fads pushed by ““emotional ecologists.’’ Cousteau was not humble. ““I know more about the environment than anyone else alive,’’ he told NEWSWEEK.
His long life had its share of bitterness and controversy. During World War II, while Cousteau aided the French Resistance, his brother became a Nazi collaborator. Philippe Cousteau, the son he picked as the heir to his work in the 1970s, was killed in a plane crash. The last few years were especially difficult as projects failed and contributions for environmental organizations like the Cousteau Society plummeted. Even the famous Calypso was struck by a barge and sank in a Singapore shipyard. In his 60s Cousteau started a new family and had two young children, but his eldest son and longtime collaborator, Jean-Michel, publicly fell out with him over the use of the Cousteau name.
Still, Cousteau flashed that craggy smile. He believed in what he called ““the science of joy,’’ and the beauty of nature was at its source. ““I believe that happiness is for this world, and I believe that we could teach happiness,’’ he said a couple of years ago, talking about a project for the future. In fact, he’d been teaching happiness to most of us for as long as we could remember.
