New lifeguard headquarters

Hello everyone,

There is an update on the progression of the new HQ on the lifguard facebook web site.

New lifeguard headquarters (ground level & subterranean basement) with public restrooms under construction at the north end of Main Beach. Completion expected late March.

© Mitch Ridder Photography - All Rights Reserved 2014.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/100238871644/

DEAN WESTGAARD: FEARLESS IN THE FACE OF DANGER

By Jim Carnett

Thursday, May 05, 2005 (Jim was an Orange Coast College student in the early 1960s. He's been Director of Community Relations for 33 years. He is editor of Coast-to-Coast. This is a regular column that focuses on OCC's history and distinctive characteristics and characters.)

Dean Westgaard

He was a member of the Orange Coast College faculty for just 16 years, until his untimely death in 1982 at the age of 52.

He was Dean Westgaard, a professor of physical education and the college's first athletic trainer. His professional resume also included lifeguard, lifeguard supervisor and fearless man of adventure. He was known throughout the world for "pushing-the-envelope" in his perilous pursuits.

"We always called him 'The Mercenary,'" says Fred Hokanson, who was an OCC track and field coach and physical education professor for more than 30 years. Fred served his last several years as the college's athletic director, and retired two years ago. He is currently OCC's interim vice president of instruction. "We knew that if we ever had to go to war, we wanted Dean with us."

"He was an all-time guy," says Leon Skeie, who succeeded Westgaard as the college's athletic trainer in 1973, and has been an OCC staffer for 32 years. "Dean has been gone for 23 years now, yet we still regularly talk about him in the Athletic Department. That tells you something about the impact he had on this place. We retell his old stories all the time."

I'd only been an OCC staff member for a few months, in November of 1971, when I received my first introduction to "Deano."

I'd seen him around campus, to be sure, and knew who he was. But I hadn't had an opportunity to chat one-on-one with the rugged adventurer. Then, the Saturday following Thanksgiving, we sat side-by-side on a 90-minute bus ride from Santa Rosa to the San Francisco International Airport, and for another hour after that on a plane from San Francisco to Long Beach.

We'd traveled the previous morning with OCC's football team to the Bay Area to participate in a state-playoff football game against Santa Rosa Junior College. Dean made the trip as the team's athletic trainer, and I was sports information director. It was my responsibility to report the game to the Southern California media.

In a less than artistic performance, Orange Coast College's gridders turned the ball over seven times and lost a frustrating 26-22 verdict to Santa Rosa's Bearcubs.

Dean and I talked all the way down the Coast that day...well, he talked and I mostly listened. You might think that the topic of discussion was football. It wasn't. Dean spent the entire time regaling me with stories about his favorite subject...himself.

I don't mean that in a derogatory way. I quickly discovered that Dean was living the most thrilling life of anyone I had ever met. People loved to hear his stories. That Saturday, he enumerated one fascinating tale after another, all the way home. I was transfixed. He'd accomplished things that I realized I could never come close to experiencing.

He told me of his dream to one day jump off Yosemite's famed El Capitan (with a parachute strapped to his back, of course!). That's just crazy, I thought. He actually ended up accomplishing that goal nine years later.

Following our trip south, I was Dean Westgaard's newest and biggest fan.

"Dean was a true daredevil," says George Mattias, who was an OCC assistant football coach and physical education professor for 30 years, from 1963-93. "He did things that most of us can only dream of doing."

Jack Fair, the defensive coordinator for OCC's football team from 1966 through 1986 – and himself a pretty macho guy – once called Westgaard "the most memorable guy I ever met on a community college campus."

Born in Minneapolis, Dean seemed as "un-Minnesotan" as one could be. He was a Californian to the core (or dare I say, Corps?).

Dean attended Ripon College out of high school, a small, private liberal arts and sciences institution in Ripon, Wisc. At the age of 21, he left school to join the United States Marine Corps. That's when he first encountered the Golden State...and became hooked. He served three years at Camp Pendleton and El Toro, and played three years of Marine football. He was a weapons instructor at Pendleton. While moving up and down the coast, he began a lifelong love affair with Laguna Beach, sitting like a jewel on the bluffs and hills above the Pacific.

Following his military service, he attended the University of Redlands where he was a star football player for the Bulldogs. He earned a B.A. degree in physical education, and went on to complete an M.A. at California State University at Los Angeles.

Dean taught history at Santa Ana High School for a year, then was a physical education instructor and assistant football coach at Upland High School for seven years. Beginning in 1955, he worked summers as a Laguna Beach lifeguard. He spent 16 years as Laguna's supervisor of guards.

A big man with a deep voice – and a demeanor that blended the best of "macho" with "cool" – Dean was hired at Orange Coast College in the fall of 1966.

"He was one of those guys that you instantly liked," Fred Hokanson said. "He was a man's man, with a barrel chest, a huge walrus mustache and a booming laugh.

"He loved to joke and he loved to laugh."

Leon Skeie refers to him as "the life of the party."

"Dean was fun to be around," Skeie says. "We attended lots of post-game OCC football parties – frequented by coaches, their wives and staff members – and he kept everyone entertained with his stories. They were mostly stories about parachuting, skydiving and scuba diving. The funny thing is, he told the same stories over and over, but that didn't seem to matter. We never grew tired of them. The more we heard them, the more fascinating they became."

Westgaard taught physical education classes and served as athletic trainer for six years.

"Athletic director, Wendell Pickens, asked me to fill in as trainer during the spring semester of 1966," George Mattias said. "I did, and that summer he went out and hired Deano to become the college's first full-time athletic trainer. We really needed him, and Dean did an excellent job. He had a great personality and the athletes loved him. He was bigger than life."

In 1971, Dean gave a first aid and CPR lecture to the entire faculty.

"That was before we'd begun to teach first aid and CPR in our division," Hokanson says. "He did a fantastic job. I remember that Jim Fitzgerald, our VP of instruction at the time, told the faculty at the conclusion of the presentation: 'As you can see, coaches aren't a bunch of dummies.' Dean made our division proud."

"Dean once gave CPR to a young drowning victim on the beach at Laguna," Skeie recalls. "He worked over the young man furiously until the paramedics arrived...then they worked on him. Finally, they looked at Dean and said, 'He's gone. There's no hope. Let's call it off.'

