Learn the Rules
I graduated from law school in June 1973,
took the bar examination
in July,
was notified that I passed in November, set out my shingle that
December. To celebrate my passing,
Tom Kirk hosted a party at his parents' house at the corner of Camino de
la Costa and Avenida del Norte
before the Christmas holidays. The house still stands today as it looked
back then.
several lady friends cleaned up the property while the last guests were departing.
Shortly before Christmas Eve, 1973, my first client
walked through the door. There was no money
for no secretary and he found me reading the Los Angeles Daily Transcript,
which I remember as being
offered free on a 30-day trial basis to new admittees. He had a cast
on his right wrist and told a story
of having been thrown to the sand by the Shorebreak south of Turtle
Rock down at WindanSea Beach.
On the Winter Solstice, their celebration down at the beach got carried
away with too much drinking and roughhousing.
On a challenge, with the sun setting at dusk, he ran into the cool December
water to catch a north swell and do
a flip in the water before he hit the sand. He got caught in some seaweed,
missed his timing, and ended up with
a dislocated wrist. He wanted to know if the cops could bust him for driving
under the influence of the
medications the doctor had prescribed to alleviate his pain. I informed
him that if the medications impaired
his driving, then "yes," they could stop and possibly arrest him. End
of legal advice, no charge for the words.
He said he was stupid, that he should not have violated Rule 3 and he deserved
to break his wrist.
I didn't ask about Rule 3.
We started talking about surfing in La Jolla, how the pack
at WindanSea was still large on the weekends,
but that other reefs were still pretty empty. He commented, "Wait til
Surfer Magazine shows a picture of
the Other Reefs,
then the crowds will congregate there." This was
a statement of the obvious, and we groused
about acquaintances of ours, people that had gone to the La Jolla schools
in and out of the water, how they had sold
out their brethren and now worked for these rags and outed the beaches
that we had enjoyed in the past with mates.
"Progress?"
"Bullshit!"
"Making a living. Nice to do it in something you enjoy."
"Prostitution,. Selling the solitude of
the ocean to the masses to make money.
Hope these people surf crowded breaks for the rest of their days
and get run over by loose Hobie boards!"
This fellow still made his own surfboards
as he had done since 1958 when A.J. taught him in the village of La
Jolla.
He frowned upon the mass produced boards that were carried by all the
surfers.
I say, "Village!" That was when La Jolla was still a village by sight,
not just by words.
"What can you do? People like the ocean and nobody owns it."
He became quiet, lifted his wrist and showed
his cast. "Rule 3, know your limitations in the water.
I violated it, got drunk, got hurt. I brought it on my self. People
have to learn the Rules."
He asked if I remembered the fight down by the rocks,
latter part of 1969. I confessed that I did not.
He said it doesn't matter, because he can tell me what happened.
"Stormy day. Sun going down. Lot was empty,
gnarly surf with just two guys out, mostly unmakeable waves.
Young man, good surfer, from up north and just back from the Islands,
new gun. North swell with twenty-foot faces coming in at Middles.
Snakes one of the old guys.[ In those days, before us baby boomers
aged, an Old Guy was anyone over thirty.] Old Guy warns him,
'Don't snake, respect other surfers, plenty of waves for both of us.'
Young man doesn't listen. Most of them don't.
Snakes the Old Guy on a second wave. No words pass.
About thirty minutes later, the Old Guy
is driving down the line and the Young Man drops down in front of him
and the Old Guy leaps off his board and executes a flying football
tackle of the Young Man.
Takes him down below the water. Holds him there for an eternity, which
is twenty to
thirty seconds. Releases him and they both swim to the surface. Young
Man screams at him.
Old Guy grabs him again. Takes him down again. Thirty seconds again. Release
again.
This time, at the surface, the Young Man says nothing.
They both swim into shore to get their boards.
The Old Guy is the stronger Waterman and is on the sand first.
The boards are next to one another. The Old Guy waits until the Young Man
is on the shore and then he does a karate kick
into the Island board, splintering it into several pieces. The Young Man
has learned one lesson,
and says nothing. He starts to walk up the cliff and the Old Guy says,
'Pack out what you pack in.'
'What?'
'This rubble here is your board. You brought it down to the beach. You take it off the beach.'
They stare at each other for about fifteen
seconds, the Old Guy makes a movement toward
the Young Man, who instantly says, 'Right, I got it.' And he walks over
and picks up the pieces to
his board and carries them up to his car and packs them in his trunk.
Then he drives off.
I saw all this from the stairs at the foot of Nautilus, looking down past the rocks that were visible without the summer sand.
The Old Guy walks up the stairs with his board, a peaceful countenance. I asked him what happened.
Says the Young Man 'broke Rule 1, 2, 4, 5 and 6 of the Commandments and then number 7 came down on him.'
I'd been surfing here for about seven years
and wasn't aware of any Commandments.
He smiled, told me that 'I already learned them, they had been instilled
in me by surfing with the regulars.
They taught them to me.' I asked what they were. He listed them, one
through six:
