The Greatest Novel Never Written
October 21, 2025
“There is a hole in the world.”
— Don Henley & Glen Fry
John Adey, President of ABYC wrote in honour of Augusto “Kiko” Villalon:
Our friend Augusto “Kiko” Villalon passed away at 5:50 pm on Tuesday, October 8, 2025. He was our longest-standing member, having joined on December 27, 1962, at the New York Boat Show.
If you knew him, you were part of his family; if you didn’t, it was only a matter of time.
Little did I know that the greatest American I would ever encounter was a Cuban immigrant. I won’t take the time to rewrite what has already been written; rather I will fill your time with my thoughts on the most accomplished and interesting individual I will likely ever encounter.
I met this character named Kiko shortly after I was employed with ABYC in 2002. I cannot recall the exact date, because I am not sure I remember him not being a part of my life. His energy, knowledge, accent, and stories were that of legend—Kiko commanded a room, any room. As our friend Aaron Porter from Professional BoatBuilder magazine once said, “he could charm a dish towel.”
Kiko befriended this young guy from New Jersey and made sure that I would share his love and passion for our industry. He made certain I would never look anywhere else, and his mission was accomplished with me and so many others. Soon after, I met his wife Gordie, who just added to the package. She was always smiling, ready with a hug and some witty statement appropriate for the time and event. She was his wingman.
Kiko’s story came to us in bits and pieces, always captivating and told in a way that grabbed you, making everything else in the room disappear. From caring for the Von Trapp family’s horses in Vermont to knowing the Rockefellers, to attending University with Fidel Castro—whom he never cared for—his experiences were remarkable. My favorite was his choice shortly after his arrival in the US. I will never forget it:
“So, [in your best accent] I was faced with a choice, I could either inseminate cows, or go to work drawing boats for Jack Riggleman in Arkansas.”
I had the fortunate opportunity to work alongside Jack and Kiko at some testing years ago. An odder couple there never was, but like brothers they were, Jack with his frequent dramatic pauses and Kiko and his stream of engineering consciousness. This is how our standards were developed.
Kiko was a cornerstone of ABYC’s standards community. His fingerprints can be found across decades of development work, shaping the technical foundation that keeps boaters safe today.
I have never been one for awards, but that changed one Standards Week. Kiko called and asked for a few minutes at the annual meeting. Subject matter unknown but he is not one to be denied: permission granted. He began talking about this person who influenced him, and made ABYC better and stronger. He went on about how he owes this person a debt and how much he cares about the organization. That person was me.
He made me an award, called the “Steering Award” with a steering quadrant he found on a wreck in the St. Johns River that he thought he would eventually need. He presented it in Jack Riggleman’s name, and it has become one of my most cherished possessions. Though I could go on for days (and probably will with the staff here at ABYC) I will leave you with this:
We were having breakfast together in some hotel before a meeting. Kiko noticed the service members around us, and abruptly got up and thanked each and every one for their service, but it didn’t stop there. He had a word of encouragement whispered for each one. They returned his gesture with sincerity and genuine appreciation. I, to this day, do not know what he said. I learned something that day, one of the many lessons my friend taught me. I continue his lead in thanking our men and women in the military, but somehow I can’t pull it off the way he did. Perhaps it’s the accent.
If you’d like to read more about his incredible journey, Professional BoatBuilder captured some of his story here: www.proboat.com/archives/#issue-number-114/112.
Abrazos, my friend. You will be missed, and thought of often and with a smile.
-John