"Dean wouldn't have it. He kept working. They finally transported the kid to a hospital and he ended up living because of Dean's tenacity. The kid came to campus a few months later and spoke to one of our classes. He told the students, 'I heard the paramedics say that I was a goner. I heard that! Dean didn't give up. He saved my life.'"

Westgaard went into the PE classroom on a fulltime basis when Skeie was hired as trainer in '73.

The OCC hotshot was addicted to adrenaline rushes and high adventure. He was an avid scuba and sky diver. An outdoorsman, he also loved fishing and hunting, and was a river runner. He body surfed up and down the coast and enjoyed climbing mountains. And, he had a stockpile of stories for each adventure category.

"Dean was one of those guys you could plop on the highest peak in the Sierra – outfit him with just a knife – and he'd be fine," says Don Jacobs, who was an OCC public relations professional and political science professor from 1965-95. "He was self-sufficient – one of a kind."

Westgaard taught scuba diving on OCC's campus and was advisor to the Scuba Club and Sky Diving Club.

"Dean is the one who started the college's scuba classes in the 1960s," says Hokanson. "We had a thriving scuba program for years, until insurance premiums made the program prohibitively expensive."

"Dean loved to dive," Mattias says. "He went throughout the South Pacific on a sabbatical leave and dove many of the old World War II wrecks. He also dove up and down the Pacific Coast. He particularly enjoyed going after lobster. And he had a number of close shaves along the way."

In addition to teaching scuba, Westgaard trained hundreds of sky divers through his own private business, Westgaard Parachute Enterprises, Inc. He opened the company shortly after he learned to sky dive in 1969. Under his guidance, not a single student ever died or was seriously injured in an accident. He might have been daring, but never reckless.

Dean soon became an internationally-renowned sky diver...and that's no exaggeration. He ended up logging nearly 2,500 jumps. He jumped in exhibitions and demonstrations around the globe, and made numerous jumps with skydiving teams in formation. Westgaard made jumps on every continent except Antarctica, and appeared in several Hollywood films as a stunt man. His daring exploits can be seen in a sky-diving sequence in the 1980 Peter O'Toole film, "Stunt Man."

"Deano actually took part in a number of film projects," Jacobs says. "He did all the parachute jumps in Dino De Laurentis' 1976 movie, 'King Kong.' De Laurentis never actually paid him for his hard work and Westgaard was ticked. De Laurentis stiffed him!"

Westgaard once asked OCC football coach, George Mattias, to fly him to Lake Elsinore. Mattias was a private pilot, and kept a plane at Orange County Airport.

"He asked me one afternoon if I would fly him to Elsinore," Mattias remembers. "I told him sure. He took a parachute along. After we took off, he informed me that we didn't have to actually land at Elsinore. 'I'll just open the door and jump out,' he said. 'Naw, Dean,' I nervously replied. 'I haven't cleared this with the FAA, and can't take the risk!' He let me take him down to the runway. But he would have jumped had I let him."

During the 1974 football campaign, Dean eagerly agreed to skydive into LeBard Stadium for OCC's homecoming. At half time, he was to deliver an envelope to the 50 yard line. The envelope contained the names of the winning homecoming king and queen candidates.

"I went out to LeBard Stadium at 4 p.m. that afternoon to watch his practice jump," Hokanson said. "It was perfect. He landed right on the 50. I was impressed."

Five hours later, as half time approached, the wind began to gust. It was coming out of the west.

"OCC's Dean of Students, Joe Kroll, was on the P.A.," Hokanson remembers. "He was the game and half time announcer, and the stands were packed."

Westgaard dropped a couple of streamers out of the plane to test the wind. Because of the breeze, the jump had to begin west of the stadium. "Look to the west...look to the west" Kroll exhorted the crowd. He whipped them into a near frenzy.

Dean made his exit at 15,000 feet, and was wearing a strobe light so that he could be seen by the crowd. All eyes were on the heavens...to the west. But Dean began to drift...to the east. Way to the east! It became evident that he wasn't going to make the 50 yard line. He wasn't, in fact, going to make the stadium!

Dean continued to drift east...over the stadium...over the track...over the tennis courts...over Fairview Rd. Gasps could be heard from the crowd. Kroll assured the masses that everything would be all right. But would they? We all feared that he might land on Fairview Road in 9 p.m. Saturday night traffic or, worse yet, get snagged by the electrical wires. Not to worry.

Westgaard landed safely amongst the rabbit hutches on the Costa Mesa High School Farm. He gathered his chute, walked across Fairview Rd. to LeBard Stadium and made a third-quarter appearance to assure the crowd that he was okay.

"For months after that, we'd kid Dean by saying, 'Look to the east...Look to the east," Hokanson said.

That spring, at the annual end-of-the-year PE Division banquet, Hokanson gave out the first-ever OCC Lame Duck Award. The dubious prize has been awarded annually to a person in the division who was not able to "deliver the goods on the proper spot" in a given year.

"That first Lame Duck went to Deano," Hokanson said.

To celebrate his 50th birthday, Dean fulfilled his dream of jumping off El Capitan. Though I'm not certain I ever specifically asked, it was my impression that Dean accomplished his feat without first seeking permission of the National Park Service.

During a 1973-74 sabbatical, Dean visited offshore oil locations in California and along the Gulf Coast. He also visited experimental diving stations in Washington, D.C. and at the University of Rhode Island. He spent time studying at the Marine Biological Laboratory in Woods Hole, Mass.

Deano attended an international conference on undersea education in Toronto, and went on scuba diving expeditions in and near Tahiti, New Zealand, Australia and South Africa.

He was a member of the National Association of Underwater Instructors, and the United States Parachute Association. He was an instructor and safety officer for the USPA.

Toward the end of his life, he used to tell me stories about his latest passion, "para-scuba." Dean would jump out of a plane over the ocean, land in the water, then submerge and go into full scuba-diving mode. It seemed like something out of "Dr. No" or "Goldfinger."

Dean became ill while sky and scuba diving in Indonesia in the early summer of 1982. He was forced to cut short his trip and return home. He took a battery of tests and the results came back as bad as they could possibly be. He had stomach cancer. Doctors gave him no hope. Westgaard died just three months later, on Sept. 26, 1982.

