SoCal After The War

Aloha and Welcome to this LEGENDARY SURFERS chapter on Southern California surfing after World War II.

Photo by Joe Quigg

CONTENTS

Flood Control’s Demise

Malibu, 1941-1946

Opai, Rocky and Yater

San Clemente, 1945-1949

Dana Point

Ned Jacoby, Peanuts and the Marines

Hot Curl Surfari, 1947

On May 7, 1945, Nazi Germany surrendered. “V.E. Day” ended all fighting in Europe on the following day.

Ending the angst amongst the Allies on how to end the war in the Pacific by having to invade Japan, the United States dropped atomic bombs on two Japanese cities in early August 1945. The Imperial Japanese government subsequently surrendered unconditionally on August 15, 1945, partly because they figured it was better to surrender to the Americans rather than the Russians.

The total cost in human life during the five year period of Axis (Germany, Japan, Italy) attempts at world domination: approximately 35 million combatants, plus ten million Nazi concentration camp victims.[1]

What war’s end meant for many soldier surfers was the return to surfing itself. For their friends, it was the gradual return of their surf buddies to the lineups. Significantly, the end of World War II set the stage for technological advances in surfboard design and a gradually increasing stream of U.S. Mainland surfers on surfari to Hawaii.

After World War II ended and the surfer servicemen “started coming back in late ‘45 and early ‘46,” Duke Kahanamoku recalled, “surfing once again took an upturn. But it was slow, for the military returnees were occupied with finding jobs or returning to their interrupted education chores.”[2] Many Southern California surfers went back to school on the G.I. bill.

FLOOD CONTROL’S DEMISE

 

Along with human casualties, the Second World War resulted in the destruction of one of the favored surf spots of the 1930s – Long Beach’s Flood Control.[3]

“In a rush of patriotism, defense planning and commerce during World War II,” wrote Steve Barilotti in a 1997 issue of Surfer magazine, the Navy built a breakwater in San Pedro Bay, at Long Beach, “effectively choking off south-facing Long Beach from swell action and turning the once wave-rich waters of Belmont Shores into a placid, sometimes stinking harbor dotted with oil platforms thinly disquised with fake palm trees as tropical atolls.”[4]

Today, besides the fact there is no longer any surf at Flood Control, the area is high in pollutants. “One of the major problems is that the Los Angeles River empties out into Long Beach,” explained Long Beach Surfrider Foundation activist Robert Palmer. “The breakwater holds all the inland garbage and scum that comes down the flood-control channel. You go west of 55th Street toward downtown and the beach sand is marbeled with oil, Styrofoam, you name it. You don’t even want to walk on it.”[5]

From the 1910s and throughout the 1930s, Flood Control had been a prime spot for surf. In California Surfriders, 1946, Doc Ball, surfing’s first dedicated photographer, wrote glowingly of the waves at Flood Control.[6] Doc was not the only one to hold Flood Control in high regard. His buddy LeRoy “Granny” Grannis loved the spot and explained:

“Flood Control was an excellent right that used to break where the Queen Mary is now on any good-size swell. It was rideable up to 15 to 20 feet. In September of 1939 we rode a huge chubasco-driven swell that was pushing over 15 feet. Ted Sizemore (an excellent surfer of the time and a Long Beach lifeguard) said that on a good south swell they had more rescues along parts of Long Beach than anywhere else on the Southern California coast. But during the war we all went away and they built the breakwater. There wasn’t much we could do about it.”[7]

“The Army Corps of Engineers built the Long Beach breakwater from 1942 to 1949,” continued Barliotti, “to house the Pacific Fleet along ‘Battleship Row,’ south of Palos Verdes and north of Seal Beach. At two and a half miles, it is the world’s longest breakwater.”[8]

MALIBU, 1941-1946

During the early 1940s, Malibu began to be ridden on a daily basis. Within a decade it would eclipse all other California surf spots as the epicenter of U.S. Mainland surf culture.

Before Europeans settled the area, the Chumash Indians had lived along the beach at “Malibu Surfrider Beach” for thousands of years. They called it Humaliwo, loosely translated as, “where the surf sounds loudly.” They were there in 1542 when the Spaniard Juan Cabrillo sailed his ships into the cove in search of fresh drinking water. He called the cove, “Pueblo de las Canoas,” village of the canoes. The villages were still there in the 1700s when the Spanish arrived and began their attempts to “civilize” the Chumash.

