Dick Davis

372 Center

Laguna Beach, CA 92651

Phone 949-497-1022

Guarded --19448-1954 Woods Cove, Divers Cove, Crescent Bay, Victoria and Main Beach

Coached basketball at Glendale High School, U.C. Irvine and San Diego State Un.

Owned and operated health clubs, including the “Girls’ Gym Laguna”.

Retired from coaching in 1990 and currently enjoys playing high stakes poker at Hawaiian Gardens Casino.

The Sea Monster

In 1948 at Woods Cove, Dale Seaman and Bill Griffin, unbeknownst to me created a fake “Sea Monster”. It was actually Dale in the water underneath a black tarpaulin with some poles to hold up the tarp. Bill was in a rowboat out by ring rock (about a 100 yards off of shore) when he screamed and turned the rowboat over. Dale then emerged under the gleaming black tarp that from a distance looked like it could be a “Sea Monster”.

It was a crowded Sunday and everyone saw it. I made everyone get out of the water. Bill righted the boat and came to shore excited about what a huge creature it was. I had called down to the Main Tower and Carl Mays and Charlie Plummer came to Woods with the sirens screaming.

A writer from the L.A. Times arrived at Woods about an hour later. He interviewed me and took pictures. As I recall the article the title read. “Sea Monster spotted in Laguna Beach”. When I found out later it was all a big joke I was pretty embarrassed. I was just 18 years old.

An Appreciation for the Sea

An Appreciation for the Sea

By - Dirk Van Deusen

July 31, 2004

Looking back over the past 50 years, it’s obvious that the ocean, and those who are drawn to it, have been the most powerful influences in my life. I was a Crescent Bay Beach Rat, sprawled out in the summer sun on the hot sand, not a care in the world except for where I’d left my fins and when the next big swell was coming. My biggest idols were my Dad, who taught me fishing, diving and bodysurfing, my Mom who always took good care of us, and the guards who sat in the big orange towers on the sand, watching over the water and the invading hordes of tourists, saving the sorry flatlanders from drowning in their ignorance of the ocean.

I joined the Junior Lifeguards and remember lectures and workouts with the late greats, Dean Westguard, Laverne Dugger and Bruce Baird, together with many other great watermen. I was lucky to have been part of the first group of rookies recruited from the high school swimming and water polo teams in an inspired effort by Dale Ghere to groom a few young local swimmers and surfers for the force. It was a great idea and as a result of going through the rookie program, I gained a new perspective on life in and around the ocean, and my responsibility to others who seek recreation within its blue sanctuary.

Everything I learned growing up in and around The Laguna Beach Lifeguard Department has carried throughout my life and into the present. I was certified in scuba diving during the rookie program and later worked as a commercial diver for abalone, sea urchin and underwater construction. I became a NAUI instructor and taught classes in resorts and on boats in Kona. I’m obsessed with swimming and don’t feel right if I can’t get in a mile swim in Kailua Bay every day. When I sit on the beach, my head auto-scans over the sand and water, looking for accidents waiting to happen and I’ve been able to assist in some situations.

My kids grew up surrounded by my oceanic addictions and have the same appreciation for the sea, although less a necessity for them as it is for me. Damon is an aspiring film director in UCLA’s graduate film program. I look forward to doing an underwater project with him sometime. Corrina is an amazing mom who’s worked in the legal profession and is now studying metaphysics. Her daughter Jillian seems to be the fish that skipped a generation and I’m looking forward to teaching her scuba diving.

Today I went fishing with Mom and Dad, like we do whenever I’m off work, if they’re not busy snorkeling or hanging out on the beach. They’re waiting for me to finish this so they can proofread it.

Looking back over the past 50 years, it becomes obvious that the ocean and the people drawn to it have been the most powerful influences in my life.

Aloha,

Dirk Van Deusen

P.S. Wish I could be in Laguna for the party. Come visit me in Kona!

The White Hat

The White Hat

By Dale Ghere

2004

When I first came to Laguna Beach to guard in 1960 there were a variety of hats worn by the guards. Some were straw hats from Tahiti or some other South Pacific island. Some were from Mexico. Some guards just wore visors. Some didn’t ever want to wear a hat. The hat that was offered by the department was a white cardboard pith helmet. No one seemed to mind what hat was used, so I tried a wide variety of shapes and styles through those first few years. Some hats were to hot, or they wouldn’t stay on when there was a wind. Some turned out to be too heavy when worn all day. Cloth hats got too dirty. It didn’t take too long to figure out that I was looking for some type straw-like hat. Finding the right combination of crown shape and brim design seemed to be puzzling for me. There were many shapes available from Carpenter’s and the Toy Store on Main Beach. Some hats lasted most of the season while others fell apart in a couple of weeks. Through a process of trial and error I finally settled on a cowboy hat that was made for children. The first thing I did to the hat was to soak it in the ocean long enough to reform the brim. I wanted the brim to curve down in the front and back instead of curving up on the sides like a cowboy’s hat. Once the hat was wet and reshaped it took only a few minutes for the sun to make the new shape permanent. It worked fine. It kept both my face and the back of my neck shaded. With a little care and no accidents I could make it through the summer with two hats. Each hat cost me sixty-nine cents. That might not sound like much by toady’s standards, but we were only making a $1.60 an hour when I started. To some degree that hat became my trademark on the beach. People got use to looking for the hat when they wanted to find me. Although the pith helmets were always available few people used them, I hated them. Forty-four years later I still use the same style hat when I am on the beach.