"Three weeks before his death, Dean attended the opening faculty meeting on campus," Hokanson said. "I sat with him, and he knew that he didn't have long to live. He was there to start off the academic year because he knew it would provide his wife, Juanita, with an additional year of insurance coverage.

"He'd lost weight, and his face was yellow with jaundice."

"The guy was always upbeat...in good times and bad," Skeie says. "In my early years on campus, we'd get dressed every morning in the coaches' locker room before class, and he always had a laugh and a story. I don't think I ever saw him down about anything.

"I saw him in the mail room after that opening faculty meeting in 1982. He looked thin and breathed heavily. He demonstrated a lot of courage, however. 'How are you doing, Deano,' I asked. 'I'm hanging in there,' he replied, upbeat as ever. He then told me about a trip he was planning to Hawaii.

"He used to kid me about my religious faith. We had lots of good-natured conversations. I told him that day, 'I'm praying for you, Deano.' He looked at me earnestly and said, 'Thanks, Leon.' He was appreciative. That was the last time I spoke to him."

Westgaard was soon hospitalized. Hokanson and many other OCC staffers visited him at Laguna Beach Hospital.

"I remember going there one brilliant fall afternoon," Hokanson said. "You could look out the window of his room and see the deep blue ocean. As we gazed out the window, an airplane flew by, low over the water, and dipped its wings in salute to Deano. It was a poignant tribute."

Seven days before he died, though he'd been in the hospital and could barely stand, he embarked upon his final sky diving adventure. He jumped with 15 friends – in an unauthorized jump – over Laguna's main beach.

"He was so weak that he had to be lifted off the floor of the airplane," said fellow jumper, Roy Holm, a former Laguna Beach mayor.

"Two jumpers helped him out of the plane and deployed his chute for him at 3,500 feet."

A crowd of more than a thousand waited on Main Beach, and cheered him with tears in their eyes as he struggled to the microphone after landing in the sand. He expressed his gratitude to all his friends...the residents of Laguna.

It was his last dive.

Following his death, Dean's ashes were scattered over Main Beach by several colleagues.

"Dean's loss is a tremendous blow to us all," said OCC's head football coach and athletic director, Dick Tucker, to the community. "He was a man who loved life and lived it fully. He was an inspiration to all."

A scholarship in his honor – the Dean Westgaard Memorial – was established in 1984. It's given annually to OCC's outstanding graduating scholar-athlete. Candidates are judged for their scholarship, citizenship and athletic participation. A U.S. Navy anchor and plaque were placed – during a ceremony – in Dean's honor in front of the Captain's Table on campus.

The Laguna Beach lifeguard headquarters was named after him.

Dean was survived by his wife, Juanita, sons, Guy, Scott and Kurt, and his daughter, Denise.

Dean lived an extraordinary life. He will be remembered on OCC's campus as long as people who knew him are still able to draw a breath. In fact, he'll probably be remembered long after they're gone. You don't forget a guy like Dean Westgaard, even if you've only heard of him second-hand.

I still feel Dean's presence when I stand in LeBard Stadium...and look to the east. What a memory! As Don Jacobs put it, he was one of a kind.

Always a lifeguard

Once you are a lifeguard you are always a lifeguard. It changes you forever.

My Craziest Workout Day Ever

By Rob Potter

April 15, 2012

            I moved to Laguna at the age of four and lived on Cypress so my first beach experience was at Divers Cove and through pictures I vaguely remember washing in and out on a raft and screaming with glee. We then moved to 9th street and our babysitter took me down those long stairs. I remember one incident that seems funny in retrospect but was harrowing for my sitter. My sister and I were ready to trudge up the stairs with the kind Norwegian live-in who was our day guardian. However, as there were no bathrooms down there in 1962 I was feeling a strong urge which required my immediate attention. I notified my babysitter who was aghast as I ran into the surf and went past the breakers to do my business. She was shouting and waving at me frantically to return to shore, but I was determined to finish even as the current moved me, which to her seemed perilously close to the rocks. After I was ashore she was extremely relieved. At the time I did not understand her angst, but I have always been fearless when it came to the water so it was a natural progression for me to become a lifeguard.

       My mother married a long time local Cy Painter and from the age of 6 to 15 I pretty much grew up living in the grey house overlooking Bluebird Beach. At that time we also owned the Shoals motel which was next door and it had a pool to rinse off in after the beach.

           We stored the locals volleyball courts in our basement and it was a ritual to help set up the courts everyday in the summer. We were able to get 2 courts easily on the sand in those days. There was quite a rootsy volley ball crew at Bluebird in those days led by Shar Buhlig who was a 1964 Tokyo volleyball Olympian. She trained my mom and a bunch of other gals in the finer arts of the game. They had an indoor league and played on the beach with devotion.

          The locals down there were legion and in my high school years. Bluebird was a hot spot to rival the Thalia gang, the Vic gang, the Sleepy Hollow and of course the 3 Bays: Emerald, Three Arch and Crescent. Main was mostly for tourists and a strong contingent of locals who were not as cohesive as the other local kids groups.

         As I have become more wise in my age, I realize how lucky I was to watch from my dining room table the Agate Street surf show which took place every morning before school as I ate Captain Crunch cereal. I went to sleep with the sound of the ocean rolling through my window. 

           Charlies Schoenlieber was the amazing fixture who surfed every single day and there were many other regulars, but none as devoted as he until little Jimmy Pribram who succeeded him for regularity. I remember him at about 6 or 7 years old ripping it up everyday. I never surfed there that much as my dad lived on Oahu and I surfed for 3 to 4 weeks every summer everyday for 8 hours a day 6 days a week with cookie cutter waves, which I rode for 400 yards or at least about a minute on each wave. The waves in Hawaii reform over the many reefs on their way to shore. So I was non-plussed when my friends in high school said, "Why don’t you surf more often". They would get up at 5 am and drive to Trestles to sneak past marines in cold water to maybe catch a swell and a 100 yard ride! I was unimpressed and to this day I rarely surf in California. Though bodysurfing the big uns is still my passion.

