Once a Lifeguard
By Ingrid Loos Miller
I decided to become a lifeguard because I was good in the ocean and I thought sitting on a tower would be the most wonderful job on earth. I was also terrified. I soon learned that training was brutal and everyone was stronger and faster than me. Going through the long blowhole at Woods Cove was my personal terror. For others, it was the pier jump. Bruce Baird and Mike Dwinell seemed to take a special delight in our misery. The nights before training were filled with a special dread.
As a rookie, I had nightmares about letting someone die because I would be too disgusted to do CPR on a vomiting victim. It never happened.
During the first big swell of the summer, Bruce would go up into "zero tower" and wait for a big set to come rolling in. Then he would call the rookies, one by one, and give them a reason to rush out through the mammoth surf…"Go check out that guy (way beyond the surf line) to see if he is OK". By the time I got out there, it was me who needed to be rescued. These were the early rites of passage in the Lifeguard Department.
The hardships and challenges were tempered with unbridled celebrations like La Bomba and the Lau. In those days, being naked was not the sex-laden crime it is now. I will never forget throwing tortillas or the sight of 30 naked lifeguards sprinting to end of the Aliso Pier at midnight. Too bad the Pier is gone. It still looks wrong when I drive by. Political correctness, sexual harassment and liability are the order of the day. I am sure that the current lifeguards have wonderful stories to tell, but they really did miss out.
When I became a lifeguard in 1976, there were no other females. I was supposedly the first female to actually sit on a tower. True or not, I was the only one at the time.
The novelty assured that many eyes were on me while I worked. When the newspapers wanted to cover the story, Bruce wisely declined. He believed that being "the first and only" was not reason enough for a story-I was only doing my job.
It has been almost 20 years (that long?) since I have guarded a beach. Now when I go to the beach, none of the guards know me. Those of my era have "real jobs", families, and expanding waistlines. Even so, the photo of our dory racing team still graces my wall and my red suit occupies a special drawer. The dreams of wearing it again have passed, but having been a Laguna Beach Lifeguard, I will forever define myself that way.
I decided to become a lifeguard because I was good in the ocean and I thought sitting on a tower would be the most wonderful job on earth. I was also terrified. I soon learned that training was brutal and everyone was stronger and faster than me. Going through the long blowhole at Woods Cove was my personal terror. For others, it was the pier jump. Bruce Baird and Mike Dwinell seemed to take a special delight in our misery. The nights before training were filled with a special dread.
As a rookie, I had nightmares about letting someone die because I would be too disgusted to do CPR on a vomiting victim. It never happened.
During the first big swell of the summer, Bruce would go up into "zero tower" and wait for a big set to come rolling in. Then he would call the rookies, one by one, and give them a reason to rush out through the mammoth surf…"Go check out that guy (way beyond the surf line) to see if he is OK". By the time I got out there, it was me who needed to be rescued. These were the early rites of passage in the Lifeguard Department.
The hardships and challenges were tempered with unbridled celebrations like La Bomba and the Lau. In those days, being naked was not the sex-laden crime it is now. I will never forget throwing tortillas or the sight of 30 naked lifeguards sprinting to end of the Aliso Pier at midnight. Too bad the Pier is gone. It still looks wrong when I drive by. Political correctness, sexual harassment and liability are the order of the day. I am sure that the current lifeguards have wonderful stories to tell, but they really did miss out.
When I became a lifeguard in 1976, there were no other females. I was supposedly the first female to actually sit on a tower. True or not, I was the only one at the time.
The novelty assured that many eyes were on me while I worked. When the newspapers wanted to cover the story, Bruce wisely declined. He believed that being "the first and only" was not reason enough for a story-I was only doing my job.
It has been almost 20 years (that long?) since I have guarded a beach. Now when I go to the beach, none of the guards know me. Those of my era have "real jobs", families, and expanding waistlines. Even so, the photo of our dory racing team still graces my wall and my red suit occupies a special drawer. The dreams of wearing it again have passed, but having been a Laguna Beach Lifeguard, I will forever define myself that way.
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