Around 1970 Skip was on one of his tirades to get rid of the older guards. One morning I was the one he thought that he would try to intimidate. As I was preparing to leave the headquarters (the old Boy’s Club at the north end of Main Beach) he said, “Ghere I don’t want you to wear that straw hat anymore. Get rid of it!” He went on to say that it was not professional looking and I should wear a pith helmet so the other guards would also. I explained that I wasn’t about to go to his choice of a hat. He got very mad and said a lot of things about how I was holding the lifeguard department back from being as professional as the police and fire departments. He finished with the threatening statement, “I am going to a meeting at city hall and when I get back if you are not wearing a white hat you’re fired.” After he left everyone asked me what I was going to do. Without much thought I simply walked into the back room, got a can of white spay paint, put my hat on my index finger and gave the hat a spin. As the hat went around I sprayed the crown and brim white. In a short time the paint was dry. I put the hat on and went to work at the Main Beach Tower. Skip never said anything about the hat again.

A few years after I stopped guarding Jim Stauffer and Bruce Baird were trying to decide on a type of hat that would provide good sun protection for the guards and something that everyone would be willing to wear. By the mid-70’s people were beginning to get serious about reducing the possibility skin cancer. Jim and Bruce finally decided on a straw hat that had a brim that was larger than my hat, is heavier and more durable than the one I use. Bruce thought that the straw was a good material, but he thought that it might not be visible enough for people to quickly identify a guard among all the other people on the beach. He wanted a hat that was recognizable by everyone on the beach. Jim then suggested that they spray the crown and brim white like Ghere did. Thus was born the “Lifeguard White Straw Hat.”

Bruce eventually gave some hats to the staffs at Huntington Beach and Newport Beach. Jim took the hat idea with him when he started Lifeguards International and started guarding the county beaches. In quick succession the white hat moved along the coast to other departments.

It is always interesting to me to see how an event unfolds like a flower until it is fully developed. There was no single event or situation that generated the “White Hat”, it was a series of things that occurred over a period of several years, which brought about the final product. Because the outcome was good the White Hat has endured.

Today as I travel along the coast and see guards walking to work or sitting in their towers with their straw hats I am reminded of friends that I admire like Bruce and Jim. I think about the young people wearing the hats and I admire them for their dedication, talent and preparation. I know that each of them has been willing to pay a high price for the right to wear the hat. I was given many gifts as I learned to be a guard. There were men willing to take the time and make the effort to prepare me to be capable of accepting the baton that I would be handed. That hat is no longer just a hat. It is part of the mantle that is offered to those who have qualified to become part of the brotherhood of beach lifeguards. I am pleased that for so many years I had a roll in the process of training capable, talented and determined young men who wanted to become lifeguards (sorry girls, we were not enlightened in those days).

Dale Ghere

Guarded 1960-1974

I guarded at St. Ann’s Beach for several years and eventually moved to Main Beach where I took on the Junior Lifeguard Program. Eventually, with LaVern Dugger’s blessing, I started the Rookie Training Program in 1968 The Rookie program is still used today, July 8, 2004.

Being accepted as a Lifeguard was an honor, being accepted among your peers was priceless.

Competitive as Young Lions

By John Slowsky

2004

Story Author: John Slowsky
Lifeguard from 1969 – 1973
Notable achievements:
Member of 1st Rookie Team
National Champion in Lifeguard Competition
Brother of the first Female Beach Lifeguard in Modern Era