           At Waikiki I would paddle a mile out from the Halekualni (talk about a paddle, a mile to get to the line-up) in those days I did it on my knees and had small junior size knobbies growing below my patellas. Thank god for smaller boards as my knobbies disintegrated, but my knee paddling expertise would serve me well as a guard as I qualified for the famous paddling quintet that finally took first place over LA County for our brave and determined leader Jack Lincke whose competitive spirit thirst was quenched in my rookie year. I was the only 16 year old in the entire paddleboard finals and I did feel proud of that.

     Now as I am in full blown reminiscing I will share another tale or 2 before I narrate the craziest day ever. Before I became a lifeguard it was always great fun at 14 or so to mess with the tourists at the Surf and Sand (when we weren’t picking up on their daughters) but more so with our fellow Bluebirder guard Charlie Ware.

         I would scream and cry from out in the water with a mock cry of help with a wolf wolf sort of wail, "The sea monsters got me leg". I never meant to distract Charlie really, only to have a bit of fun and the giveaway signal it was me was "The sea monster" part of the cry. He would laugh I would laugh and it was all good. Then one day when the womping was AWESOME and Charlie was a bit on edge, as the beach was packed, it was high tide and the beach was crammed with inexperienced tourists getting pounded in front of the Surf and Sand. I decided to play dead and go completely limp as the shore break would roll my body like a corpse.  He didn’t notice for a bit so I kept it up and sure enough he was freaked to the max running down until he saw it was me. He gave a relieved knowing smile and shook his finger at me. I never faked for him again. So I say now, "Sorry Charlie only the finest tuna..." 

        Art Fisette’s sons were great watermen, but never did try out for guards. The eldest was particularly vigilant against the tourists. One day I was "helping a tourist" boy who had been stung by a jellyfish. He told him to rub sand on it! He was older than me and I was down on the pecking order so I didn’t say anything, but I thought it was a bit cruel as it only excited the release of venom.  But for an adolescent boys that was fun. So much sun and surf in those days. I will tell this similar story which I perpetrated against my good friend, fellow guard and understudy goalie Dave Koorajian. We were at Bluebird it was another AWESOME womping day at "Inbetween".  It was my day off from guarding and I was enjoying the day and the excellent waves.

          I was on my way in from a great sesh and as I removed my fins I saw the entire beach rise as one as if for a standing ovation and point towards the water directly behind me! I quickly turned to see 3 dolphins riding waves in towards the shore which was quite unheard of in those days. As I backed up I noticed Sahabo (Koorajians nickname) just ending his ride on another wave and he, like me, had noticed the entire beach in shocked awe looking and pointing at the water directly behind him. Being the quick thinking jokester I am I caught his attention before he turned around and said with fear in my voice and terror in my eyes "SHARK SAHABO, SHARK". He turned briefly and saw a fin barreling towards him. He just turned and literally walked on water, to reach the shore in record time. The Lord would have been proud. It was like a cartoon how he moved so fast. I must admit, I do still have true glee at this memory.

    After days like these it was not uncommon to have major lifeguarding parties which usually included things like jumping off of Dwinell’s roof into his 6 ft deep pool while drunk!   I can also remember one of my dates drinking the "secret weapon" and saying "this is really good watermelon". An old lifeguard trick was to literally inject a watermelon with rum which was hard to taste and so the unsuspecting dates would certainly be more "relaxed" as a result.

   Thank god it was the 70's as in today's politically correct atmosphere we would have been crucified. We often would, at the end of the night, drive to Aliso to jump off the pier ...naked of course. Ah yes, those were the days my friends. It was on one such similar night that I, who did not really drink that much, got a bit toasted and as luck and poor planning and a hot date would have it I over slept.

         The next day was scheduled a “not required” but bragging rights to the run-swim-run or “Gauntlet Swim” that went from Camel Point to Emerald Bay. I did not make it to the 5 am starting time and heard about how fun it was...really? Fun? I felt guilty so that Saturday in my tower I resolved to do the course on my own on the morrow. I was quite disciplined in those days and on my own did start the course and was well on schedule though I started at 6 or so instead of 5:30. At the Reef Hotel I decided to take a short Jacuzzi. Oops, was I cheating? Not really in my mind, but I did continue on and ended at Emerald Bay pretty nackered.  As I hit the shore I noticed the Ebay guard opening his tower.

     Holy baby cakes I thought.  What time is it? It was 9:45...yipes I have to be at main by 10 so without shoes I ran to Main just in the nick of time to see my fellow rookies getting ready for one of "the missing links" notorious workouts. We ran to Pearl as usual and a rock swim and a buoy paddle for good measure. Then he wanted us do a little extra for the north south rookie competition coming up.

      Jack looked me up and down as I was definitely lagging and not coming in my usual place and said "What is it my son". He called me “my son” because I did respect him so and really gave my all in his workouts and I was good paddler. I told him why and he just smiled his genuine ear to ear grin and said "Is that all?....”your anchor on the paddle, so get ready for one more paddle competition". For Jack who would often get on a paddle board and paddle straight out form Main Beach at 1 until he literally disappeared and return at 4:30. My craziest day was a walk in the park for him.

           I collapsed into my chair at Broadway and was thankful it was a green flag. I devoured my lunch and massaged my hypothermic cramping legs until the 6 o clock call.

Fondly recalled by Pottsman AKA Potsy

Robert Lyne Potter
Mailing Address 
327 CALLIOPE ST APT. D
Laguna Beach,Ca.
92651

Lifeguard at 73

I know I live across the street from my dad for a reason. It is because I get to see him be the hero and lifeguard I know him to be. 

Today he saved a life. For real. Like a lifeguard. Always ready, always thinking of what he would do if danger happened. He reacted. Immediately and without regard for his own life. 

I remember his story as a young lifeguard of rescuing a kid off a cliff and then realizing how close he was to death himself. It seems to be something that happens to him. Saving lives and missing death for both of them. 

A flash back. A different time and story.... 
That baby back then was in front of that wheel just like Henry was today but today dad and Henry were both saved. A little scratch. But not death for either one. 

My dad saw someone die when he was very little. And he could do nothing. 
I think of seeing something like that, something we all would have changed given the chance. You and I would have changed.
I know my dad. He would have played out a life saving scenario over and over in his head, how would he have saved that little kid. Practiced it until, Until, today. He execute, he helped, he saved. 