As for the first surfers to ride Malibu, it was in the year 1926. The riders were Tom Blake and Sam Reid; both lifeguards then, at Santa Monica Beach. Back then, there were armed guards at the Rindge Malibu Ranch and Blake and Reid had to evade them in the process of breaking open the new surf break. There were a few others that came after them, but Malibu was difficult to reach until the State of California opened the highway through the Rindge Ranch a few years later, in 1929, after a long legal fight with the owners.[9]

“The 1930’s brought surfers, but not many,” remembered Malibu’s first lifeguard Cal Porter. “If you didn’t want to surf alone you brought friends with you. My first experience there was in the late 30’s and five or so surfers at one time was a pretty good crowd, and that was on a good summer day with a decent south swell running. Early morning was best when there was no one in the water. The Adamson House was there on the point as it is today, having been built in 1929 for the daughter of the Rindge family and her husband. It is now a museum open to the public. The famous Malibu Wall where we leaned our boards was built in 1932 and is still there in part. It once ran almost down to the pier. The old two lane highway ran alongside the wall and is now a parking lot. 

“The Malibu pier had been there since 1905, built as a shipping wharf. Before 1938 a surfer’s goal was to reach the end of the pier at the conclusion of the ride, but that took a very large wave. After 1938 that became impossible when the pier was extended to its present length of 780 feet. A storm in 1943 wiped out the end of the pier and it was rebuilt to what we see today. There were no businesses or restaurants near the area in the 1930’s. The Malibu Inn that has been across the street for so many years was at that time located on the old Malibu Road across from the Colony.”[10]

Craig Stecyk wrote of an incident that took place at Malibu just before the outbreak of war, in October 1941:

“A confrontation is in progress. With only three guys in the water, Gard Chapin has forced the altercation over a drop in. This is typical behavior for Chapin, a gifted surfer, who turns and cuts alone in an era when almost everyone else trims. Gard’s verbose tactics alienate more than a few and his radical board designs aren’t really appreciated. One who wasn’t intimidated is Robert Simmons who bought his first surfboard from Chapin. Eventually, Bob went to work in the Chapin wood shop and there had his initial board building experiences. Other velocity-maneuverability standouts in those dark age days were Bud Morrisey and Dave Sykes. Morrisey contributed down-the-line shapes and was considered by many to be the first to walk the board at Malibu. Topanga dweller Sykes’ finely honed speed lines and turning were years in advance of others. Sykes delighted in perfect planing surfaces and placed 15 layers of hand rubbed lacquer over his boards creating a hard shelled outer surface many years before [fiberglass was adopted] ... To this day, Chapin, Morrisey and Sykes occupy prominent spots in the Malibu pantheon of innovators.”[12]

Then came the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and the USA entry into the Second World War.

World War II made it difficult to surf Malibu. With reports of Japanese subs off the coastline, the U.S. Coast Guard established a headquarters in the pool house of the Adamson estate, and the pier was used as a lookout post. Barbed wire went up and the beach was under constant surveillance. Dale Velzy made it out a time or two but not many more did. Malibu was blacked out at night with no house or car lights allowed. Long military convoys passed Malibu Surfrider almost daily.

At the end of the war in 1945, as many as ten surfers were seen in the water at one time. The crowd steadily increased and then in the mid-1950s “Gidget arrived and attendance soon after exploded,” recalled Cal Porter. “It increased so much that the State of California took over the beach and asked the County of Los Angeles to operate it. 

“Before this time, life at Surfrider Beach was free and easy. You could camp and sleep on the beach, build shelters, light fires and cook dinners, rent out surfboards, drink a beer or two, and pretty much do as you pleased. What the surfers didn’t want was supervision, beach rules and a lifeguard. So there I was on June 11, 1959 assigned as Malibu Surfrider’s first lifeguard. I think the idea was that I knew a lot of the guys there, I was an older lifeguard by then, and maybe they wouldn’t beat me up, at least not too badly. But it all worked out, lifeguards have been there almost fifty years now, running a tight ship, and protecting the thousands of swimmers and surfers at one of the most popular beaches on the California Coast.

“… The Point still faces due south and cranks out some of the best waves anywhere. A nice summer south swell works best, but first, second and third points are all ridden year around.”[11]

OPAI, ROCKY AND YATER

One of the surfer servicemen returning to formal education after the war was Tom “Opai” Wert. Born in 1924 and a founding member of the San Onofre Surf Club, Opai had gotten into surfing while body surfing with the newly-invented swim fins of Owen Churchill, at San O. At ‘Nofre, he saw “older” guys riding boards. He borrowed one and was soon hooked. His new love was interrupted when he was called up for military service. During his service years, 1942-45, Opai recalled that all he could think about was surfing. 

