As the floodwaters of Central Texas begin to subside on Tuesday, July 08, 2025, at 10:04 AM +07, a heartwarming tale has emerged from the devastation, intertwining loss, resilience, and unexpected kindness.

Greg Gutfeld, the sharp-witted host of Fox News’ Gutfeld!, has been a surprising figure in the ongoing rescue efforts, pulling survivors from the Guadalupe River’s wrath. Amid his heroic endeavors, he lost a cherished keepsake—a vintage wristwatch gifted by his late father—only to rediscover it in a poignant encounter with an elderly man at a refugee shelter. The story behind this reunion has captivated a nation weary from tragedy.

The floods, unleashed by a record-breaking deluge on July 4, have claimed 108 lives and left 53 missing, with the river surging 26 feet above its banks. Hays and Kerr Counties lie in ruins, with over 1,000 homes destroyed and 4,500 residents displaced. Gutfeld, known for his satirical commentary, arrived in Texas on July 6, joining forces with the Texas National Guard and local volunteers. His decision to trade the studio for the flood zone has added a layer of humanity to the crisis, now punctuated by this remarkable personal saga.

A Watch Lost in the Chaos

Gutfeld’s rescue journey began at dawn on July 7, navigating the Blanco River in an inflatable boat alongside a team of rescuers. The 60-year-old comedian, donning a life vest and waterproof gear, wielded a paddle with unexpected vigor, his eyes scanning for survivors amid the debris-laden waters. His mission that day was to reach a cluster of stranded families near Wimberley, where a school bus had been swept away, leaving 15 children missing.

It was during a daring rescue of a 9-year-old boy, trapped in the branches of a flooded oak, that the incident occurred. Gutfeld, wading into the chest-deep current, extended his arm to lift the child to safety. The boy’s weight tugged at his sleeve, and in the struggle, Gutfeld felt a familiar weight slip from his wrist—his father’s 1965 Omega Seamaster, a watch engraved with the words “To Greg, My Anchor,” a gift from his father before his passing in 2015. The murky water swallowed it instantly, and despite a frantic search, the watch was gone. “It was like losing him all over again,” Gutfeld later admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

Undeterred, he continued the rescue, pulling the boy and four others to the boat, their cries of relief mingling with the storm’s roar. The team returned to base exhausted, but Gutfeld’s mood was somber, the loss of the watch weighing heavily on his mind. “It wasn’t just a timepiece,” he told a colleague. “It was my dad’s way of saying he’d always be with me.”

A Shelter Encounter and a Surprising Revelation

By late afternoon, Gutfeld sought respite at a refugee shelter in Kerrville, a makeshift haven for displaced families. The air was thick with the smell of damp clothing and the murmur of weary voices. Exhausted, he sat on a bench, clutching a cup of lukewarm coffee and a foil packet of instant noodles—the only meal available. His rescue gear was caked with mud, and his hands trembled slightly from the day’s exertion.

As he ate, an elderly man approached, his gait slow but deliberate. The man, later identified as 78-year-old Robert “Bob” Callahan, wore a tattered jacket and a weathered cap, his face etched with lines of hardship. On his wrist gleamed a familiar glint—Gutfeld’s Omega Seamaster. Stunned, Gutfeld set down his food, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, his tone cautious but curious, “that watch—where did you get it?”

Bob, startled, glanced at his wrist and offered a sheepish smile. “Found it in the river yesterday, near where my house used to be,” he explained, his voice raspy. “The flood took everything—my home, my savings. This was floating by, and I thought it might be a sign. I’ve been wearing it to feel like I’ve got something left.” He paused, noticing Gutfeld’s intent gaze. “Does it belong to you?”

The Story Behind the Watch

What unfolded was a story that bridged their lives in an unexpected way. Gutfeld nodded, explaining the watch’s sentimental value. “My dad gave it to me before he passed,” he said. “I lost it today saving a kid. I thought it was gone forever.” Bob’s eyes softened, and he began to share his own tale. A retired mechanic from Wimberley, Bob had lived alone since his wife’s death five years ago. His modest home, perched near the Blanco River, was obliterated by the flood on July 4. Clinging to a piece of debris, he’d been rescued by a National Guard team, but not before witnessing the loss of his neighbor’s child—a boy he’d known since birth.