Wow, many stories, many experiences and all of them were molding a young man into adulthood with responsibilities beyond his age. Being accepted as a Lifeguard was an honor, being accepted among your peers was priceless.
My simple joyous story begins on Bluebird Beach in the middle of the summer when the water is warm and beautiful. Bluebird was an easy beach to guard, mostly because it was so small and with the locals to your left (playing volleyball) and the numerous rocks straight out in front, the only real area to keep your eye for danger was to the north in front of the Surf and Sand Hotel. Charlie Ware, my best friend and fellow Lifeguard was guarding at Mountain Road to the North, with the Surf and Sand sandwiched between us in equal distance. Although we were the best of friends, we were also as competitive as young lions. Charlie could swim circles around me, but I could do the same to him on foot. Charlie was easily the fastest in the water on the force, and I the quickest on foot. (That's how I won the Nationals).
I remember always having a fancy for Fudgesicle, the ice cream. I still have a problem with ice cream and my body shows it. But on this particular day there was no fear in the tower, beautiful summer day, sparkling water with an occasional set of substantial size waves, but really no rips or cares. From training with Dale Ghere and Jack Lincke, we were taught as guards that if a rescue was questionable, hit the water anyway and check it out before it became an issue. Anticipate the problem when it was still in doubt and resolve it before it became an emergency. The worst thing that could happen was that you took a swim in the element that you loved so much anyway.
So there I am with a Fudgesicle in my mouth when I see a little girl in front of the Surf and Sand beyond the shore breakers on one of those suicidal, flimsy, blow-up rafts. The little girl was about 10 years of age and obviously unfamiliar with the water by the way she struggled on her little raft. From my vantage point I could see a set coming in its slow march towards shore. I could also see that this little girl appeared to be in the perfect spot to catch the impact zone when this wave finally made it to shore. So I hit it, jumping out of my tower to take an easy jog down the beach without my fins and still with my almost consumed Fudgesicle in my mouth. Don’t ask me why I remember the ice cream but it’s true. Well as soon as I started making my move down the incline of the beach I looked way up North and saw Charlie Ware in the same action and motivation from Mountain Road. We must have both saw it at the same time and at the same time looked for each other in the distance.
Then the testosterone kicked in and it was off to the races! Damn, no way I’m going to let Charlie beat me to that little girl, no way! I suck down the last of the Fudgesicle and toss the stick out of the way as I’m bolting at full speed. Charlie fired into high gear exactly the same time I did and the both of us are completely oblivious to anybody else on the beach. I'm grinning just telling this story all over again. I know I have an advantage over Charlie while we’re still on land, but I know he’ll surely catch me and possibly pass me in the water unless I keep a spark of a lead.
I always try to imagine what this might have looked like if you were staying at the Surf and Sand Hotel from your balcony. Two, young, blond stallions charging down the beach in their sunbathed red trunks carrying their bright red emergency tubes; I mean the contrast to everyone else slowly moving on this beautiful day compared to two red blurs descending on one obvious location. Where are they going? Where's the emergency?
Sure enough that lumbering wave finally made it to the shelf right in front of that little girl on her suicide raft. It must have looked huge to her and even more impressive to the people on the beach that never even saw it forming. This next part, try to read it really fast :) Wham! I pop my tube and in one motion I have it across my body while I’m still in midair before making my first plunge. Wham! Charlie hits the water next to me in almost the exact same time which alarms me so I have to sprint like there's no tomorrow. The wave has reached its peak and is cresting to break; the little girl is sideways and at the bottom of the impact zone. You could see her little eyes the size of saucers. Stroke, stroke, stroke goes the two sprinters with their trailing red tubes. I’m not gonna give Charlie the satisfaction of getting to her first... Crash goes the wave onto the little girl and almost instantaneously two lifeguards have dove below the crashing wave, caught the little girl under that lip, pulled her through the other side and lift her out of the water. She is both stunned and relieved as she becomes aware that she is suspended by a lifeguard on either arm.
It was a tie; both Charlie and I are staring at each other as this little girl is raised over our heads. We both have grins surrounding our faces and the satisfaction that this race was so much fun. We both make the short swim in with this little girl and are greeted by her parents that are too grateful for what they just saw. Charlie and I wrap our tubes before setting off in opposite directions back to our separate towers. With a wave and a smile I bid my friend farewell knowing I’ll probably see him later after work as we spent many a summer evening together. On the walk back to Bluebird I find my stick from my Fudgesicle (no kidding, I really did) and make my way back to my tower thinking to myself, “That was so much fun”.
The next morning was one of those days where the entire Lifeguard Squad met at Main Beach for training and briefing from Dino Westgaard (you remember those?). Well, while sitting there with the rest of the guys in the sand as Dino standing on the deck of the main tower, began to make an announcement that yesterday the Headquarters received more phone calls from citizen’s praising how good their Lifeguards were than any other time in recent history and that it was on a Green Flag day. On top of that, all of the phone calls came from visitors staying at the Surf and Sand Hotel. I remember it was bothering him to know what happened. He points to the both of us sitting in the sand with the other 50 guards and asks if we could illuminate. I remember the both of us staring at each other with this dumb look on our faces because to the both of us, we didn’t have a clue. There was nothing special yesterday… then we both flash on the little girl at the same time “Ah… it was this rescue of that little girl” and I remember the both of us feeling almost embarrassed. We had accidentally made a small thing a big thing and we were just having fun. I know we didn't tell the whole story and Dino was suspicious. We figured it best we keep it to ourselves. Lifeguarding was a lot of fun and I'm a better person because of it.

“Danger in Paradise”

“Danger in Paradise”

By Charlie Ware

September 28, 2009

As one of the first four Rookies in 1968, my duty was to report to Main HQ each morning by 10am and work out for the first hour prior to hiking to the outer beaches to provide relief to the “regular guards” through out the day. At 16 years old, each and every day, lifeguarding was met with great appreciation. Most of my first few days on the job were filled with learning from the veterans on each beach and attending routine training sessions. I was told by most seasoned guards that many had not had to respond to a major incident each summer and that outside of the occasional big surf rescue, the days in the sun were mundane. I believed that, except Dale Ghere’s training had emphasized constant vigilance. Even more so, when the surf was flat and all appeared well. Those words couldn’t have rang more true than on a packed 4^th of July weekend my first summer in the chair. Getting to the Dante’s tower (that’s what it was called back then due to it’s location right in front of Dante’s Bar and Restaurant next to Hotel Laguna) by early afternoon to spell the guard for an half hour would be just as simple as the previous three stations on that Coney Island like day, I thought. The gay party was raging at Dante’s with an over flow crowd on the patio and music blasting through out the beach. A large luxury sail boat had anchored a few dozen yards out just to the south of the tower with strapping young party goers swimming back and forth to the beach and up to grab a cocktail or two. I followed each swimmer back and forth as they churned in the water and each group managed to make the trek with some degree of effort, except for one. After slowly dog paddling to shore a slender, Speedo clad reveler, began crawling on all fours up the wet sand only to collapse face up with exhaustion. I threw the phone to alert the need for back up and raced to the waters edge and notice he was unresponsive I gave him two puffs of air and his eyes flashed open and he calmly remarked he was OK and just need to rest a bit. Was this some sick ploy? His buddies carried him to the dry sand as Punky Parlett arrived in the unit with the resuscitator. He waved us off and said he was fine. The ambulance was sent away and Punky advised me to watch him as he laid there trying to recover from his taxing swim. Not two minutes had passed and along with the gathering crowd, I noticed his eyes closed and his lips turning blue. I began rescue breathing and by the short time Punky had returned with oxygen he was self breathing and transported to SC Hospital for a full recovery. My first real medical aid rescue and I almost walked a way too early thinking I had done it right. As I let my nerves settle down a bit in the chair, I recalled Dale’s training words of being constantly vigilant even in the most pristine settings. I learned very early that looks can be deceiving and that there is the possibility of danger in paradise.

Red Cross “Youth Good Samaritan” award.