After the war, he moved to San Clemente and took advantage of the “GI Bill” by enrolling in Orange Coast College in 1948. He went on to become a school teacher so that he would have enough time to surf.[47]

Many other surfers more or less dropped out after the war, opting to continue with their surfing at all costs.

One of this later crew was Dave Rochlen. On April 3, 1946, after serving as a Marine in the South Pacific, Rochlen showed up at Malibu and was particularly taken to a surfboard made by “some crippled guy named Simmons.”[48]

“He’s got a great attitude,” said Rochlen of Simmons, “— he calls everyone ‘fucking pussies.’” About Simmons’ board shapes, “Rocky” Rochlen noted, “There’s something different going on here, the guy talks about particulated molecular masses moving up the face of the wave.” At Simmons’ house, on June 15, 1946, Simmons showed Rochlen and Joe Quigg his 12th creation. It was a redwood and he credited influence from Gard Chapin and Bud Morrisey. On the way home, Rochlen commented to Quigg that, “Yes indeed, something remarkable is afoot.”[49]

“What fueled Rochlen’s, and others’, great passion,” postulated John Grissim in his book Pure Stoke, “was their new independence, and an unwillingness to drop back into a regimented social system. The stance was not angry, it was go-it-alone, laissez-faire, unconsciously romantic, and a bit escapist. But that life was based on a clear, clean, passionate vision that was attainable – as were the waves. Whenever and wherever the swell was up, there was always plenty of room.”[50]

One gremmie missing the war was Rennie Yater who, by the mid-1940s, was riding a Pacific Ocean Ready Cut Homes board. “I picked up one of those Pacific System Homes boards, probably – I’ll say ‘46,” recalled Rennie. “The board was the classic one with the nose blocks and red pine wood rails, balsa center – what they called the kettle bottom round, flat deck. Tiny little fin. The Swastika model they made was a little thinner board than that. It wasn’t as big and bulky. It was smaller, thinner. I didn’t see those until later.

“The guy that had that business surfed San Onofre, apparently, and had the ability to make those things, along with the house projects. I don’t know how many of those things they made. A hundred? Two hundred? I have no idea. A hundred boards then was a lot of surfboards.

“Then I started going down and riding Doheny. You know, my dad would take me down there. I had to make a rack on the back of the car to get it in there. He’d take me and this other kid who lived up the street. We’d go down there, right straight off. Probably did that for a couple of years... mostly in the summer, because the winter really didn’t have much surf there.”[51] 

SAN CLEMENTE, 1945-49

Surfers Vince Nelson, Jim and John Severson told a little bit about their hometown of San Clemente after the war:

“Ahh, San Clemente,” recalled Vince Nelson. “Perhaps the intervening years have dimmed the past a bit, but it seems now that there were no winters then, only school and summers... We were lucky to live in little ‘ol San Clemente; post-war, pre-population explosion, pre-sexual revolution, before, during and after puberty in that kinder, gentler era.”[71]

Vince Nelson and the Severson brothers first rode the San Clemente pier area on Bud Gable’s inflatable mats – “‘Surf Tans’... that’s what was stenciled on them,” remembered Jim Severson. “We lived on those mats, and learned a lot about surfing as we went; angling, timing, shooting the green, turning back, shooting the pier. We put on a pretty gutsy show, but the pier fishermen weren’t our biggest fans. We’d be ducking lead weights, and worried about getting hooked.”[72]

“Just as I saved for and dreamed of my first pair of Churchill’s,” recalled Nelson, speaking of the early swim fins, “I lusted for my own surf mat. In the meantime, we all took turns (working) at the rental concession so we could use the mats. No money was exchanged (since we had none). We would pump those beauties up to the limit to get them hard enough to kneel and stand on. They had an odd seam-busting defect in that one chamber would break and then the mat would have a fat side to it. Lousy for surfing, but the tourists didn’t seem to mind too much (we were off sliding on the hot one’s). The staff was in the water more than in the concession, and Buddy complained there were not enough mats for the cash customers.”[73]

“We discovered S.C. in a great kid way,” Jim Severson said. “You could walk anywhere. There were trails across fields, through eucalyptus-lined canyons and up and down the bluffs to the beach...

“Bikes were kind of scarce right after the war. Some of us had them, but it was often simpler to walk because of the difficulty of getting bikes through the canyons. Bob Sickafoose used to ride his bike to school; missed the 2” x 8” bridge at the bottom and sung the crossbar blues for a few days. Ouch! Also, we were big on throwing rocks. Just throwing to see what we could hit. I don’t want to say exactly what we threw at because there might still be a few unsolved cases. We weren’t bad, but everything was magnified because it was such a small town.

