Surfers had to follow the rules

An old surfing buddy, Bill Cleary, died recently.

In the ‘60s, Bill put together a map of surfing spots, “Surf

Guide,” which became a classic. I met Bill in about 1958, when he

showed up at Little Corona one day, a flatlander from San Marino

curious about the waves.

At that time, Little Corona was the hangout of a group of

bodysurfers ranging in age from 10 to 50 and in occupation from

artist to unemployed, with everything in between. John MacIntosh, the

restaurateur, was a regular, but so was someone named Skunky.

Now, the surf at Little Corona can best be described as short and

sweet. On an average day, a good ride lasts about three seconds, and

with any surf, an immense rip develops. So why were all these

bodysurfers hanging out there? Elementary, my dear Watson. We all

lived in Corona del Mar.

Like most groups, the Little Corona band had its own rules and

regulations. As far as equipment, it was very simple -- a pair of

trunks, preferably faded, an old sweatshirt, the older the better, a

pair of Duckfeet fins and a towel. The only exception to this was my

daughter Nancy, who substituted a tank suit for the trunks.

There was a strict ritual for getting in and out of the water.

When you were ready to go surfing, you picked up your fins and walked

out waist-deep into the water where you put them on. You might get

knocked over a half-dozen times because you were trying to duck under

waves at the same time you were trying to get your fins on your feet,

but this was the way it was done. To don your fins while sitting

safely on the sand might have been more sensible, but you would have

been sent from the beach in disgrace for such a performance.

The same pattern held when you came out. You floundered around in

the shore break trying to get your fins off, until at last you could

stagger in.

Finally out of the water, you took your towel from the guard stand

and dried your face -- nothing more. This was probably because most

of the towels were never washed during the course of a summer and

were so stiff with salt that the less contact they had with your

body, the better. Then you hung your towel back on the guard tower --

although it probably could stand on its own thanks to all that salt

-- and flopped in the sand.

Putting the towel down on the sand and lying on top of it was

definitely bad form. Everyone settled directly on the sand. Now this

might seem a little quixotic, but there was a very practical reason

behind it.

Everyone always stayed out in the water as long as they could --

meaning until they were blue from the cold -- and there is no faster

way of getting warm than stretching out in the hot sand. With the

sand toasting you from below and the sun from above, in only minutes

they met in the middle with a little ping, and you were warm again.

To aid conversation, we usually spread out in a circle, heads at

the center. From the bluff above, it must have looked like a series

of wagon wheels.

When Cleary first showed up, he was viewed with all the disdain

usually reserved for flatlanders, but he hung around, becoming a

decent bodysurfer, and was eventually accepted as a regular.

Later, he moved to Topanga, where he wrote “Surf Guide,” which led

to “Surf Guide” magazine and a role as guru to the burgeoning surf

culture.

However, it’s my understanding that in those later years, he was

often seen sitting on a towel or even in a beach chair, so maybe he

wasn’t such a Little Corona regular after all.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.