Chris Kennedy Letter (Letter to the editor, Independent)

By Dale Ghere

March 28, 2006

I want to congratulate Christopher Kennedy for his nomination for the Red Cross “Youth Good Samaritan” award. I also want to thank him for taking the opportunity to gain the experience that allowed him to act appropriately in a time of crisis. Chris, like so many other watermen before him, was able to help another person because of the hours of preparation he was willing to do to become skilled. I commend him for the attitude that allows him to want to help others. I know the endless hours of training it took to develop good swimming skills.

Chris, how many laps have you done in the pool? How many hours have you played water polo? How many days have you spent body surfing, boogie boarding or surfing? How many summers have you spent in the junior guard program? How many mentors have been willing to teach you ocean skills? How many of your friends are also skilled watermen? Before you were able to help Trever you made a lot of good choices that prepared you for that moment. Well done Chris!

I would also like to congratulate all of those who have been willing to help young people like Chris develop good water skills. Chris did not just magically know how to help someone else. His ability to help was taught to him by a whole group of other people that call themselves teachers. As a community we should all take time to thank those people who have taught our kids to become skilled watermen. Our community is blessed to have many different opportunities available for our children: the city’s recreational summer swim programs, private swim teachers, youth swim and water polo programs, high school swim and water polo programs, local surfing, diving and kayaking schools and all of the various youth programs that are offered by the lifeguard department are designed to help kids become better waterman. Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to teach!

Summer is coming. Parents I encourage you to get your kids involved in one of the programs that will help your sons and daughters to become skilled watermen. It will enrich their lives. Chris’ mom was correct when she said, “They have to look out for each other.” I believe that the more skilled watermen there are on the beach the safer the beach becomes for everyone.

Dale Ghere

915 Meadowlark Ln.

Laguna Beach

Hello Stu and Andrea,

Here is a letter for the "Letters to the Editor". I was impressed by the story about Chris Kennedy's rescue (page A1, 3/24/06). It was appropriate that it came out the same time as the lifeguard exchange training program article.

Dale Ghere

Hank Butch By Robin Williams

Hank Butch

By Robin Williams

The Sandpiper was the hang out for all the Marine pilots from El Toro during the Korean War and Vietnam and maybe even WWII for all I know. My first beer upon turning 21 years of age was celebrated in the Sandpiper!

One night I was sitting at the bar in the Sandpiper and enjoying conversation with the bar tender while a dozen or so Laguna High School people were hustling some great looking girls from South Pasadena. You can always tell the Pasadena girls...they are the ones with white shoes...and pink lipstick...and the scent of an uplifting odor in their neck and shoulders that sends us beach boys into a wild man frenzy of "head banging" on the nearest wall.

I was a Laguna Lifeguard and one of the types that grew up on the rocky coves of Laguna. I knew every handhold and every route through any rock mass which allowed me to rescue swimmers and scuba divers efficiently. In other words, I was before the LONG SWIM TESTS that allowed the big city pool swimmers to take our jobs and rule in our stead! I was of the era where we had the distinction of never losing a life to drowning. That was the same era as Westgaard and Sorrels and Jake Jacobsen and Phil Jones and Chad Burton. We all knew each other like the back of our own hands and when we called for help from the Main Tower we knew exactly who to send out on the long "RIPS" to pull three or four people in at one time. And we also knew whom to send over the rocks or into a swirling mass of white water and suction. We all knew each other's beach background and abilities.

Those were the great days of life guarding and they gave us a foundation for living our lives in the real world of swirling masses of business horror!

But one incident prepared me like no other. It happened at the Sandpiper. “The Captain” -- Hank Bucher, sat down beside me. Hank is the consummate man's man. He is the guy who should have been the star of every war movie ever made. If he looks at you without smiling, you find yourself running outside to puke. He scares the living puke out of anyone who receives his un-blinking gaze.

I was on Coast Inn beach that week. This is the beach where women come to drag us into their lair and turn us into either mountain men or send us into early retirement as unfit for duty...in anything other than lying in a fetal position and sobbing uncontrollably for the rest of our lives. The women of Coast Inn Beach should have been the recruiters for the Special Forces. They quickly determined the men from the piddlin' little boys. Coast Inn Beach was the dance of death for every lifeguard in Laguna.

Hank actually talked to me at the bar that night. I couldn't believe it. He actually engaged me in conversation. I was under the impression that he would only talk to me if he really wanted to know something important. But, here he was...talking and enjoying a beer right next to me at the Sandpiper!

Then he asked me a question. He said, "Volleyball sometimes is tempting isn't it? I mean, while you are on duty?" "Yeah!" I blurted out. But caught myself. "Yeah, but I never play volley ball no matter how tempting it is." I truly did not think I was lying. I truly believed what I had just said. I was probing my mind to see if I remembered playing volleyball while I was on duty but could not remember a single time. Hank said, "Good, that's good. Someone could just disappear under a wave and you would never see him if you were playing volleyball. I am glad you don't do it. Well, that's it for me. See you later, Robin." And....Hank walked out of the Sandpiper and disappeared into the night.

The next day at Coast Inn Beach, it was overcast and cool and nobody in the water. A game of volleyball started up and they all wanted me to play. I took a fast look around, saw that it was virtually void of swimmers and happily joined the game. I was having a great time and actually winning. Then I looked up and here came a vision akin to Tarzan walking up the beach with a cigar in his teeth and smiling at me with a broad smile. It was “The Captain”--Hank Bucher ...and I had no pulse. My mind went blank and I did not have any verbal skills whatsoever. He said a few words to me...no way to remember what they were...but it was something like..."Everything ok here?"

I said, "Oh braib dib the all right snuh fert if the sun hahshed moah cattinflaw braypte."

He didn't look at me....just whispered, 'Yeah, I thought so too. Well, keep on it. See you later." And he walked on toward Wood's Cove.