“The cops loved us because they tired of just writing traffic tickets. Bruce “Red” Crego was famous for giving tickets to anyone, regardless of status. His favorite time was Del Mar Racing season when he took great joy in nailing speeding stars. They named him ‘Red Rider.’ He was also the juvenile watchdog. He hated Walter Ryan and me because we built a tree house right over the spot he used to park with a certain local schoolmarm. Then there was the time a big dog was hit by a car and was flopping in the road. Walt and I watched as Red Rider came flying up, siren screaming, and as city pound master, pulled his revolver to dispatch the poor creature. ‘Stand back, stand back!’ he ordered. Point-blank he shot and missed three times, before a lucky shot mercifully ended it for the pooch. We spread the word of ‘sure-shot’ all over town, further endearing ourselves to him. But somehow, we felt a lot safer after that.”[74]

“The pier; fishin’, swimmin’, bodysurfin’, surf mats and exposure to the lifeguards and surfing dentist Barney Wilkes, and proximity to the surfing beaches led us on the natural progression to becoming Surf Kings. (Or was it beach bums?),” remembered Vince Nelson.

“When the surf was good,” added Jim Severson, “we’d get one of our girl friends to watch the concession while we matted. We had fun with anything that floated.”[75]

“There were other kids in our gang,” added Jim Severson. “Early on it was Walter Ryan, Jim Coberly, Larry Jones, and later, Terry (T-Street Terry) Miller, Ted Tafe, Bill Taylor, Tun Morgan, Tony Forster and the crowd slowly grew.”

“Before we could easily get to the surfboard meccas,” noted Jim’s brother John, “we started making plywood bellyboards. They were about 2’ x 3’ with rounded noses, varnished and usually had some distinctive painting. Mine had a surfing gorilla. They would rip, compared to mats...”

“As we got older,” Jim Severson said, “we needed more money to support cars and girl friends, and got jobs washing dishes and pumping gas, but the ultimate was... LIFEGUARD! Surfing lifeguards, with an emphasis on the surfin’. But it was to be years before we ever had a cash surplus again.”[76]

“Surfing was on my mind from the moment my sister Jane took me to San Onofre with her date Tom ‘Opai’ Wert, and I saw how gods walk on water,” Jim Severson continued. “Before we could drive, it was tough getting to Doheny and San Onofre where we could learn. We’d hitch or get a lift and then borrow a board, usually the worst ‘dog’ on the beach. Doheny lifeguard Dave Tansey was one of our main sponsors. His redwood-balsa weighed over 100 pounds and we probably didn’t. Dave taught us to stand the board up and then lean it back into the cradle of our arm, resting on our shoulder. We could get it there but then couldn’t lift a leg to walk. We’d just sway awhile until we sunk, dodging the falling board. We ended up dragging it to the water.

“You’d paddle like mad and pretty soon the board would start moving. Same with catching a wave. To get an angle, I’d stick an arm and a leg in the water, drag into a turn, and then stand and ride for the green. At the end of the wave, we eventually learned how to turn.”[77]

 

DANA POINT

In the 1930s and ‘40s, Dana Point was “California’s premiere big water spot,” according to Don James, until “Dana Point was commercially developed in concert with governmental agencies. The effects of this alteration of coastline are still being felt. Extreme shoreline erosion, storm surf property loss, severe pollution, and the virtual disappearance of the local fishing industry are only a few of the results.

“The point was named after author Richard Henry Dana, who immortalized the place in his book Two Years Before the Mast. Interestingly, Dana’s documentation of the early California hide trade, makes reference to an adobe-walled structure that is located near the break. This house is the ancestral home of the family of Cecilia Ortega,” who married Lorrin Harrison. The pioneer surfer and his Spanish land grant descendant lived together there for many years. Above where Lorrin built canoes and surfboards there hung in the overhead rafters, old cow hides, which dated back to the time of Dana.[78]

“Killer Dana was one of the greatest big wave spots on the West Coast. The combined talents of the Army Corps of Engineers and a contingent of Orange County developers reduced this majestic natural wonder into a permanently stagnant pond in just a couple of months. The Dana name lives on at the boat harbor, but this perversion of commerce bears no resemblance to the incredible original resource.”[79]

Before that section of coastline was reworked, a memorable moment was written down by Don James:

“We were down south filming an ‘Unsung Heroes’ motion picture short with Pete Peterson. Pete was out diving for the crew’s dinner while we surfed. Before the building of the pier and harbor, Dana Point was a great abalone site. Peterson was an incredible fisherman and no great conservationist. He used to take hundreds of abs a day from San Clemente reef week after week. I’m ashamed now that we didn’t know any better, but there wasn’t anyone around to tell us not to decimate the lobsters, abalones, and fish except for the Fish and Game Department wardens, and we used to elude them.”[80]

