A Bad Start To A Great Career

A Bad Start To A Great Career

Mike Dwinell - March 1988

By Craig Lockwood

Remember when we used to sit beaches during our lifeguard training. That was 20 years ago in the ‘60s for all you “come lately” new guards. And that’s when I started—back in 1968.

That day’s as clear as though it happened yesterday. It was the first day of training, sunny and warm with a 2-4 foot swell rolling cleanly in out of the west. The morning’s physical and classroom events were over. We were scheduled to spend the next five hours sitting a tower on a beach. I was excited and little apprehensive about what that meant. Looking around, I saw Main Beach filling up with Easter Weekers.

“Dwinell!” I spun around. The stocky blond man with a clipboard was Captain R.O. Riehl. He was kindly but efficient, reminding me of a high school coach—which he was. “You’re in my North Section. You’ll be guarding with Chris Brown up north at Crescent Bay. Know where that is?” “Yessir!” I snapped. In my mind I was reviewing the confusing topography of Laguna’s coves. Lieutenants dePaulis, Westgaard and Lockwood had driven the lifeguard truck to each beach that morning and given us a brief orientation. But there had been a lot of coves and I wasn’t quite sure which was Crescent. “I’ll be checking on you throughout the day,” Captain Riehl said. “You have any questions?” “Nossir! No questions, sir!” “Fine. Well, go pick up your gear from de Paulis and Lockwood and head ‘em out.”

Our training officers were thundering around with clipboards, growling out our names and handing us tubes, wooden first aid boxes, umbrellas, chairs and flags. I practically staggered under the load. DePaulis dumped a black telephone on top of my pile and I started to turn around. “Those phone lines hooked up to Crescent yet?” Chief LaVern Dugger asked dePaulis. De Paulis looked at Lockwood who shook his head. “They might get them fixed this afternoon,” he said. “Better take it.”

I staggered down the hill to my assigned tower. South Crescent. I set up the tower, climbed up, put out my flag and looked around—suddenly very aware that I was a greenhorn. What had de Paulis and Lockwood told us this morning? They’d talked about rips, backwash, berms, dispersion patterns, longshore currents. All of it was Greek to me. If only someone were here now to point these things out. I tried the phone. Dead. Then I noticed Chris jumping down and running toward North Point. My eyes followed Brown’s movements. Suddenly he disappeared and the reality sunk in—I was totally alone on this huge beach! The responsibility swept over me like a wave. But my reverie didn’t last for long.

“Lifeguard! Lifeguard come quick!” someone yelled. “Some girl’s drownded down the beach! Some guys just dragged her in!” The words hit—I’d missed my first rescue! I jumped—pumping adrenaline—landing in the soft deep sand. Running was like in a nightmare. The sand sucked at my feet, slowing me down. Panicked, I sprinted to where the woman lay on the wet sand—a non-breather. I was lost as to what to do next. What was it that I’d been taught in training that morning? Oh. yeah—open the airway! I dropped my fins, and with some help from her boyfriend moved her to dry sand. But the boyfriend—now in shock—clutched her limp body to his chest. He wouldn’t put her down. He kept rocking her like a baby in his arms—ignoring my efforts to start her breathing.

By this time a large crowd had gathered and bystanders were shouting instructions. One jerk, his breath sour with beer, tried to push me roughly aside. “Eh!” boomed a loud voice. I looked up to see an enormous Hawaiian pulling the intruder away. “Dis da kine lifeguard. You let him do his job, bra. Stayout da peecture!” There was a gasp from my victim—she was breathing! “She’s alive!” her boyfriend cried, “Thank God she’s alive!” About that time my heart resumed beating again. I was also alive. My ego, however, and any confidence I may have had in my abilities as a lifeguard—had washed dead away with the surf. The crowd dispersed, I picked up my tube and began searching for my fins. To no avail. During the confusion they’d been stolen.

Brown returned from around the point—completely unaware of my close call. As the phones were still unconnected and 5501 delayed by an emergency at Victoria, (there was only one 55 unit in those days) the incident was never reported.

Well, I completed my training and was placed on the hiring list. That summer I worked relief, filling in and generally being available. I didn’t make any rescues that year but I was rehired next season and for six successive seasons before I was hired as a full-time lifeguard in 1974.

Now I’m a Captain.