I stood by my tower for the rest of the day...not thinking. Not talking. Just standing there stunned at my own revelation about myself. It was beyond humiliation. It was heavier than any human emotion. It was pretty horrible. I felt something like a freight train that is stopped and just sitting on the tracks in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Eventually, my wheels began to turn and I began to move with a new vision.

I have never lied again in my damn life.

And nobody drowned during that time period. That was the “era.”

Thanks Hank!

And “thanks” all you big cats from the Main Tower who helped me out whenever I needed it. Especially that huge day at Crescent Cove on the 4th of July in 1957!

Gawd, I miss Westgaard. We ALL miss him.

Robin D. Williams

August 20, 2004

Laguna

A Mother’s Perspective

By Susan Campbell

Lifeguards

When I was pregnant with my son, one of my favorite things to do was walk barefoot on the beach. The little life growing inside of me was as real and alive as the Sea. The movements I felt inside of me, seemed to be in sink with the movements of the tide and the currents beside me. In me and beside me were life and beauty. One could not in a lifetime, experience the elation of those feelings, an expecting mother has.

Just after Davie was born, I’d try to work off those extra pounds by swimming in the ocean. My husband would sit on the beach with Davie, while I’d go for a swim. I’ll never forget one afternoon when I came back to out little spot on the beach. I asked Don, “Where’s Davie?” (He was only 6 days old) Don replied, “He’s right here…can’t you see him?” “No!” I said, “I can’t see him!” Then Don pointed to the lifeguard tower and sure enough, there was my 6 day old son, wrapped up like a cocoon and resting at the bottom of a little Mexican bag and hanging from the lifeguard tower. The wind was rocking him to sleep and he was perfectly content. That’s where Davie took his afternoon naps, until he out grew the little Mexican bag.

Only living two blocks from Rock Pile in North Laguna, made it easy for us to develop a pattern of walking along the beach. Part of our daily routine was to walk along the boardwalk, to the playground on the south side of Main Beach. As Davie grew older, we’d go for treasure hunts; looking for sea glass and then cashing the glass in for ice - cream cones.

Davie grew up saying hello to lifeguards. They became his friends at a very early age. One of the things I love most about Laguna is that you develop these casual “Friendships” over time. It’s those little daily encounters with people that enrich our lives. How little those lifeguards knew, how impressionable they were to my little boy.

Davie eventually grew more interested in the ocean. The ocean was his backyard. On our way to El Morrow Elementary School, we’d have to stop first at Divers Cove to skim board. I’d sit on the beach with my coffee, while Davie and his buddy Tanner would burn off some energy. I figured I was doing his teachers a service, by giving him this opportunity.

I gave him his first swimming lessons at the pool down the street from our home. He eventually took lessons locally and then joined the swim team and water polo team at the High School level.

I’ll never forget the day he tried out for his first job as a lifeguard. The tryouts were on his 16^th birthday; you had to be 16 to try out. The day before tryouts, he and his Dad decided to do a practice swim. Don went out in the kayak with a stop watch and paddled alongside Davie. He completed the practice swim in the required time. This gave him the confidence he needed, for the tryouts the next day. On the day of tryouts, the swells were huge! As all the boys started coming in from their swim, my anticipation grew. Where is he? Then I spotted him…he was on the backside of a huge set a waves! Would he be able to ride in on those waves? Did he know what he was doing? He could swim but could he get in safely in surf like that? He timed his run in perfectly and somehow seemed to dodge the dangerous swells. I realized then, how perfectly in sink he was with the sounds and rhythms of the sea. He had an understanding of the ocean, which I had not realized until that day.

I still take my walks along the boardwalk, but not with my son. He’s the guy I say hello to up in the Lifeguard tower. He’s the guy that now encourages and inspires other little boys to one day peruse the job as a Laguna Beach Lifeguard. He’s the guy that can now give back, what was once given to him as a child.

The training he received helped develop him into a responsible young man. I will forever be grateful for the Laguna Beach Lifeguard Department and the Jr. Lifeguard programs.

Sincerely,

Susan Campbell

Images in the Sun - By Charlie Ware

Images in the Sun

By Charlie Ware

Started Guarding in 1969 as a Rookie

Images can inspire, motivate and sear into our memories. So many images of lifeguarding come to mind over the many summers in Laguna. But the ones that truly inspired me and helped to frame my character are the images of those that mentored me.

The quiet image of Dale Ghere standing on the beach, under his wide brimmed hat, looking out at his young crop of rookies churning feverishly towards shore. His smile and low-key demeanor always present as he taught and never criticized. Ready with a story that brought home his point. A life teacher.

The giant, brawny image of Dean Westgaard plodding down the beach. Commanding the sun to shine and the waves to behave. He dominated the scene with his stature, white hat, and determined eyes. You could see him a mile away and know that with his approach that all will be right….or else. Discipline with understanding. He grasped life and wrestled it at every turn.

The lead by example image of Jack Lincke challenging the limits of athleticism and pure ocean perfection. Paddling with incredible fight and purpose. Training harder with every water encounter. Providing a strong, supportive arm on the shoulder to guide me, not dictate. To move me towards excellence and inspiration to work harder. To do better. To be a great friend.

And the soothing wide smile of Dick Johnson. A man of few words who made it happen, by just doing it. Always with a great laugh and ever present grin that let me know it’s all going to be OK.

There are a thousand images of lifeguarding that give great joy and keep me going. Bill Brown, the ultimate waterman and party King. Tom Redwitz always doing it with style and class. And John Slowsky’s keen sense of knowing how to get the most out of life without letting it make you old before your time. They all contributed to who I am and enriched my life beyond expectation. But I will always be indebted to my mentors, “Harley D”, “Deno” and the

“Big Red Dick” for molding me into someone good and providing life long images of strength, success and……fun.