 

NED JACOBY, PEANUTS AND THE MARINES

Throughout most of the 1930s, San Onofre had been the beach party spot, encouraging loner surfers and others who did not go in for the formality of belonging to a surf club, but still appreciated camaraderie as well as San O’s waves. Ned Jacoby was around when more formal efforts were made to secure San Onofre as a surf spot, circa 1946-1947:

“In the years during WWII,” recalled Jacoby, “I was in the USAAF, living in Laguna Beach… and surfing at San Onofre whenever I had the chance. After the war ended – and still living in Laguna Beach – I surfed at San Onofre a lot. Mostly with Thayer Crispin and Ralph Kinney. Occasionally with George (“Peanuts”) Larson. Some of the regulars like Lorrin Harrison, Eddie McBride, Jim (“Burrhead”) Dreever, Opai and Fritz (“McGitz”) Watson, I knew, but not well. I wasn’t that good a surfer and they were pretty much our models.

“Back then, when you drove in to San Onofre you turned off the Coast Highway, crossed the railroad tracks by the old train station, turned left  and drove past a little shack before driving on down the dirt road to the grass hut – the area now called ‘Old Man’s.’

“There was usually a guy in the shack who would ask for something like a 50 cent entry fee. Sometimes he was asleep, drunk or both and we’d just drive by without paying. Nobody seemed to know who he represented or how he got there.

“However, when the war ended the Marines began to get more organized at Camp Pendleton. Then, one day there was a Marine enlisted guy in the shack. He wasn’t very friendly and wanted to know what we were doing there before reluctantly letting us pass. It seemed like a warning sign. If we didn’t do something soon it looked like we might shortly get closed out of ‘our’ San Onofre beach as simply a liability nuisance to a huge military reservation.”[81]

“Finally I decided to chance putting in a call to the Commanding Officer at Camp Pendleton – the legendary General ‘Howlin’ Mad’ Smith. After hearing why I was calling, General Smith’s aide-de-camp gave me an appointment to come out to Pendleton and present the case for continuing to use our San Onofre surfing spot.

“George Larson and I collected a folder of news articles and photos about San Onofre surfing and we drove out to Camp Pendleton to meet the colonel who was Gen. Smith’s aide. We didn’t get to meet General Smith but the colonel gave us at least a good half an hour. To our surprise he understood the situation immediately and was very interested. It turned out the Marine staff had no knowledge of surfing at all and didn’t realize why that particular location at San Onofre was so special and what a long surfing history it had. Nor what it meant to so many people.

“We heard nothing for several weeks. Meanwhile the rutted dirt road leading down to the grass hut had become almost undriveable. Run-off from the bluff canyons had cut deep into the road in several places. Surfers placed logs and boards to bridge the shallow ditches but the car tires were constantly slipping off and getting stuck.

“One morning we drove down prepared to negotiate the ditches and discovered to our surprise that the road was now beautifully scraped and filled! Not only that but the Marine at the entrance shack cheerfully waved us through.

“Eddie McBride was at the shack already and we asked him what had happened. Eddie told us that a few days earlier several Marines in a jeep had driven up and asked them where they wanted the road to go! The road scrapers got to work immediately! Then, a few weeks later the Marines extended the road and built some small beach huts maybe three hundred yards south of our grass hut. Soon Marine officers started to use the huts for a beach headquarters and some of them even began learning to surf – with help from the San Onofre regulars.

“Because of having to finally start work in Los Angeles, that was the last I saw of San Onofre for many years. I never knew the early days when the San Onofre Surfing Club was formed; who the guys were who put it together, how it was done or whether the Marines were part of the deal. Still, I like to think that the visit we had with General Smith’s aide that day… kept us from getting fenced out then and might even have helped lay the groundwork for the future club’s acceptance.”[82]

  

HOT CURL SURFARI, 1947

At the Ventura County Museum there is an archive of photos taken by Malibu resident John Larronde from the 1930s to the 1950s, and from San Onofre to Ventura. One of the photos shows George Downing, Russ Takaki and Wally Froiseth standing in front of their surfboards, on the beach somewhere. The boards all look to be under 10 feet, with pointed noses and outlines that have a hint of modernity.

When George Downing saw the photo in Hawaii, he had a good story: “Okay that was in 1947, I am positive.”

Russ was equally emphatic that it was 1949. Some surfwriters even have it as 1948. Further research will establish the date. As it was a Trans Pac run, it should be easy to check their records.