Later he told me that the distant memory had flashed back when he saw Henry hanging on. And he relived it. In that moment. And then he changed That moment right then. And it was different, and Henry lived. The old moment was from his youth. six years old. Watching from a distance with no way of helping. A little boy died under a tire. Crushed. 

But today he saved that boy even if he was much older and a different person. And he could help and he did. His training kicked in. Like riding a bike. Run, grab, pull. Safety. 

My dad is 73. Still a lifeguard. 

What happened...
I live across the street from my dad and our good neighbor Henry was moving out and driving away on his last good buy. 

You see. Henry's driveway is uphill from my house. My dad and I were on my front walk watching him get in his rented u-haul van and drive away. 

And then it got weird. 

Henry is older than my dad 80 or so. The rented u-haul van seemed to be giving him some problems a, getting it in gear, then he stepped out, one foot.

His driveway is uphill. 

The van started rolling back but Henry was not all the way in. Henry grabbed the wheel and held on. Both feet out now, dragging. The van rolled. Backward, a little faster. He yelped. 

My dad jumped forward. 

Time slowed down. 

The car rolling back even faster now. Henry hanging onto the steering wheel feet dragging. 

A vans design puts the front wheel very close to the driver door. And if you are being dragged backward hanging onto the steering wheel your feet are almost under the front wheel. I could see, time slowing even more, clearly, Henry's feet 3 inches from the tire and dragging closer in and under. 

The van was on a slight arc I could see over my dads shoulder the wheel turning out and Henry's foot almost to catch under the wheel. I yelled "pull him out" but dad was already doing it. 

Instinct of the rescuers mind. 

Practice.

The van was rolling faster. 

Then yanking the shirt just in time dad got Henry. And the van rolled past as they both spun out of the way and hit the ground hard. Just a few scratches. 

Dad did not see it but the arc of the car turning out put dad in just as much harm, if there would have been trip or a miss both would have been crushed. 

But he did not miss. And they were both safe. 

Practice.

The van kept rolling and BAM hit the light pole. Everything stopped. 

Review
The arc of the turning car would have rolled right over Henry. Body and head. I could see it. Just like that little boy so long ago. But not this time. Dad saved Henry. 

Full of shock. Beat up and heart racing, Henry took a little rest and then maybe because it happened so fast he just got up - said thanks with a big hug and got in the dented van and drove off. And dad walked home. 
-----
I guess we did that all the time as guards. 6 foot surf, Rip rescues, back to the tower without too much thought. Dad did the same today as he has always done. Dad put his life on the line for someone else not really worrying about it. 

I know all of you know my dad, Dale, to be this person. I just thought you would like to know he is still doing great stuff and still the guy you know and love. 

Like I do. 

Thanks for being my dad and a great person to us all.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Ryan Ghere

Earle Richmond –water balloon and other stories

July 1, 2008

I thought all of you would like to see this story.  It is just another one of the many stories that shows how times have changed in Laguna.  I don't think this would ever happen today.  Earle is about my age so this probably happened in the late 50's.

Hi Dale - I like reading your E-mails.  They are interesting and well written.  Maybe you should write a book.  I am serious about that.

No one knows better than you what a harmful weapon water balloons can be.  And, the real danger is that people perceive of them as harmless.

However, I have a good water balloon story that happened when I was a senior at Laguna Beach High School.  On Halloween night there was a large group of us on the senior lawn in front of the high school.  A Laguna Beach Police car drove by very slowly to check on us and was immediately pelted with water balloons.  It took of rapidly, undoubtedly to get reinforcements to make a statement that you do not disrespect police officers.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later two police cars drove up to the front of the high school. Side doors opened on both cars as the officers got out - and pelted us with a barrage of water balloons.

The police made their statement. As for respect, they received the highest respect from a large group of teenagers that Halloween night.  Those were the happy days.  Earle

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That was 1959.  One of my friends Dad was a lieutenant on the small town force, then. 

More small town stories regarding the police:

As graduation approached we, senior boys, had a stag graduation party at Irvine Cove, next to Emerald Bay.  It was in its natural state.  No construction yet.  In fact, as you may remember we had a lifeguard Luau there a few years later. 

We were drinking alcohol.  Every so often the Laguna Police would come by to check on us.  They knew we were underage and that we were drinking.  But, that being the case they wanted to make sure we all stayed in one place and did not get in to any trouble.  Mark MacMannus was totally drunk and was riding down the hill on a Banana leaf with only his jock strap on.  Dianne Dugan (who has since passed away) and a few other senior girls were in the bushes watching, as we learned later.

Here is another small town Laguna story involving the police. 

In the early sixties when I was a LBLG, John Majuri, a class mate of mine and one of my best friends and I were drinking in the South Seas Bar.  You may remember that was a watering hole for Laguna Beach lifeguards including Westgaard.  If you drink, then you know that and were probably there on occasion.  John was the bartender.  One night Jenny Jo Williamson, also our classmate, and a friend of hers visiting from the east whom John had a huge crush on were at the bar.  Jenny's dad was head of the Art Festival at the time (another small town fact). 

When 2:00 A.M. came John had to close down the bar.  However, the four of use stayed after closing hours and continued to drink. 

Then when we decided to move the party elsewhere John grabbed a bottle of sprits and we headed for the door.  The only problem was there were two Laguna Beach police officers waiting for us at the door.  One was a very tall Mexican, over six feet with a huge flashlight he was holding.  His right hand held one end and the other end of the metal flashlight was resting in the palm of his left hand.  It looked more like a weapon than a flashlight.

The other officer was a shorter blond man who was giving us the third degree and reminded me a lot of a yipping Jack Russell terrier.  They let the girls go (small town culture) and told John and myself to drive down to the police station in my car while they followed us (That wouldn't happen today).  When we arrived at the police station they took us inside to meet Lt. MacMurray.  The Jack Russell terrier kept yipping at us until finally Lt. MacMurray told him to "shut up and get out", in exactly those words.
Lt. MacMurray reminded us of the law that Bars have to be closed down by 2:00 AM and then let us go.  No booking or anything.

John MacMurray was a year ahead of us at Laguna High and played sports with us. He was our friend.  Lt. MacMurray was his Dad.

John lost his job at the South Seas as a result of that incident.  That was too bad because he was a good bar tender with a great personality.  John was my best man at my wedding to Sue Ellen.   Years later when John was still a young man he was killed in a freak accident at Elko, Nevada when a tree that was being cut down fell on him.