A Lucky Miss - By Charlie Ware

A Lucky Miss

By Charlie Ware

From “The Bullhorn”, March 1988

Bluebird Beach on a weekend can be not only crowded, but busy. Not like Main Beach or Crescent Bay, perhaps, but active, none-the-less. It took me only a few seconds to recognize that this Sunday’s eight hour’s duty was going to go quickly. An inconsistent 4-5 foot well was surprising many who’d come to enjoy Laguna on this summer’s day. One moment—Lake Laguna, then—wham! The next moment they were tumbled over and over by the beachbreak

I’d already spread a few items out south of my tower, hoping to save an area for the “Bluebird Bunch.” They always appreciated my saving their “spot” for their late morning arrival. Steadily, they came down the ramp, turning left as they hit the sand with a wave and a “Hello, Charlie.”

Each found their special place—reserved as if it had their names on it. Veteran beach goers, they numbered over 30 when they all got together to talk, play cards, read their Sunday editions, and listen to baseball games while enjoying the beach.

Soon after 1:00 p.m. the beach had completely filled—with my bunch tucked comfortably into their friendly pod. Turning north toward Mountain Road, I saw the MR guard leap off his tower and head a few yards south to a small rip.

I strained my eyes through my bino’s—watching two kids bobbing waist-deep in a strong current. The MR guard was on it fast and I figured he’d be giving them a “danger warning” and some close supervision. I watched it play out, knowing after two summers of guarding this stretch that they’d grab the tube in an instant unless they could struggle out of the turbulence unassisted.

I put my bino’s down—indulging in the old seductive “all’s well” feeling—when suddenly, with some embarrassment—I noticed a more desperate scene being played out in my area. The Agate Street rip had set up suddenly and a thin, unconditioned man in his 40’s was climbing the ladder in the ripcurrent’s choppy turbulence. He was facing the beach and his arms churned the water as he fought the current for all he was worth. But his technique was somewhat less effective than his waning strength. It was obvious he wasn’t going to make it.

Damn! Son-of-Bitch, I muttered, grabbing my tube. How could you let this get so far? I cursed myself as I sprinted leaden-footed across the hot sand. What would Dale Ghere, Dean Westgaard, Jack Lincke and all those who’d taught me preventative lifeguarding say if they saw this? I wove in and out of the crowd hoping nobody would notice my tardiness. My supervisors trusted me, the Bluebird bunch trusted me, the whole beach trusted and I was failing! It didn’t matter how many rescues, how many medical aids, how many Public Relations contacts I’d successfully completed. I’d let this one get a bad start.

“Oh! My god! Somebody help!”

The foundering man’s wife stood at the edge of the rip with her two children clinging to her leg. They cried in fear for their father who was now calling to anyone for help. The whole beach heard the cry and it seemed everyone was watching the drama unfold. As I passed the Bluebird Bunch, a “Go get him Charlie” rang out. I felt like a hometown batter—his team down by one run in the ninth—stepping to the plate and hearing the locals calling him to pull them out.

Popping my tube I passed the frantic family. With my first dolphin lunge I could see time was running out. He was nearly spent when I reached him. He lunged for my orange float—hugging it tight enough to bend both tips upward. Securing him, I swam him in to the open arms

Ware

of his loved ones—still crying—but now with relief. Helping him to his towel, he sat down, winded and pale.

I turned to jog back to my station and with the beach still standing, to my astonishment a slow steady clapping crackled from each group I passed. By the time I got to the “bunch” the applause was loud enough to cause embarrassment. I strained an uncomfortable smile as I stepped quickly up the beach. You got lucky Chucko, I muttered to myself as I reached my perch. Don’t they know I actually blew it? I thought as I fumbled wrapping my tube.

No, they didn’t know.

What they did know was a man and family were safe and I had something to do with that. How many thousands of times do guards perform acts of heroism without a single notice?

On that day a special moment had been rewarded and recognized.

Call it old-fashioned, out of step with today’s lack of consideration, but getting acknowledgment for doing a job feels good. It drove me harder to do my best in future endeavors and to believe that it is all worth it in the end.

Somehow I had lucked-out again. Even through I had taken a hardy swing and missed the ball—I bunted the next pitch. It was enough to bring my man home free and safe. We won the game and defeated disaster one more time.

The Water Balloon

For the past week there have been several incidences of local kids throwing water balloons at people on the beach from the cliffs. I am sure the kids think this is just a fun prank and it will not lead to any serious problems. Perhaps this story will cause them to think about the potential consequences to an unintentional victim. My story ends well, but I could have become permanently blind. Throwing water balloons from the cliffs must be stopped.

The Water Balloon

By Dale Ghere

June 24, 2008

When I came to Laguna Beach to lifeguard in 1960 I had no idea how much my life was about to change. I had been surfing for two years. I could swim well and I had taken Red Cross lifesaving classes. I had been a pool guard for two summers. I had passed the Boy Scout Life Saving Merit badge requirements while on my way to earning the Eagle Award. I knew how to give artificial respiration to a non-breather by lifting the person’s arms and pressing on their back. I could stop severe bleeding. I thought I was ready.

Right from the start I discovered that even though I surfed I really did not know much about the ocean. I grew up inland and had spent no time at the beach as a kid. When I came to Laguna I thought lifeguarding was going to be a fun experience. I did not know it would change the direction of my whole life. Everything became a new adventure that reminded me of stories I had read as young kid, like Tom Sawyer and Robinson Crusoe. I came expecting to learn more about lifeguarding. What I didn’t expect was all the other fun stuff that was required to become a good guard. Diving for Abs, lobsters, clams or halibut became normal events. Night dives, swimming through blow holes when the surf was up and making rock rescues pushed my comfort zone at first. Body surfing became as normal as swimming. The one new skill I loved most was chasing fish in a dory. I was making money by lifeguarding and collecting almost all the food I needed from the ocean. Life just got better each day.

