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.
Kirk House
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I purchased several kegs for the guests and a rock and roll band played until just after midnight. I and
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?"
"Bull***t!"
"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 double overhead 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:
'1. Respect nature and man;
2. Pack out whatever you bring to the Beach;
3. Know your limitations as a Waterperson:
If the surf is beyond your skill, then remain a spectator on the Beach.
The Pumphouse
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If the Shorebreak is beyond your skill, then stay out of the Whomp.
Let someone else have the Wheelchair.
-----You can always play horseshoes or paddle ball or work on your tan or chat up the ladies.
4. DO NOT covet your neighbor's wave;
5. Know your position in the Lineup;
6. Respect the Locals, they live the history of this Beach.'
I asked him what Commandment Seven was. He said today it was him, 'a couple of years back it was Butch,
tomorrow it might be me, and that it is:
7. Beware the Loco Local, sometimes it escapes the cave and then all hell breaks loose.'"
The Cave Door Is Always Open - To Some!
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My First Client smiled at me, for I had been taught those same rules by my surfing elders.
Sometimes I had been taught them through words, other times through blows. I learned them well.
He stood up, shook my right hand with his good left hand, and took his leave.
And I thought about the visitors who enjoy our fair beaches, and how some
of them might not know the Rules, and they may incur the wrath of the Loco Local.
If you are a Tourist, you should learn the Rules.