Check out this fascinating article in the LA Times. It’s the story of surfing’s early days, and the changes that came when surfing got dragged into the mainstream by Hollywood and mass culture, told through the life (and death) of surf pioneer Ray Kunze.
Here’s a long excerpt that explains the ways of the 1950s:
Surfing is a pop culture phenomenon now — fodder for movies and clothing lines, a backdrop for magazine ads. It might be hard to imagine that in the late 1950s, anyone who hung around the beach waiting for waves was considered a degenerate or worse.
Surfers of that era reveled in being different, setting their own rules, their own caste system. Their subculture thrived at hallowed spots along the coast, in Palos Verdes, Santa Barbara and, of course, Malibu.
At Surfrider Beach, the hot-dog masters served as tribal elders. Dewey Weber and Lance Carson, Kemp Aaberg and Johnny “the Malibu Lizard” Fain. Miki “Da Cat” Dora was their rebel prince. If one of those guys took off on a peak, no one else dropped in, especially not young gremmies or invaders from the San Fernando Valley. At least that was how it was supposed to work.
“It was … an unwritten law,” says Denny Aaberg, who, despite the celebrity of older brother Kemp, spent several years establishing his reputation. “You didn’t take off in front of guys or act like a jerk. You didn’t go out and hog the waves.”
The pecking order extended onto land, where a regular named Tubesteak ruled “the Pit,” a stretch of sand adorned with, at various times, a traditional palapa or junk couches and coffee tables.
Newcomers did not dare sit there. If you wanted to be part of the crew, you had to earn your spot.
“Basically, it was your prowess in the water,” says John Milius, the film director, who grew up at Malibu. “But there were people who gained power on the beach in other ways. They were wonderful organizers of parties or seducers of girls. Some were just colorful characters.”
Ray, now in his mid-20s, quickly made a name for himself.
Once, while he was paddling out, a loose board cracked him across the mouth. Kemp Aaberg rushed toward him as he emerged from the water, teeth gone, blood streaming down his chest.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Ray grinned and said, “Novocaine.”
Jimmy Ganzer, a Malibu regular who later founded the clothing line Jimmy’Z, recalls: Ray “wasn’t one of the style masters…. He enforced a certain kind of decorum. He was there to say, ‘Hey, you guys are way off.’ “
Sometimes Ray had to fight — Milius recalls him pounding a guy from the Valley named Karate Dan — but mostly he got by with a glare or a few gruff words.
And, as enforcer, he watched out for the youngsters.
One time, he caught Milius and another grom with a baggie of Benzedrine pills. Ray threw the drugs away, saying: “If I ever catch you with these again, the least I’ll do is tear your trunks off and make you walk to the highway naked. Or I might beat you half to death.”
And here is how it all changed:
Some say the trouble began in 1957. That was the year Frederick Kohner — whose daughter brought home stories about “the Pit” — wrote a bestselling novel called “Gidget,” which eventually became a movie.
Others figure it was inevitable that surf culture, by the nature of its actions, would be exposed. Surfers were out there on the waves, plainly visible from the beach and the highway. It was only a matter of time before society at large took a closer look.
In either case, all hell broke loose.
The mainstream created an idealized image of surfing, held it up as a symbol of Southern California, a romantic vision in beach party movies. Suddenly the sport was socially acceptable, a glamorous prop for admen selling laundry detergent and automobiles.
The old rules? The pecking order? All of that was overrun by the sheer number of kids charging to the beach.
Technology played a role. The new boards, made of polyurethane foam, were lighter and less daunting than their wooden predecessors. They were shorter and more maneuverable, letting kids eschew subtle nose rides for more aggressive turns and slashes.
“The old crew was in its last fling,” Denny Aaberg says. “And in the middle of that was Ray Kunze, trying to maintain law and order with more and more surfers every year. Trying to keep that old feeling, that old charm.”
Kunze died recently. But at least he was there when surfing was for the hardcore and the rebellious. Hell, I don’t even surf but this story makes me feel nostalgic…
“Ray Kunze? Who the fu*k is that? Now get the hell out of my way…”
The Earthist Chronicles 