“Me and Russ and Wally sailed from Honolulu on a Trans Pac yacht,” continued George Downing. “We ended up in San Diego first, and got good waves at Windansea and those places. We bought an old car and headed up the coast and we also got good waves at Malibu. The board I am standing with, that was Pepe and one of my favorite boards. I rode that on a good day at Malibu and ran into the pier. I dinged the nose of my board and was pretty upset because I didn’t think it could be fixed. I got to the beach and saw Bob Simmons there and he said he would fix my board. I said, ‘How you gonna do that?’

“And that was the first time I saw fiberglass and resin.”[83]

This surf safari ran in the opposite direction of most trans-Pacific trips. “Switching the pattern that had developed over the previous 30 years or so of Mainland surfers coming to Hawaii – Wally Froiseth, George Downing and Russ Takaki took a surf safari to the mainland. As noted, dates for this event vary from 1947 to 1948 and 1949, depending on who is remembering. Irregardless of the year, as Wally put it, ‘We made kind of a sensation with our boards.”[84]

The Hawaiians arrived by sailboat, crewing from O’ahu to San Diego, then bought a Model A Ford and surf safaried between Windansea, and Santa Cruz.[85]

“Wally, George Downing and myself,” took the trip, explained Russ Takaki, “and there was two other guys and the skipper and a cook.[86]

“We didn’t sail back. I didn’t have that long of vacation. It took 15 days to sail out to San Diego and then we – ah, um – we had our sleeping bags and we bummed up and down the coast a couple of weeks, maybe more. Then, we had to fly back.”[87]

The three hot curl surfers renewed friendships with Pete Peterson, Whitey Harrison and Doc Ball. They also met Bob Simmons, Matt Kivlin, Dave Rochlen, Buzzy Trent and others. While at Malibu, the waves were unseasonably small and the water colder than usual. Pidgin parlance summed it up: “It no wave sho ‘so no can go.”[88] Russ, in his modest manner, not wanting to put the Coast waves down, merely described: “Fair surf at Windansea and a little bit at Malibu.”[89]

“Just imagine,” Russ shifted from waves to water. “When Wally, Geo’ge Downing and I sailed dat yacht to San Diego, we never had any wet suits. Nobody had wet suits. At that time. And, you know, with our redwood boards – you know, they didn’t float that high [off the surface of the water]. But, when you’re young, you know, you don’t mind that much. Never freezing, but we got to shivering.

“... the fellas would build a bonfire on the beach. Throw old discarded car tires [on the fire]. And they got to stink, but – anything to keep warm!”[90]

Wally Froiseth had a number of classic photographs taken of this trip that can be seen in Nat Young’s History of Surfing.[91] I asked Russ about some of the other surfers I saw in Wally’s photos.

“We got off [the yacht] and got to know all the guys who surfed,” Russ said about who the Hawaiians hung out with. “After all, we slept on the beach.”

“You could do that in those days,” I said.

“Yeah, those days nobody bothered [you].”[92]

“Several of the California surfers,” Russ added, “would trace our boards on large sheets of paper and did a fair job of imitating our boards.”[93]

Adding to Russ’ recollections of the Mainland trip, Wally Froiseth mentioned they had gotten to see Doc Ball and stirred up a lot of interest among California surfers to go Hawaiian.

“Yeah, well, see, after we made this trip to the Coast,” Wally told me, “guys started comin’ down, little by little; send pictures back and go back with stories of their own. At one point, I got a letter from [Pete] Peterson. He writes me, telling me, ‘Hey, Wallace, this guy here says you guys are out surfing Barber’s Point in 60-foot waves – that right?’”[94]

ENDIT

FOOTNOTES

[1] Grun, 1991, p. 524.

[2] Kahanamoku, 1968, p. 45.

[3] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. “Redwoods, Hollows & Redwood Combos.”

[4] Barilotti, 1997, p. 54. Robert Palmer quoted.

[5] Stecyk and Pezman, 1994.

[6] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. “Redwoods, Hollows & Redwood Combos.”

[7] Barilotti, 1997, p. 54. LeRoy Grannis quoted.

[8] Barilotti, 1997, p. 54.

[9] Gault-Williams, LEGENDARY SURFERS Volume 2: Early Twentieth Century Surfing and Tom Blake, ©2007.

[10] Cal Porter blog post, August 25, 2008.

[11] Cal Porter blog post, August 25, 2008.

[12] Stecyk, C. R., Sufers Journal.

[13] Lockwood, 2005-2006, p. 59.

[14] Lockwood, “Waterman Preston ‘Pete’ Peterson,” 2005-2006, p. 62.

[15] Lockwood, “Waterman Preston ‘Pete’ Peterson,” 2005-2006, p. 62.

