Lifeguard History

from Kai Weisser

Here is a 1958 photo

to

 share and spread the word again

that I am looking for historical photos and stories about Laguna Beach lifeguards.  We are 

still plugging along on the

Arcadia Publishing

history

book and any new/old lost/found images are welcome.  Cheers, Kai

If you have any of these items, please contact Dale Ghere, dmghere@gmail.com

Bunky Scores A 10

By Robert Potter

April 19, 2012

 

          Dale has said its ok to tell another story since it is raining in Wales again and I have the time I will beg your indulgence for a brief tale of Cajones.

 

          I cannot recall the exact circumstances that led us to the Aliso Pier that day but I think it was perhaps a training day. I know it was not during the training to become a guard as Conley Ware was there and he became a guard before me so if anyone else remembers this let me know.

 

          I recall an event that gave me a ton of respect for my elder guards when John Cunningham set the bar pretty high. John or "Bunky" as he was affectionately called by his students, first at Thurston, where he was a PE teacher along with Jim Herdman and our guard long distance runner Art Smart. Not sure if he got that name before teaching or why he received that moniker but I felt it was because it rhymed with Chunky. Bunky was very stout and solid as a rock so I was surprised when during an outdoor assembly at Thurston he was chosen by Chuck Norris to be part of the demonstration.

 

      Chuck Norris who was at the time the worlds champion in full contact Karate was doing assemblies and showing off the talents of his well trained body. He told Bunky who was on the grass at Thurston with half of the student body watching in a large circle to just relax and "DO NOT MOVE"...he said it again, "DO NOT MOVE". Chuck then put his hands on Bunky shoulders and positioned him with his wind breaker jacket standing oh so still. Bunky’s jacket had ties that went around the base of the jacket and the tied string was dangling and literally touching his pants coincidentally on top of his baby maker area.

    Chuck then stepped back and did a slow motion extension of his karate kick which was aimed at Bunky's "package". As he did this the whole assembly, teachers included, gave a spontaneous "OOOOOOWWWWWWW" with a nervous twitter and murmur for good measure. Bunky gulped but he was in it now and was too brave to back down so he just smiled like it was all good. Before anyone realized what had happened, including the Bunkster, Chuck Norris (this is a young studly Chuck under 30 at the time) had made a Cobra lightening strike towards Bunky and all the student body saw was the string on his jacket dance and jump up twice as Chuck had with the exacting precision of a surgeon made 2 ;count’em, 2 kicks before Bunky could even react to the first one.

    Pandemonium erupted and the school was laughing and shocked with a nervous relief that Mr. Cunningham was still intact. I was really impressed at how he had handled that and was glad it was not me up there. Bunky also liked to kick field goals and practice punting with one of the Los Angeles Rams kickers. I think his name was Tom Haas? He and the Bunkster practiced on the field up at Thurston and we used to shag the balls that Bunky and Tom kicked. Bunky was really good at it and those giant thighs were very competitive with the pro and if he was serious into practicing I think Bunky could have made the pros.

 

        I know I digress in these stories but it is cold and I got time on my hands. What can I say! I used to be a diver on the swim team with Conley Ware, Keith Carlson and Mark van Buren. Conley was the king and he was fearless on the 3 meter throwing 2 and a half pikes and 1 and a half back layouts and other such dives with twists etc. The three meter can be an unforgiving teacher for if ye miss ye pay the price with some serious smacks. Our teacher was state guard and waterpolo coach George Carey, who made nationals as a diver. So Conley had a good teacher and was probably the best diver Laguna ever had. 

   

                                   BUNKY THROWS DOWN THE GUANTLET

    So there we were all the young guards and some senior trainers not sure who but Bunky was one of the old west present.  We were there to learn how to officially do a pier jump for rescue purposes. Many of us had done this drunk, naked, many times but some of the inlanders like Robert Judge from Downey needed official training.

 

      I think Stauffer or someone else was talking and Bunky kind of hopped onto rail as we were looking down in the center of the pier where we knew we were all to jump. The atmosphere was jovial as we were on the clock and lighthearted banter was going on as the official instructions were being given. I was the closest to Bunky’s feet on his left and noticed him hands on his knees and focusing. I sensed he was going to kick it off with a dive when Stauffer finished but I was astounded when he got his "mark" and just dove without warning or notice. Keep in mind the pier height railing was about 7 meters or so!

     

       It was a magic slow motion moment as Bunky threw a perfect 1 and a half forward pike and absolutely nailed it! A perfect 10 was my score and I am sure some people might have missed some of the dive as he did it unexpectedly. I am not sure if he was ever officially trained or practiced as a diver but a great athlete for sure.