Doug Bartlett

Marilyn & Dale,

I am one of the Upland Boys from back in 1961 and 1962 along with Art Smart, Rod Becker and Pete Allen. We were the party house in Victoria Cove. This reunion was a great idea however business commitments have gotten in the way. Not sure how my priorities got turned around. Please say hi to all the group and particularly Dean Westgaard. Dean, as mentioned by others, was the person responsible for bringing the Laguna Guard job opportunity to our attention. For many he was also our mentor with his many stories and adventures as well as commitment to life guarding and fitness.

For many of us the Laguna Lifeguard experience was our entry to adulthood. It provides us the sense of commitment, responsibility, concern for others, physical fitness and some great times and friendships. It has certainly played a very important and memorable role in my life. Again Hi to all and tip a cool one for me!!!

Cheers,

Doug Bartlett 

Don W. Bestor

August 8, 2005

When we had the reunion in 2004 I had asked everyone attending to send me a letter that described some aspect of their guarding experience.  This is Don’s letter to Dale Ghere.

At the time of this letter Don was a Farmers Insurance salesman in Laguna Beach.

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Dale,

I started my life guarding career (2years) in 1953 after graduating from Laguna High.  I was hire by Mr. May who had an ambulance service in Laguna.

I mainly worked at St. Anns and Crescent Bay.  I grew up at Crescent Bay and became good friends with Bob Lowell the current life guard in 1946.

In 1953 we had a basic metal lifeguard stand with a phone and a small first-aid kit.  I only needed the phone once for an emergency when a young boy was hit by a wave when he was on a rocky point at Crescent Bay.  We rang the Main Tower for help.

Sunburn came when I used Noxema to protect my nose and face.  I soon learned that when Noxema wears off the skin is very tender and burns very fast.  I then went to a lady’s facial make-up to cover my skin.  I only had minor scaring, but no skin cancer.

Our trunks were red with white patch and we had no vehicles to use.  I also picked up trash and seaweed.  Sometimes I dug holes to put the seaweed in.  We all made an extra effort to rake the front of the Laguna Riviera Hotel at St Anns.

I was going to life guard in 1955 when they started a more extensive test.  The test was in May and we had to swim from the Main Beach to the Coast Inn.  I went to the local gas station and used their lube grease to cover my body and made the swim.  We also had to run a distance and enter the water and carry a person out.  I didn’t guard in 1955.

I hope this helps you out.

Don

Written June 8, 2006

By Dale Ghere

This was written for a newspaper article about the plaque that was given to LBHS by Paul Schilling.  Paul lifeguarded in 1937

At Wednesday evening's Laguna Beach High School Honors Convocation a plaque was given to the school by Dr. Paul Schilling to commemorate those past students who had given their all while serving in one of the armed services of the United States America.  Dr. Schilling graduated from LBHS in 1937 and served in the Navy during WWII.  The plaque was presented to the school by Father Chuck Maier.  Father Maier served in Korea and graduated from LBHS in 1950. During the presentation Father Maier stated that his best friend in school was John Adams, one of the names listed on the plaque. The commemorative plaque was accepted by Trevor Pierce, next year's ASB President. 

The plaque is titled, "They Gave the Last Full Measure of Devotion".  It will hang in the school library.  The following twelve names are listed: Allan Goff, Jr., WWII, Class of '38, Lloyd Babcock, WWII class of '38, Gordon Shive, WWII, class of '39, Weston Balfour, WWII, class of '40, Malcolm Shive, WWII, class of '41, Harry Ritter, WWII, class of '41, Milton Henry, Korea, class of '49, John Adams, Korea, class of '50, Arnold "Riley" Wester, Korea, class of '50, Henry Toro Herrick, Vietnam, class of '64, Daniel Neiswender, Vietnam, class of '64, and Steven Larrabee, Vietnam, class of '67.

The reason I was involved with the plaque is because of the 2004 lifeguard reunion.  That is where I first met Paul.  He was the oldest attending lifeguard.  There were two older guards that I knew of at the time, but neither one could attend because of health problems.  They were Don Brown and Bud Kerrigan.  Both Don and Bud guarded in the 30’s.  Don died in 2004.  Marjorie Burns Savage is still alive, but I didn’t know about her when the reunion was being planned.  Marjorie was a volunteer lifeguard from 1930 to 1933.  The city paid for training girls to be lifeguards during those years, but the city would not hire girls to be lifeguards.  Therefore any girl who wanted to lifeguard had to do it as a volunteer.

Paul had made a plaque earlier and had given it to the school.  It had been hanging in the library for ten years.  He had found three additional names and wanted to replace the old plaque.  He asked me to have the new plaque made.  The Plaque was made by A 1 Awards in Mission Viejo.  The cost was $164.32.

During the time the plaque was being made Paul called me and asked if I would help him attend the annual LBHS reunion.  It is held the second Saturday of every May.  It is held in Heisler Park and is for all past graduates.  He is not able to walk very well so I asked the lifeguards for the use of their sand wheel-chair.  He had a great time at the reunion.  Afterwards he and Marian took Marilyn and me to Las Brisas for most enjoyable lunch. 

I met Father Chuck Maier while at the reunion.  It was after the reunion that I thought of asking him to make the presentation of the plaque.  He said that he would be honored.  The presentation went well.

Did I Really Say That?

By Charlie Ware

April 18, 2012

Robbie Potter’s story exposing some of the funnier sides of lifeguarding sparked a rather interesting statement I made after a cold water rescue I had back in 1972. Great stories Potsy!

I eagerly waited for that phone call each weekend to get some lifeguard fill in hours from any of the permanent guards in the off season. Living in Laguna and going to college close by, allowed me to work fairly regularly most winters. The money kept me afloat until the steady money came in working almost non-stop every day each summer. Great gig for sure.

