Dean Westgaard

Dean Westgaard

By Bill Sorrells

Dean Westgaard, now there was a man! He died of stomach cancer in his mid 50’s, one of the first guys to parachute off of Half Dome in Yosemite; that was on his 50^th birthday. Later when he lay dying, this big hulk of a man had shrunk to about a 100 pounds and he made the guys take him sky diving. One of Dean’s last wishes was to put on a spectacular sky diving show for the city that had been so good to him and his family. He organized that show and participated himself, even through he was so weak that he had to be helped into the plane and have his rip cord pulled by another jumper. The present lifeguard head quarters are dedicated to him. When we guarded together, he was like a big brother to us guys- “the boatman”. If I could go down 20’, he could go down 40’; not with any sense of bravado either, he just did it on a regular basis. He could single-handedly furnish the food for a lifeguard party with a few dives in the places he knew. Abalone, bugs, etc. I still see him rowing out up and over the oncoming surf and plopping on the other side like the Norse ancestors of his had done for hundreds of years. He didn’t just survive the surf, he taught it a lesson.

He always strove to keep lifeguards as a friendly, helpful presence on the beach while going about their official duties.

Dean loved kids. He was always ready to give them a few tips about the best fishing, diving, or body surfing – and if they doubted it he was out there demonstrating in his own inimitable way. Dean and Juanita brought their children up with the beach as a center of activity. First, Guy, then Scott, then Kurt, and finally Denise went through the stages of sand digging and wading to becoming skilled swimmers, surfers, divers, and volleyball players.

Dean worked to keep Laguna’s beach area open and well used. He was instrumental in keeping the basketball courts in the plans for the new Main Beach Park, because he knew the tremendous use that the old courts had received. He also strongly supported the acquisition of coastal parkland between Laguna and Corona del Mar.

Dean Westgaard guarded 16 years in the City of Laguna Beach, 1955 through 1970, one of the greats.

Al Mendez

Years: '75 - '81 "The / 2 years rookie program ("Danger Jack" Linkey /

Charlie Ware)

1975 coldest year on record for training... 47 degrees. Young, dumb & full

of c......

Beaches: Main, Picnic, Divers, Woods, E-Bay.

"Moved inland & got a job"

Best memories: Rookie workouts, La Bama party (Charlie Ware's b-day), BB King (Bill Brown), Bruce Baird (a classic), Lifeguard competitions (Brunswick "Bruno" / Mendez # 1 rowing team), naked pier jumps (w/ Steve McCormick's girlfriend), The "Dodger Run", Big Wednesday parties, buddy, buddy, buddies, girls, girls, girls!!!

Classic competition story: Brunswick / Mendez rowing the dory at the San Clemente comp on a red flag day. Last leg around the pier coming into the beach (huge set). Bruno: "oh shit Mendez, look at this set". "Row Bruno, row!!!" (Bruno rowed stern & I was bow) We couldn't make it out of the impact zone. We're now on the crest of a 12 - 15' wave when Bruno decides to bail off the back of the dory & shout: "see ya Mendez". Thanks Bruno.

Lifeguard buddies for life: Brick, Brunswick, Patterson & Houts

Classic buddy story: Jon Brick noticing a little crab on his leg while sitting on his tower. "I'm so huge... I am a true waterman... I've got sea life growing on me". True story!

Story Author: John Slowsky

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 sandwich 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.