On the first day of training I was told to go buy a pair of Churchills from Leonard Brockman at Sports World. It seemed crazy to me to spend that much money on a pair of fins. I think they cost about a half a day’s pay, probably seven dollars. I was stationed at St. Ann’s the first day because I told them that I didn’t know where Wood’s Cove was.

By the middle of summer I was so excited about the beach that I decided to drop out of college and go to Hawaii to surf for a few months. I would then return home, buy a woody and hit the road to spend the year on the beach. This new life was looking very good.

Then it happened. I saw a small kid standing to the left of my lifeguard tower just fall over like he had been hit by a freight train. As I turned to look at him I was suddenly hit on the side of the head so hard that I was knocked out of my tower and into the sand. When I woke up I realized that I was blind in my left eye. The locals on the beach called for help and I was transported first to the police station and then to the hospital. While at the police station I can remember looking in the mirror on the cigarette machine. I could see the blood pooled in front of the pupil. As I twisted my head from side to side I could watch the blood move back and forth with my right eye. Right then I was really scared. When I got to the hospital the doctor wrapped my eyes up and told me to hold my head still. He said there was nothing that could be done medically to save the eye. The only hope was that if I held still for two weeks then the blood might be reabsorbed by my own system and my vision would return. If in two weeks my vision had not returned I would have permanent eye damage from the water balloon. This did not sound good.

As it turned out the eye was healed, the culprits were found and I was given the wages I had not been able to earn while in the hospital. I was back on the beach before the end of summer and happy to be there. I did go to Hawaii that winter and learned that I really liked big surf. For $200 I bought a 1948 Ford woody, but I didn’t spend the whole winter on the beach as planned. I went back to school to become a teacher because of Dean Westgaard’s influence. I lifeguarded until 1974. I retired from teaching in 2000. The summer of 1960 set the path for the rest of my life.

Postscript:

Around fifteen years after the water balloon incident, say 1975 or so, I was in a Bible study in South Laguna where the leader was discussing the topic of forgiveness. He suggested that we each think of someone we had offended and go to him or her, apologize, and ask to be forgiven. One young mother said that would not be possible to do because she did not know whom the person was that she had offended. When asked what she meant she went on to say, “When I was a little girl I went with some friends to throw water balloons off the cliff at tourists on the beach. We went to the end of the streets like Brooks Street and Anita Street. When we got to Saint Ann’s Street one of the balloons hit the lifeguard and he really got hurt. All of the others were blamed for his injury; no one told the police I was there. They were all punished, but not me. It was my balloon that hit him. I know because I watched it hit him in the head. I was so scared that I never told anyone”. At the end of her story I simply said, “You are forgiven.” She responded with, “That is nice for you to say, but I need to say it to him.” I said, “You just did, I am that guard.” That simple act of forgiveness put an end to years of torment for her and started a long and lasting friendship between us.

Every Decade is Golden - Matt Fisher

Matt Fisher

1962 -1965

Written in 2004

Writing about my four years as a lifeguard has not come easy. Mainly, I think, because nothing extraordinary happened during my tenure. I was just one of the many faceless teenage rabble with just enough physical and social skills to get the job. In return, we were given just enough responsibility so as not to endanger ourselves or the public at large. It was better than work, but to be honest, the city paid accordingly. The leadership of this mob was made up mostly of PE teachers. It makes sense, when you think about it, since most of us were just out of high school and still understood that teacher/student dynamic of groveling and fear.

The routine was pretty simple. Most of the time you didn’t have to show up until 10am. Training days were really fun though they did start at the ungodly hour of 9. In four years, I never missed the “Red Hat” though my response time increased with each year. In my first season (1962), Tom Dugger gave me a two day suspension for not assisting a senior citizen get out of the water at Treasure Island Trailer Park. In my defense, I thought the crawl technique was the proper MO for seniors, plus this particular one owned the park and his complaint registered. (As I get older, the crawling part seems like a pretty good strategy.) I made a number of PR rescues, and a couple that were for real. In my official capacity, I saw one floater whose demise was directly related to a heart attack and not lifeguard ineptness.

I was ignorant enough to believe I was living in a perfect time. The golden age of Athens was nothing compared to the beach culture of California in the early sixties and Laguna was its epicenter. The ocean’s bounty endless, the water warmer and the surf cleaner than at any time in recorded history. And god knows, the women superb, you could ask anyone. I probably would have gone to my grave believing my own hyperbole had I not had the fortune to draw clean up duty after the annual bacchanal know as the “Life Guard Luau.”

The “jeffe” for this event was D.O. Jacobsen. Jake had a truck that could get to dump. As I recall, I did the heavy lifting and Jake drove. But what stuck with me were his stories of old Laguna. He told them while driving to and from the dump. Jake came of age in the late forties and early fifties. His stories including Hodge Podge Lodge, the wonder dog Bo Diddly, and the meanest sumbitch, Emil Hilario, to ever hit town were a revelation. The point is, every decade is golden if you are young and lucky enough to work at the beach. At least I hope so.

Footnote by Dale Ghere

Marilyn always referred to Matt as “THE CHARMER”, because he had a great smile and a smooth way with the women.

The BIG GUYS - Robin Williams

The BIG GUYS

By Robin Williams

August 2004

Guarded 1956-1958

His name is “Jake” Jacobsen and he was a big guy. His name was Dean Westgaard and he was a big guy. These were big lifeguards with real muscles that they did not need to blow up with weight lifting and steroids. They were built that way naturally. They were the Captains and they were the bosses. We took orders from them.