[16] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Telephone interview with Hobie Alter, October 10, 2001.

[17] Lynch, Gary. Interview with Tommy Zahn, 27 July 1988. Tommy Zahn quoted.

[18] Holmes, Paul. Dale Velzy is Hawk, © 2006 by Paul Holmes, p. 50. Pete’s first balsa dated as 1936.

[19] Lockwood, “Waterman Preston ‘Pete’ Peterson,” 2005-2006, p. 62. See also “The Malibu Board,” and “From Wood to Foam,” chapters in the LEGENDARY SURFERS collection.

[20] Young, 1983, p. 61.

[21] Lockwood, “Waterman Preston ‘Pete’ Peterson,” 2005-2006, p. 62. See also “The Malibu Board,” and “From Wood to Foam,” chapters in the LEGENDARY SURFERS collection.

[22] Young, 1983, p. 61.

[23] Lynch, Gary. Interview with Tommy Zahn, 27 July 1988. Tommy Zahn quoted.

[24] Lynch, Gary. Interview with Tommy Zahn, 27 July 1988.

[25] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Telephone Interview with Hobie Alter, October 10, 2001.

[26] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Telephone Interview with Hobie Alter, October 10, 2001.

[27] Gault-Williams, LEGENDARY SURFERS Volume 3: The 1930s, ©2012. Chapter on Pete.

[28] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Wally Froiseth, April 3, 1996. This section on Whitey primarily drawn from LEGENDARY SURFERS Volume 3: The 1930s.

[29] Clark, Let’s Go, Let’s Go! © 1997, p. 24.

[30] Stecyk, The Surfer’s Journal, Winter 1993-94, p. 38.

[31] Surfer, Vol. 35, No. 1, January 1994, p. 30.

[32] Stecyk, The Surfer’s Journal, Winter 1993-94, p. 42.

[33] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with John “Doc” Ball, January 10, 1998.

[34] Kahanamoku, 1968, p. 45.

[35] John Grissim, Pure Stoke, 1982, p. 20. Dave Rochlen quoted.

[36] Lynch, Gary. “Biograhical Sketch of Dr. John Heath Ball,” February 2, 1989. Also Doc’s Notes on the Draft, May 19-21, 1998.

[37] Lynch, Gary. “Doc Ball, Legendary Lensman,” April 10, 1990. In his Notes on the Draft to this chapter, Doc noted about the $7.25 price: “hardback, yet!”

[38] Ball, John “Doc”. Early California Surfriders, 1995, reissued California Surfriders 1946, 1946, 1979. Published by Jim Feuling, 1995, Pacific Publishing, 2521 Palma Drive, Ventura, California 93003.

[39] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Surfing, Volume 32, Number 10, October 1996, p. 64. Book review.

[40] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with John “Doc” Ball, January 10, 1998.

[41] Lynch, Gary. “Doc Ball, Legendary Lensman,” April 10, 1990.

[42] Lynch, Gary. “Biograhical Sketch of Dr. John Heath Ball,” February 2, 1989. The NG piece ran eight pages, entitled “Surf-Boarders Capture California,” September 1944.

[43] Ball, 1946, 1979, 1995, pp. 52-53.

[44] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with LeRoy Grannis, Carlsbad, California, 26 June 1999.

[45] Noll, Greg. Da Bull, p. 93.

[46] Doyle, 1993, pp. 26-27. See Gault-Williams, “Doc Ball, Father of Surf Photography.”

[47] Crawford, Carin. “Waves of Transformation.” Internet Paper focusing on Southern California’s surf culture in the post-World War II period. URL:  http://facs.scripps.edu/surf/wavesof.html..  See also carin_crawford@qm.salk.edu. Opai is currently an instructor of American Government courses at Orange Coast College.

[48] Stecyk, Craig. Surfer, Volume 33, Number 12, p. 41.

[49] Stecyk, Craig. The Surfer’s Journal, Volume 1, Number 3, p. 41.

[50] Grissim, 1982, p. 20.

[51] Gault-Williams, interview with Rennie Yater, March 24, 1994.

[52] Press-Telegram, February 19, 1930.

[53] Press-Telegram, July 13, 1930.

[54] Press-Telegram, September 1, 1930.

[55] Gault-Williams. LEGENDARY SURFERS Volume 3: The 1930s.

[56] Press-Telegram, December 31, 1930.

[57] Press-Telegram, January 28, 1932.

[58] Press-Telegram, January 2, 1934.

[59] Press-Telegram, May 20, 1936.

[60] Press-Telegram, July 7, 1938.

[61] Press-Telegram, January 2, 1940.