Yes, I Know

Yes, I Know
By Dale Ghere
2000

Since 1960, surfing Lowers has always been one of my favorite spots here in southern California. At Trestles I have had many days of outstanding surf to enjoy and remember. It was one of the first places Kiwi and I would go surfing before we had to report to our beaches to lifeguard in Laguna Beach. In those days it was not unusual to be there alone in the early morning dawn hours. We would surf nearly every morning the surf was up because the Chief, Art Fisette, would allow us to be late if we went surfing before work. The options were: show up on time and do a “rock swim” for time or go on a “dawn patrol” and come to work late and miss the thousand yard swim. Art considered surfing good for developing strong waterman skills. He always said that it would make us better lifeguards.
It was not unusual for me to surf before work, lifeguard all day at Saint Ann’s Beach and then surf Brooks Street until dark. Surfing evenings in those days was usually done someplace close to home. This allowed us to eat quickly, take a long shower and get to bed early so we could get up before dawn the next day and repeat the cycle again.
As the years have gone by I’ve always enjoyed surfing the early morning hours, but for some reason the late evenings have become a very special time for me. There is something unique that happens for me as it begins to get too dark to surf, a feeling of peace and contentment. It occurs between the time I get out of the water because I can no longer see the set waves coming and the point of total darkness. During that time I am usually walking north along the beach at Trestles while watching the color of the sky change from a deep red, to purple, to black. I enjoy this time of being alone and quiet, thinking about how fortunate I am to be able to spend another evening in the water.
As my son Ryan got old enough to surf, the evening surf sessions developed into a special event for both of us; something to anticipate whenever the surf was up. To this day it is a time that we share and enjoy together.
There was such a night last summer that I always want to remember. Ryan and I had a good evening of surf together. It was glassy and warm. The waves were not large, but they were clean and had good shape. I got out of the water one set before Ryan. When he did finally make it to the beach we dressed and started walking up the beach in silence, enjoying the quietness. We had not walked very far when Ryan said, “I can hardly wait until Matthew is old enough to surf. It will be great to come surfing with my son.” I replied with, “Yes, I know.”
We walked on in silence.

Not on My Watch

Not on My Watch

By Dale Ghere
March 18, 2006

It was a perfect beach day for guarding. There was no wind, the water was warm and clear, the surf was small, there was not a cloud in the sky and the beach was not overly crowded. It was the kind of day that you have to find things to look at to keep yourself focused. This kind of day can lull a guard into thinking that he really doesn’t need to watch as hard as on a day when the surf is red flag. What can go wrong on a day that is so calm and nice?
I was walking between towers on the Main Beach because I was supervising the Rookies. The sun was at the perfect angle for looking through the face of the waves. The water was so clear that I could see objects in the sand under the waves. I had just stopped at the top of the berm to watch a school of corvina working a small rip in search of sand crabs that had been exposed by the previous wave when she walked past me. I had been contemplating whether or not I should go for a dive after work. Just then a young girl, wearing street clothes, in her twenties, walked past me headed for the water. Now this girl was interrupting my train of thought. Who was she and what was she doing here? It really was not all that unusual for people to come to the beach with street clothes on and then to walk into the water, but this girl was well dressed. She had her purse and high heels in her hands and was obviously going to get in the water.
Just before she reached the wet sand she gently placed her purse and shoes in the sand. Then she continued to walk towards the water. I expected her to turn around or to stop in shallow water. No, she continued walking into deeper water. First her knees got wet, then her skirt and then she was in deep enough to get her blouse wet. The surf was so small she could walk beyond the waves. Then it looked like she sat down.
What was she up to? I had seen guys jump in the water with jeans on, but I had never seen a girl with a skirt and a blouse on go for a swim. As I stood there I was curious to see what her next move would be. Would she go for a swim, would she come up and stand there or would she walk back to the beach and leave as quietly as she came – only wet?
She didn’t do anything. It took a moment or two for me to realize that she wasn’t coming back up. Now I wasn’t curious, I was anxious. Who was she and what was she doing? These were questions I asked myself with a big exclamation mark. Then I spotted her through the face of a wave. She was lying on the bottom. The only motion appeared to be caused by the ebb and flow of the waves. Even then I could not believe what I was watching. I just stood there as she drifted back and forth on the bottom. This could not be happening. My first thought was, “No one would walk into the water and drown themselves at Main Beach in the middle of the day. Maybe she can just hold her breath longer than normal.” No, it was time to act.
I ran into the water and grabbed her. As I ran back to the beach I jostled her hard to try to stimulate her to breathe. Nothing! A crowed quickly formed around us as I placed her in the sand and gave her a breath of air. I was relieved to see her begin to gasp for air after the second breath. She was going to make it! Then she stopped breathing. I repeated mouth to mouth resuscitation and once again she began to breathe on her own. This time she started to move and then she wanted to get up. I told her to stay down and that we would have help right away. She started to roll away from me and to get up on her knees. As I repeated my instructions I put my hand on her shoulder to restrain her.
I didn’t see it coming; it was something that no one had ever discussed in training. How can you prepare for something that you have never thought about? All I remember hearing was the word “Bastard” and then I blacked out. One minute I was happy I had just saved this girl’s life, the next I was trying to get her to stay down and then I was falling into a great abyss of darkness. As she had gotten to her knees she had turned and taken a full swing. She hit me on the side of my head with her fist. I was out and falling backwards. I must have woken up as soon as I hit the sand because as I was regaining my senses the girl tried to stand. She immediately fainted and once again stopped breathing. There I was back to giving this girl respiration, the one who had just knocked me out. The next time she started to breathe I would be ready. No more getting up and no more free swings. No more being a nice guy. Fortunately the ambulance arrived as she was regaining her senses. We strapped her on the gurney and headed for South Coast Hospital.
A lot of screaming went on while we were in the ambulance. Most of it revolved around her saying, “You had no right……..” and me countering with admonitions to stay calm and “It’s my job.” When we got to the hospital she continued shouting a lot of things at the nurses and doctors. She eventually said, “You can’t keep me here!” She then jumped off the bed, grabbed her purse and shoes and ran out of the hospital. The only things she left behind was some beach sand and a puddle of salt water.
When I got back to the beach there was talk that she had been in loud argument with a guy somewhere on Ocean Ave. No one knew who she was or where she had come from. The mystery lady just disappeared.
I think this story took place in 1969. I am not sure. The actual date is not important because it could have happened anytime. Fortunately she didn’t die on my watch.