Jim Stauffer called me early one late February morning with just a “wanna work” dead pan voice. It was like music to my ears and even though it had rained hard the day before, I didn’t care what was on the LBLG agenda that day. The forecast called for a cool, clear and “breezy” day and I was sure that would keep everyone out of the mid 50’s winter water. As I arrived at HQ, Jim said we had a few maintenance projects to do and that this was a perfect day to get them all done. By noon we had a lot crossed off our list and the wind picked up to about 25 knots. The angry seas were both beautiful and treacherous. It looked like the San Francisco Bay out there. A call that a sailor has capsized his catamaran off of Irvine Cove came in and both Jim and I raced for the unit. As we blasted Code3 down Coast Hwy, the already cold wind biting at my face in our open air jeep, I was reminded that this why we trained in cold condition environs.

As we hit the top of the stairs at Irvine Cove we looked out at the 6- 8 ft. wind chopped waves to see a single sailor attempting to right his 16 ft. catamaran at least 500 yards off shore. Jim simply said, “Go help him and tell him this is not a good day for this.” By now the wind was at its peak and the water temp had plummeted. With no wet suit and just my tube and fins, I charged into the water at first not really feeling the cold, but after a few strokes, my head started pounding and it was all I could to swim head up to keep an eye on the craft and the victim. By the time I had arrived, the sailor who was wet suited head to toe, was in the water trying desperately to right the boat. He seemed determined to finish his adventure and after I dove down to un-cleat the sail we were able to right the boat together. Now, the cold temp was starting to take affect. I had planned to hitch a ride back to the beach with him, but he hitched- up quick and he was gone before I could climb aboard. The wind was blowing even harder now and he hit the beach in no time. By this time, I had drifted almost to Emerald Bay and I debated weather I should go with the flow and swim in at the north end of E-Bay or gut it out back to Irvine Cove. I knew first stage hypothermia had set in and I had to get moving fast. I took the shortest route towards Irvine Cove and battled the current most the way. When I hit the beach I was shaking like leaf and I couldn’t feel my hands or feet. Growing up and surfing in Laguna I had experienced this many times and thought nothing of it. I climbed the stairs to Jim standing next to the unit with that classic Stauffer grin. He threw me a towel and my light jacket and said,” Nice job, was it cold out there?” He laughed loudly as we headed back towards City Hall where the Police Dept. showers really worked best. The heat of those showers was all I could think of while we sped through town. Jim all the while, still chuckling as we recounted the rescue along the way. As we approached the intersection of Forest Ave. and Glenneyre we stopped for a very attractive gal crossing the street. As she crossed near my side of the jeep we made eye contact and I blurted out, “Wanna take a shower?”

I have no idea what made me say this. Perhaps the hypothermia had affected my judgment or she was just that cute, but Jim burst out laughing again. The good natured gal just smiled and continued on. I’m sure today I would have been severely disciplined for that remark. It was truly a great time to be a LBLG.

Bud Kerrigan

The First Laguna Beach Lifeguards

1920’s and the 1930’s

By William Wallace Kerrigan, Jr.

AKA “Bud” or “Wally”

2005   

My parents built the third house in Three Arch Bay in 1926.  My mother and brothers spent the summers, with my father commuting from Hollywood on the week ends.  There were no paved roads.  The area was so lonely and isolated that my mother demanded that we move to Laguna Beach where they had a grocery store, drug store and the Bird’s White House Café.  In 1930 they built a home at 235 Calliope, above Fisherman’s Cove.  The entire area was unpaved and virtually open fields up to Emerald Bay.  There were less than 50 homes in North Laguna.

When my wife’s parents built their home across the highway from the old Jahrus home there was no Pacific Coast Highway.

To my knowledge, Laguna’s first lifeguard was Dana Lamb.  He was hired in the twenties.  Dana’s father was the County Treasurer, but never strayed far from Laguna.  He built kayaks in the winter out of steamed oak strips and heavy canvas, which he diligently water proofed and painted a powder blue.  Dana quit in the thirties to try to kayak to Panama and maybe, with great fortune, make it all the way to Chile.  He had a tiny tri-sail, two sets of paddles, a crystal radio, a sterno stove, two large jugs of water and a box of canned goods.  He planned to stop at beaches at night and live off of the land.

In 1933 a reporter from the Santa Ana Register was at Divers Cove as we pushed him into the water.  His first venture ended at Oceanside.  The second time he got as far as Ensenada and we never heard from him again.

Ed Hobert succeeded Dana in 1931.  The next year he was joined by Bill “Skinny” Walters, George Bronner, Windy Brown and Orville Skidmore.  Ed’s starting salary was $100 per month and he worked seven days a week.  He was given a bathing suit as a perk.  Anything else he had to purchase out of his own pocket.

In 1934 Curtis Burns was hired to guard Divers Cove and Freddy Schwankowsky was hired by the property owners association at Emerald Bay.  I was hired to work weekends in 1935.  My pay was 50 cents per hour and I had to buy my own bathing suit.  Since the kelp beds were so extensive off shore we were given a pitchfork and told to have the beach free of kelp and sea grass by 8:00 a.m.  All of this was on our own time.

In 1936, the City decreed, for the first time in history, we could wear gabardine red trunks with “Life Guard” stitched on the left leg.  My number was four.  We were given one pair and we could purchase another pair for$2.50.

I guarded full time at Divers Cove (Which at the time was known as Boat Cove.) in 1937 and 1938.  The cove always had five or six skiffs, punts and dories tied to stakes driven into the bank.  We had a community box where all of our oars kapok pillows, spears, dive gear and outboard motors were stored.  It was never locked.  Nothing was ever stolen during my time there.  My full pay was $85.00 per month.

In 1937 Day Tawney, Jack Chamberlain and Lester “Bus” McKnight were added to the corps. 

Fish, lobsters and abalone were plentiful, virtually there for the taking.  One night Bus and I rowed up to Emerald Bay and speared a 40lb halibut.  Many of the guards would get a tire-rod and a Japanese diving goggle and after work would swim out to the reef about a 100 yards west of the blow hole to fill a gunny sack full of 12” to 14” abalone.  As a child I can remember taking a jack pole with a small lure and catching 8 or 10 four pound yellowtails in an hour while fishing off the rocks at Fisherman’s Cove.

All of the guards had a support group of beach regulars.  The Main Beach had the willing help of the Watkin brothers, the Delany brothers and Dale Micklewait.  At Divers Cove Dink Reisner, the Abrahm brothers, the Shipkey brothers, Bill Watts, Albert Frech, Bobbie Peacock and Tommy Peden would frequently get to someone in distress before I could.  At Emerald Bay Freddie had the support of Ralph Kinney and a group of Pomona College athletes.