 

       Conley was aroused and as he was truly a great diver and his competitive side came up and of course he did another 1 and a half pike. He did land it quite well though I have to say it was more like a 8 and a half to Bunky’s 10 on this particular dive.

 

          I also knew that those around me were going to cry for my blood to step up so I quickly anticipated the cajoling that would ensue. So before one or 2 people started looking at me and began the peer pressure to keep up with the Joneses. I am sure it would have turned into a chant wanting a double or something. So I leaped of the pier and did a perfect..........(wait for it ) swan dive. Sorry Charlie but there was no way I would have risked a splat from that height I had to preserve good looks. So my hat is off to Bunky and Conley both for a dive show to equal the wide world of sports coverage of Puerto Rican Cliff Diving ...........ok, well sort of, kind of anyway.

Fondly recalled by Pottsman, aka Potsy

Early Morning in March, 1959

by Robin Williams

Early morning in March.   Water temperature 58 degrees.  Year, 1959?  (Help me here)

Sky grey and cloud cover over the entire sky.

Art Fizette was head of the Lifeguard department?  (Help me here)

We all hit the water and started swimming from Main Beach to Coast Inn Beach.

Boys begin dropping out and swimming to shore at St. Ann's.   Then more at Oak Street.

I remember seeing a great surfer having fun all by himself at Oak Street.  (Later he opened the Chart House.  Can't think of his name at this moment.)  Waves were big and tide was fairly high giving the swells ample size.  

I am not doing too bad so far.  But, I noticed that I am a slow swimmer because my legs don't have enough flesh to paddle me.   My legs are very skinny.   My arms are hauling me through the water.  My arms are skinny too but both together allow me to swim the test.

Oh oh, real rough water ahead at Cress Street.   I grew up on that beach with Jerry Johnson and Jim Boka. (Both are Laguna Beach Firemen -- retired)   I know the suction of the rocks.   When I pushed through the Brooks Street waves, I analyzed the Cress Street rocks before entering the roiling white water.   I think about swimming around the Cress Street rock, but when I feel the power leaving my shoulders, I think again.   All I can do is swim right through the rocks to the other side.   Now, the cold water is taking its toll.  My shoulders and arms have not enough power to help me get through the worst part of the suction.  It will only be just a few feet but I can tell that I won't make it if there is the slightest bit of current or suction.   I know without a doubt there will be a tremendous amount of water moving toward the sea.  It will pull me with it and it is likely to pull me under water too.   It was very big surf conditions and the Cress Street beach was all white water.  One more analyzing moment and I knew I was foolish to try to keep going.  I can't make it around the big rock and I sure won't be able to recover if I am pulled by the current further out to sea.  I might stand the possibility of disappearing under water.   I must take action while I still have strength enough to stay on the surface until help arrives.   So, my arm goes up and John is launched on a surfboard and is arriving to haul me aboard within 15 seconds.  That's it.  That's the end of my life guarding career.   I am finished. 

My home is at the top of the cliff on the highway and I simply went home and laid down on my wooden porch (It is a very old historic Laguna house.)   Used to be a restaurant in the 1930s called the TRAP DOOR.   I laid down in the sun and shook for two hours.  When I was rested up and strong enough to walk, I went straight to work on building my own business called COAST DELIVERY--PHONE-A-MEAL.  Then the CITY of LAGUNA BEACH appointed me to be the Winter Emergency Life Guard since I was mobile all over the city and available to rescue people at a moment's notice.  That was when I rescued those two fellows off of Boat Canyon who were fishing from a canoe.  Even though it was a glassy day they should realize that canoes tip over in the ocean with the slightest disturbance in the water.  They tipped themselves over and screamed for help.  I was called and told they were far out to sea.   I drove to Jim Boka's house and grabbed his surfboard out of his garage, drove on to Fisherman's Cove and hit the water and paddled out to the canoe which was sticking straight up out of the water.   When I arrived one of the fellows sank.   I was able to reach down and grab his hair and bring him to the surface to enjoy a long life.  At that moment the Newport Beach Harbor Patrol arrived and got the boys out of the water and they offered to take me to the beach which I thought was darn nice of them.

I would have had to go through a lot of gymnastics to get that canoe out of the water and back in business.  But, I welcomed the challenge.   I could have draped the two boys over my surfboard while I tried to get it up and over and back down into the water right-side-up.  I could have used my surf board to slide it up and tip it over to drain out the water and then back down.   But, how would I have loaded the boys back into the canoe without it tipping over again and again?   Boy, I guess I need to practice this maneuver.   It is all a mystery.  It might even be impossible.  Thank goodness for the Harbor Patrol!!!

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

                                                                                    ------------------------------------

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.