A Days Work Wthout Pay, By Don Briscoe

Don Briscoe
1945 to 1949

A Days Work Without Pay

This story begins in Huntington Beach just south of the pier. My wife was a big sun buff and loved the beach. Now that our three daughters are grown and I no longer had to watch them in the water, one would think that I could have a nice relaxing day at the beach. But as all ex-lifeguards know, once a lifeguard always a lifeguard. On this particular day a group of six, two adults and four teenagers spread their towels next to ours. As soon as the teenagers were dripping with perspiration, two boys made a dash for the water. The front runner made a belly slide and was semi-submerged when his buddy, running behind him, jumped up and land with both feet on his friends back. This was so much fun that he jumped in the air and again and pounced on him once again. At this point my lifeguard training took over and I sprinted into the water and shoved the standing teenager off of the victim. I reached down and turned the young boy over so that his face was out of the water. He was breathing and as I supported his head and back, he looked at me with his big sad eyes and said, “Please help me.” I carried him to the beach and by then the local lifeguard was there. They transported him to the hospital. I walked back to where my wife was and one of the adult women said to me, “My son didn’t really mean to hurt Billy.” I said to her, “We can only hope that his neck is not broken.” Unfortunately I read in the paper the next day that Billy’s neck was broken and that he was totally paralyzed.

I am 77 years old and I still cannot go to the beach without lifeguarding

Hank Butcher Story, By Robin Williams

Hank Butcher Story,
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 and I knew every handhold and every route through any rock mass 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 who 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. Captain Hank Butcher sat down beside me. Hank is the consummate man's man. He is the guy that 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 that receives his 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 life guard 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 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 my time on the beach.

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.

Robin D. Williams
Laguna

Airplane on Main Beach

Airplane on Main Beach
Rod Reihl

On one overcast winter day in the early 1960s, a group of us were sitting in the tiny upstairs room of the Main Beach Tower, which was the headquarters at that time. I was sitting in a chair farthest from the windows. Dean Westgaard and Eugene De Paulis were looking out over the beach. Dale Ghere was busy with some paper work.

All of a sudden De Paulis gasped, stood up and jumped toward the narrow hole in the floor leading to the ladder and the room below. Westgaard yelled and made a dive for the stairwell. I quickly stood up and looked out the window to the north. There, coming directly at the tower only about seventy-five yards away was a small single-engine plane! My leap for the hole was too late as I was rudely elbowed out of the way by the preceding bodies. I practically free fell through the opening, waiting for the crash that never came. Poor Dale Ghere was left upstairs wondering what was going on.