But, they never really gave orders. They used thought communication. You either received their thoughts telepathically or you worked your whole time as a lifeguard without knowing what you were doing. They were teachers in local schools and they knew how to communicate without talking. They just looked at you. You got the message. If you did NOT get the message, a slight smile would appear on the lips of Dean Westgaard. THEN you would get the message…BLAM…it would come crashing into your mind. “Oh my gosh, he just told me that I need to quit talking about my girl friend, get out of the Main Tower and off to my beach.” That kind of thing.

“Jake” sometimes used the concrete noun for the abstract quality. Like “Wheaties” for “swim power.” And “Mardi Gra” for the adulation you receive when you rescue a woman in front of her whole family.

One day early in the morning while Jake was busy putting out the equipment on the Main Tower, he said something without looking at me. He just kept dragging out boards and flotation devices and he said….”Heard you pumped your wheaties and used your grays yesterday and Mardi Grawed yourself all over Crescent.”

This meant that he heard that I swam out into multiple rip tides and used my brains to rescue a lot of people and one of the rescues was the wife of a Laguna Beach Police Officer and her family was there watching the whole thing.

Hurricane surf was pounding the coast and I had rip tides working both ends of the cove and the crowds just didn’t get it. They kept entering the water and immediately were pulled out to sea. I raced back and forth, up and down the cove from one riptide to the other and pulled people in by their hair. “Get on your back!” I shouted and then grabbed their hair and back swam them to shore using only my fins for power. This went on all day long. I had plenty of energy and I loved every second. We didn’t have the floatation tubes the guards use today but I did have my Churchill fins.

Then I saw a sight I did not want to see…dozens of people waving for help in both rip tides and two people waving for help right in the center of the cove. That was absolutely too many people in trouble. I was then overloaded. She is going to eat up all my time that I needed to run from one rip tide to the next. I ran to my tower, called the Main Tower for help and then raced out and got to the woman just before the next line of monster waves arrived. She said, “Are we going to make it?” I thought, why does she think we are not going to make it? “Of COURSE we are going to make it,” I told her. Then I added, “But you are going to have to do exactly as I tell you. I am going to take you under the waves if they come before we get to shore. When I tell you to take a deep breath, you must do it.” “All right,” She said.

I looked up and here they were. Lines of monster waves. We had no time to make it to shore as the water was rushing out to meet the first wave and pushing us out fast. “Take a deep breath NOW!” The first monster crashed right on top of us.

We banged and rolled around under water and I tried to keep our bodies in the roiling mass instead of getting clear of it. I wanted to use it to move us closer to shore. That worked…when we surfaced we were in waist deep water and I stood her up. The entire beach was standing up and watching us. Thousands of people were standing in a semi-circle watching the rescues. It was the 4^th of July and everybody on earth came to Crescent Cove that day. They filled the entire cove and stood phalanx like from the cliffs right down to the wet sand. I turned to make sure we were not going to be pounded by the next wave and noticed that her bra was down around her waist and her breasts were exposed for the whole beach crowd to see. Since this was not the French Riviera, I quickly lifted her bra back where it belonged and delivered her to her family. They disappeared quickly into the crowds and I went racing off to the north rip tide to swim out and pull people in by their hair.

This was more fun than I could stand.

By this time the big guys from the main tower arrived and I hand picked who was to swim out in the south rip and directed them and they all took off like lightning. Three or four came with me and we cleaned out the two giant rip tides of frightened swimmers in less than ten minutes. They could not believe how fast they were swooped out to sea. Their eyes bulged in fear.

NOW, the crowd seemed to come to their senses and nobody entered the water again that day. The action was over. Chad Burton and Bill Sorrells added their style of mirth by putting on a show for the crowd and pretending they couldn’t breathe. Phil Jones was motioning for the crowd to give him money, holding his fins out as a collection cup. There was more humor in these guys than all the stand up comics on the planet. The big guys hung around with me for an hour or two and then returned to Main Beach in the jeep and left me alone once again. The crowd was still laughing over their antics hours later.

Next morning after a cup of coffee with Dean and Jake at the Main Tower, I walked back to Crescent where I was the lifeguard for that week and picked up the telephone from my tower’s lock box and reported in to the Police Station dispatcher. “Williams at Crescent,” I said. The officer on the other end of the line said. “Check, got it.” Then he said, “I want to thank you for saving my wife yesterday.” My heart jumped. Her husband is the dispatcher? Does he know that I put on her bra? I almost choked on my own phlegm. “Oh, was that your wife?” “Yes,” he said. “She is all right but she really got scared. My mother in law took her home after you rescued her and she sat in the back yard for hours just talking about it.”

Gulp. Whew! Maybe her mother was smart enough to not tell the Police Officer what really happened with the bra incident. And I am fairly sure the woman did not know it happened at all. But there were about 1000 people on the beach who had more entertainment than they deserved!

The summer droned on after that huge hurricane surf of the 4^th of July of 1957. I worked my way back down the beaches, one week on each beach, until September rolled around and they appointed me the winter lifeguard for the City of Laguna Beach. Two guys went fishing in a canoe about a mile off Boat Canyon on a bright sunny day in February and capsized. And that’s another story for another time.

Oh, and one more thing. The big guys…invented the phrase “Maximize your human potential.” They did it by just looking at you without saying much. You got the message through the ether. Hope you get a chance to meet “Jake” Jacobsen some day. If he doesn’t say anything, just wait. You’ll hear him speaking to you in the silence. Or…maybe you won’t.

Robin D. Williams

August 26, 2004

Laguna