Surfing hit the southland like a tsunami, it was a fad, not a sport. My big sister's boyfriends surfed, now that I look back, I admit they were total kooks, but at the time, being eight years older than me they seemed like gods.

My sister visited the islands in 1958 with her boyfriend's family (heavily chaperoned I imagine). They stayed at the old Royal in it's heyday, before statehood and skyscrapers. Her surfing instructor, was supposedly the best on the beach, his name was Rabbit. Out in the waves, 2-3 foot Queens, there was nobody out, except for boyfriend Harold and his little brother. Rabbit instructed as the budding blonde cheerleader from the southland balanced precariously on the front of his thirteen foot aircraft carrier. All in a days work for the king of the beach.

Big Sis had taken about five rolls of film of her trip and, needless to say, at the ripe age of eight I was very impressed. I wanted to do it too, surf, the islands; swimming four or five laps of the pool underwater was nothing, 1958 was when I caught the fever. Finally three years later, my dad broke down and rented me a board up at the Huntington Pier, cost me five bucks at Jacks new shop on the south side of Main St and 101. Later on, when I turned 12, the old man went half-halfs on a New Velzey, I Paid Dial Finance six bucks a month out of my paper route money and just about the time it was paid off someone stole it (trust a surfer). So with the $19.95 "South Bay" surfboard kit , including instructions, buckets, brushes & squeegee I launched my career as a garage surfboard manufacturer.