At the last second the plane veered slightly to the south, barely missed the tower, landed in the sand, rolled fifty yards or so, and tilted up on its nose. Luckily, it was a bleak winter day and there was no one on the beach. Later they were able to repair the plane and it actually took off under its own power.

There was no harm done except for some high adrenaline rushes!

Footnote by Dale Ghere,

I remember this day also. I was sitting with my back to the window and looking down at some paper work when everyone just sort of disappeared in a flurry. I figured that something was happening out front that needed immediate action so I turned around to see what was causing all of the commotion.

I was caught in one of those experiences where people say that time seemed to stand still. I was looking eyeball to eyeball with the guy in the plane. I doubt that he even saw me he was so focused on the tower. With eyes fixed and jaw locked he was doing everything he could do to miss the tower and land on the beach. I just sat there transfixed in space and time as he drifted by. It felt like I could have just reached out and touched the wing. If he could have taken a picture of me it would have probably shown a slack jaw, big-eyed Cyclops peering out the window. It was all over before I could even flex.

As it turned out I think that he had some kind of fuel problem. He ordered some parts and got the plane fixed. He put in some gas, got a ticket for landing on the beach and took off for who knows where. I always figured he must have been a pretty good pilot to be able to pull off that trick.

Main Beach, Laguna Beach California

This is a nice picture of Main Beach by John Gill

Ocean Godfathers, By Jeff Quam

A letter from Jeff Quam
1969-1979

I was lucky to grow up in such a great town as Laguna Beach. Everywhere around town you got the feeling of extended family. A couple of blocks over from where we lived Mr. Trotter the baker lived, who, if I showed up mid-morning on Saturday and produced a nickel at the back door of his Forest Street bakery, would give me a great bag of day old donuts to sugar my Saturday mornings. Then off down Forest Ave. to our friend Earl, the butcher, to get a big hello and handshake and look over the biggest pickles I could ever have dreamed of. Laguna was full of stand-in parents, not in the bad sense of that meaning as in always telling a kid what to do, but in a good natured way of helping a youngster feel good about things.
For me, being so much in love with the ocean, the most powerful Godfathers in my world were my ocean Godfathers. They helped form and mold me into the ocean athlete I became. There were many influences, which had a great impact on my experience in regards to lifeguard, and surfing was key to that experience. Surfing puts a lot of environmental pressure on one to perform which is perfect for a budding ocean athlete. My foremost Godfather in this regard was Jack Lincke. Always taking me out before and after work, surfing and encouraging me to spend every spare minute in the water at St. Ann’s beach, surf-mat riding. He was also there at my older sister Cindy's wedding to lifeguard captain Eugene DePaulis when several lifeguards, Jack Lincke, John Parlette, Lew Parlette, and a couple of others cornered my Dad to convince him surfing was in my best interest and that none of those bad guys at Thalia St. would ruin my life.
I had swimming Godfathers too. The first I can remember was John Parlette who paddled next to me on one of those huge red rescue boards, during one of my early Jr. Lifeguard rock swims, and dunked my head underwater every time I'd raise it up to look around. A little later, it was Dale Ghere who was Jr. Lifeguard Godfather but also helped me out personally by letting me swim with his swim team during the winter months while I had to go to private school far from the ocean.
Someone who helped me out tremendously with my lifeguard experience both in the water and out was Dean Westgaard. Dean was from the school of " whatever doesn't kill you will only make you stronger or stranger. " He taught me many lessons about how to overcome my fears, mostly about having to do with high places.
All of these great people contributed so much to our department and to my life, I'm sure my experience growing up in Laguna would not have been so wonderful without all of these ocean Godfathers.

Jeff Quam

A Kiwi Tale

A Kiwi Tale

By Tom Redwitz


During the winter of 1978, Mark Klosterman and I traveled to the South Pacific to surf. We had heard about a lifeguard exchange program in New Zealand and thought it would be a great way to start our trip. We’d meet some fellow lifeguards, share ideas and have a place to stay as we explored a new country. In December we arrived in New Zealand to begin our adventure.