[62] Press-Telegram, February 11, 1940.

[63] Press-Telegram, April 13, 1940.

[64] Press-Telegram, October 3, 1940.

[65] Press-Telegram, October 17, 1940.

[66] Press-Telegram, October 23, 1940.

[67] Press-Telegram, March 16, 1941

[68] Press-Telegram, October 16, 1941.

[69] Press-Telegram, April 3, 1942.

[70] Press-Telegram, April 10, 1942.

[71] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” A recollection of growing up in the late forties and early fifties by the “San Clemente Surfers,” Jim and John Severson and Vince Nelson, Volume 4, Number 3, ©Fall 1995, p. 92. Vince Nelson quoted.

[72] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” Fall 1995, pp. 92-93. Jim Severson.

[73] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” Fall 1995, p. 93. Vince Nelson.

[74] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” Fall 1995, p. 94. Jim Severson.

[75] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” Fall 1995, p. 95. Vince Nelson and Jim Severson.

[76] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” Fall 1995, pp. 96-97. Vince Nelson, Jim and John Severson.

[77] The Surfer’s Journal, “Sentimental Journey,” Fall 1995, p. 97. Jim Severson.

[78] James, Surfing San Onofre to Point Dume, 1936-1942, ©1996, p. 132. Don James written caption to image on p. 71.

[79] James, Surfing San Onofre to Point Dume, 1936-1942, ©1996, p. 132. Don James written caption to image on p. 73.

[80] James, Surfing San Onofre to Point Dume, 1936-1942, ©1996, p. 132. Don James written caption to image on p. 72.

[81] Emai from Ned Jacoby to Spencer Croul, October 7, 2003. Lorrin incorrectly spelled “Loren” in the original.

[82] Emai from Ned Jacoby to Spencer Croul, October 7, 2003. The story of the San Onofre Surf Club and the preservation of San O as a surfing spot is continued in Volume 5 of LEGENDARY SURFERS.

[83] Marcus, Ben. Interview with George Downing, date unknown but sometime around 2010. George was so adamant about the date, that I have gone from 1948 to 1949 (Russ’s recollection) to 1947. Makes sense that this began the “Coast Haole Migration.”

[84] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Wally Froiseth, April 3, 1996.

[85] Young, Nat. The History of Surfing, Palm Beach Press, Palm Beach, NSW, Australia, ©1983, p. 67. Lueras has Woody Brown in this group, but by Woody’s own recollections to this author he didn’t return to California after 1940 until 1993. See also  Stecyk, C.R.  The Surfer’s Journal, Volume 1, Number 3, p. 54.

[86] Stecyk and Pezman, “Rabbit Kekai -- Talking Story,” 1994. Steve Pezman has this event in “the postwar late 1940s,” in a special “Surfer Style” issue of Surfer magazine, 1983.  Noted in Lueras, Leonard.  Surfing, The Ultimate Pleasure, Workman Publishing, New York, NY, ©1984, p. 117. Lueras has Pezman as one of the early Californians to venture over. In the Surfer article, Pezman refers to himself the same way, writing, “They tasted Malibu as we had tasted Castles surf.”

[87] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Russ Takaki, March 16, 1997.

[88] Stecyk, C.R. The Surfer’s Journal, ©1992, Volume 1, Number 3, p. 54.

[89] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Russ Takaki, March 16, 1997.

[90] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Russ Takaki, March 16, 1997. Russ remembered the year of the trip as 1949.

[91] See Young, 1983, pp. 66, 67 & 72.

[92] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Russ Takaki, March 16, 1997.

[93] Russ Takaki, in notating the draft of the interview, July 1997.

[94] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Wally Froiseth, April 3, 1996.

[95] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Wally Froiseth, April 3, 1996.

[96] Gault-Williams. Interview with Wally Froiseth, April 3, 1996.

[97] Stecyk, C.R. The Surfer’s Journal, ©1992, Volume 1, Number 3, p. 54. Russ told me he remembers it as “around’ 1949,” but was very specific, when correcting my draft of the interview, that it was 1949.

[98] Stecyk and Pezman, “Rabbit Kekai -- Talking Story.” Pez has this event in “the postwar late 1940s,” in a special “Surfer Style” issue of Surfer magazine, 1983. Noted in Lueras, Leonard. Surfing, The Ultimate Pleasure, Workman Publishing, New York, NY, ©1984, p. 117. Lueras has Pezman as one of the early Californians to venture over. In the Surfer article, Pez refers to himself the same way, writing, “They tasted Malibu as we had tasted Castles surf.”

[99] Gault-Williams, Malcolm. Interview with Russ Takaki, March 16, 1997.