Ed Hobart was the father of professional lifeguards in Laguna.  He arranged American Red Cross classes in first aid and artificial resuscitation.  We had a meeting early Monday mornings all through he season to compare notes and see how we could increase our skills.  We would frequently meet at 6:00 a.m. at Emerald Bay and swim to the Main Beach so Ed could check on our condition.  We did not have a phone or a tower at Divers Cove.  In an emergency we had someone on the beach run up to the Honnald House and call the Main Beach.  Ed was, simply stated, the best of the best.  In 1936 Ed got a tower build and a phone installed.  It made a big difference to the guards.

 Anyone who guarded at Divers Cove has had his Kodak moment.  One of the tests of manhood in the 30’s was to go to the cliff above the Blow Hole.  Then one of us would watch down below and when the tide filled the blow Hole we would signal it was safe to jump.  Curt Burns and Dink Riesner bloodied themselves badly on several occasions executing this dump (at least in retrospect) jump.

Our first aid training was, at best, cursory.  Doc Mallow’s drug store supplied us with first-aid kits that consisted of a bottle of mercurochrome, a bottle of iodine, a large roll of sterilized cotton, a roll of gauze a box of ammonia capsules and a tourniquet.  Every Monday morning Doc Mallow’s drug store would refill what we had used and bill the city.  Our artificial resuscitation instructor directed us to lay a rescue victim on his back.  We then were to lay his arms at his side.  Next we would raise and lower the arms above his head and then put then back to the side.  We were to vigorously continue this until he started to breathe again.  Later one of my longtime golfing partners, who was a doctor of emergency services at a major hospital, said he wondered how anyone survived this treatment.

My Two Most Memorable Guarding Moments

One Sunday we had the red flag up at Divers Cove.  The surf was up.  Ten foot waves were curling and the rip current (in those days it was called a rip tide) was very strong.  A lady who was about thirty years old swam around the point and got sucked into the blow Hole.  She was badly chewed up by the time I got her out.  In the process of the rescue I lost two fingernails and one toenail.  I carried her up to the tower and got a blanket from one of the beach goers.  She was breathing, but had a terrible wound in her left breast.  She had a one-piece bathing suit that was crimson red and blood was gushing out.  I told someone to call an ambulance.  I then pulled her suit down.  She had a hole in her breast and all I could think of was to stuff it full of cotton to stop the hemorrhaging.  Suddenly someone put a hammerlock around my neck and screamed, “You Bastard!  You exposed my wife in public.”  I actually started to turn blue.  People were crowded around, but no one made a move.  Some of the beach regulars saw I was in trouble and finally pulled him off of me.  During the struggle I managed to keep the wound from bleeding.  Doctor Mason said I had saved her from going in shock and possibly dying.  They patched me up and gave me Monday off with pay.

The other rescue that has stuck in my mind these last 65+ years occurred on another busy Sunday with an unusually large crowd.  The wind, tide and surf made for a very rough sea.  I noticed a man fishing off of rocks on the south end of Picnic Beach.  I left the tower and ran down and shouted to him to get back on the beach.  He gave me the finger.

About an hour later a kid ran up to the tower and said a man had just been swept off the rocks and was screaming for help.  Before this year we were given a soldered tin “torpedo” which was attached to a winch on the shore.  It had a small rope around it and the person in trouble was to hang onto the rope while the people on the beach pulled both the victim and the guard back to the beach.  In 1936, after years of guard’s complaints, we were assigned a long slim rubber tube that we could snap around someone to pull then into shore.  I took my tube and jumped into the water and finally reached the fisherman.  He was so large I could not wrap the tube around him.  He still had his wading pants on and could not swim.  Both of us were being ground into the rocks.   I finally pulled him into deep water just as Day Tawney and Jack Chamberlain arrived in the dory from Main Beach.  Together we pulled him on board.  Day told me that I was bleeding.  I swam ashore.  My girl friend (later my wife for 55 years) got someone to cover my by beach and then she drove me down to Dr. Mason’s office.  He put a few stitches in me and I went back to work.  About a hour later the fisherman’s wife came to the tower and thanked me.  She then asked me if I would mind swimming out to try to locate his fishing pole!

When I look back at those summers so long ago, my thoughts can be summed up in the song from my father’s old Vaudville act; Those Hazy, Crazy, Lazy Days of Summer” and the words from Fiddler on the Roof, “Those were the days my friend, I thought they’d never end…”

P.S.  When I went full time as a guard I was paid $85 per month.  I worked six days a week from 8:30a.m. to 5:30 p.m.  In 1938 I was given a raise to $100 per month.  Cleaning the beach every day was my responsibility.  This was done on my own time.  Still it was the best job of my life, including my tenure as a corporate president.

In writing this “Remembrances of Things Past” I must recognize several people.

Refugio Coronado

This gentleman was of an indeterminate age.  Supposedly he was a 100 years old when he died; a true old man of the sea.  He appeared in Laguna after World War I and specialized in building boats dories, skiffs and punts.  He constructed all the lifeguard ship-lap dories from San Diego to Santa Monica.  A Coronado built boat was a thing of beauty and a true work of art.  Although this may be an apocalyptic story it is worth repeating.  It was said that his wife was fixing tortillas for dinner in an outside oven on his small spread in Laguna Canyon when she said, “I am going now Refugio.”  He said goodbye, ate his dinner and walked to the police station to report her death.

Pat Ford

Another mystery man.  He lived in the YMCA in San Pedro.  His whole life revolved around beach volleyball.  From Cabrillo Beach to Oceanside, he was the apostle of volleyball.  He would arrive on the beach with a net, lines, ropes and Voit volleyball.  Soon a game was underway.  He finally formed a league with my father’s financial help.  The league included Laguna, San Clemente, Capistrano, Huntington Beach, San Pedro and Santa Monica.  Curtis Burns, Dink Reisner, Dale Micklewait, Jimmy Lu, Bob Peacock and I played in the League for many summers.

Foot note: Bud died in December 2008.  Bud’s Godfather was Charlie Chaplin and his Godmother was Mary Pickford.  Bud developed Lake Forest.  He said he lost a lot of money because no one wanted to live that far out of town.