“I was swimming for my life when I saw this watch,” Bob recounted, his hands trembling as he unfastened it. “I grabbed it, thinking it might be someone’s lifeline, like it was mine. Then I heard about you on the radio—saving kids where I lost mine. It felt like fate.” Tears welled in his eyes as he held out the watch. “I didn’t know it was yours, but I’m glad it is. You deserve it back.”

Gutfeld, moved by the confession, hesitated. “You’ve been through hell,” he said. “Keep it if it helps you hold on.” But Bob shook his head firmly. “No, son. You earned it saving lives. I’ve got my memories—that’s enough.” The exchange drew the attention of nearby refugees, who gathered silently, witnessing a moment of mutual respect amid the tragedy.

A Bond Forged in Loss

The encounter sparked a deeper connection. Gutfeld invited Bob to sit, and over the next hour, they shared stories—Gutfeld of his father’s wisdom, Bob of his wife’s laughter. Bob revealed he’d been a watch repairman in his youth, and with a shaky hand, he adjusted the Omega’s strap, ensuring it fit Gutfeld perfectly. “It’s ticking strong now,” Bob said, a faint smile breaking through. “Like us—still going despite the flood.”

Gutfeld, typically quick with a quip, found himself at a loss for words. “You’ve given me more than this watch back,” he said finally. “You’ve given me a reason to keep fighting.” The moment was captured by a shelter volunteer’s camera, the image of the two men—one a celebrity, the other a survivor—sharing a nod of understanding, spreading rapidly on social media with the hashtag #WatchOfHope.

Inspired, Gutfeld pledged to support Bob’s recovery. He arranged for the elderly man to receive a spot in a temporary housing program and donated $5,000 from his personal funds to help rebuild Bob’s life. “This isn’t charity,” Gutfeld insisted. “It’s payback for a piece of my soul he returned.”

A Community’s Resilience and Gratitude

The watch incident has become a symbol of hope amid the ongoing crisis. The rescue efforts, bolstered by volunteers like Gutfeld, have saved 1,200 people, though the death toll remains a somber 108, with 53 still missing. Families at the Kerrville shelter expressed gratitude, with Sophia Martinez, a 10-year-old Gutfeld rescued, hugging him and saying, “You brought my watch back to life!” Her mother added, “He’s not just a TV guy—he’s one of us now.”

The broader impact is staggering. Over 1,000 homes are destroyed, infrastructure damage exceeds $900 million, and 4,500 residents remain displaced. As new rain warnings loom, the Texas National Guard has deployed 12 helicopters and 180 personnel, supported by a surge in donations—$2.5 million raised in 48 hours, partly due to Gutfeld’s story. A movement, “Blanco Resilience,” has emerged, encouraging community aid, with Bob becoming an unofficial ambassador.

Reflection and Renewal

As Gutfeld prepares for another rescue shift, the watch now secure on his wrist, he reflects on the encounter. “This flood took a lot,” he told a reporter, “but it gave me Bob—and a reminder of what my dad stood for: helping others.” Bob, in turn, has found renewed purpose, volunteering at the shelter to mend clothes and share stories, his wrist now bare but his spirit lifted.

The tale of the lost watch, rediscovered through a stranger’s kindness, has transcended the flood’s devastation. It’s a narrative of loss reclaimed, of two men finding common ground in a crisis, and of a community piecing itself together. As the waters recede, Gutfeld’s Omega ticks on, a quiet testament to resilience and the unexpected bonds forged in Texas’s darkest hour.

For those wishing to contribute, donations can be made through the American Red Cross or the Community Foundation of the Texas Hill Country. As Gutfeld returns to the river, the world watches, awaiting more stories of hope from a region battered but unbowed.