In the 70’s, professional lifeguarding was just a concept in New Zealand. “Lifesaving”, as it was more commonly called, was performed by volunteers. These were guys who loved to be at the beach, compete in ocean-orientated activities and “party hardy”. To attract participation, lifesaving clubs were typically established at the popular beaches with expansive clubhouses that facilitated large parties – picture a fraternity house, live bands, kegs of Red Lion lager and watermen in search of women.

Pihia (pronounced “pee-haa”) Lifesaving Club, on the west coast of New Zealand near the city of Auckland, was our first host while Mark and I were there and they generously offered to let us stay in the bunkroom of their clubhouse. Unfortunately, the clubhouse, perched on a bluff overlooking the coast, was showing signs of heavy wear and tear and had a swarm of mosquitoes hovering in the bunkroom. Making matters worse, our first night at Pihia, there was a raging party that made it impossible to go to sleep in the bunkroom. We were beat from traveling and after sizing up the situation, we realized we needed to find somewhere to sleep other than the clubhouse.

Being resourceful Laguna lifeguards, we located a small trailer parked on the sand by the water that served as a mobile lifesaving station. It was the type of travel trailer you might see being towed by a family on a fun summer camping trip. It was an ideal place for us to crash for the night, so we settled in and drifted off to sleep.

Just after dawn, we woke up to a person pounding on the trailer and yelling HELP! Mark and I stumbled out of bed and learned from the frantic man that he had been fishing from the shoreline a mile or so up the beach with his daughter and that she had been swept out to sea by a large wave. We quickly put on our Speedo’s, grabbed our fins and rescue tubes, and jumped into the man’s jeep so he could take us to the scene of the incident.

The beach at Pihia is like Huntington, long and flat. And the surf has multiple break lines both near the shore and far out. As we sped up the beach we could see the surf had picked up to about 10 feet and so we planned our strategy. I would swim to the outside surf line in case the girl was caught in a rip. Mark would search the wave zone closer to shore. Several moments after hitting the water, Mark caught a glimpse of dark hair tumbling in a wave, rushed toward it, grabbed the limp body of a young girl and pulled her to the beach. He immediately extended her neck to open an airway and gave her a few puffs of air. Fortunately, the girl regained consciousness and was soon being comforted by her grateful father.

The story would probably have ended there, one of countless rescues by Laguna lifeguards, except for the fact that a reporter happened to be passing by the scene as Mark and I pulled up and hit the water. She witnessed the whole rescue and thought it would make a great story for her paper, The New Zealand Herald. We agreed to meet her later that day for an interview about the rescue.

We spent quite a while with our new reporter friend explaining what had happened, our plan of attack and our actions at the rescue scene. We also shared with her our background in California and that we were participating in a lifeguard exchange program. During the course of the interview, she asked why we happened to be sleeping on the beach that particular night. This question caught us a little off guard because we certainly didn’t want to offend our host by saying the clubhouse was a dive or admit that we were party wimps and wanted to go to bed early. Mark, in a moment of inspiration, told a little white lie and confidently responded ” In California we believe in a ‘preventive’ form of lifesaving’ (which is true) and the surf was getting bigger (which was also true), and we decided we wanted to be on the beach just in case anything happened”.

The next day, our Pihia lifesaving friends presented us with that morning’s newspaper. There, on the front page, in two-inch high bold letters, read the headline “Lifeguards’ Decision To Stay Saves Life”. Also on the front page was a photograph of Mark and me in Speedo’s, down on one knee holding our rescue tubes. As if this wasn’t enough, The New Zealand Herald was a member of United Press International which daily shares the top news stories with its worldwide membership. Soon we began hearing that the story was in our local California newspapers and that Connie Chung reported it on the 6 o’clock evening news. My parents, who were vacationing in Hawaii at the time, had it flash across their hotel room TV. Mark’s dad heard our story over the radio while walking in Three Arch Bay.

Mark and I completed our lifeguard exchange duties over the following weeks as celebrity lifesavers. We eventually met up with fellow Laguna lifeguards Dick Johnson and John Gill, as well as San Clemente guard Larry Moore. We strapped five surfboards on the top of an Opel station wagon, taped an American flag to the car antenna and spent the next month exploring New Zealand for surf. That’s another lifeguard story.