All
Summer Long
~ Tales and
Lore of Lifeguarding on the Atlantic ~
Preface - Bonds On The Beach
All ocean beaches are the same. From one sunrise to
the next, with the
rotations of the moon exerting invisible powers, the tide rises
twice and
lowers. Cosmic impulses that began before time imaginable form
sea
vibrations that combine with the wind to ripple across thousands
of miles of ocean, ending on the shore as a crashing wave or a
murmured lap.
All beaches are different. The currents, the
temperatures, the
prevailing winds, and the nature of the bottom all create a brew
of
variables. The coast may be lined with rock, marsh, or
sand—finely-ground by
the ages and heaped in bluffs, topped with tall stalks of wild
grass, beach
plum, sumac, and bayberry. The beach may have high sandbars that
produce
long, building waves that crack as they fold. Or the water may be
deep with
sharp shorebreak drops where the waves snap suddenly, explode,
and shoot
out, sweeping the beach with new sand and the broken hulls of sea
life from
long ago, before retreating to begin anew.
For nine summers and part of a spring (from ’65 to
’73 and in ’75), I
was a professional beach watcher—a lifeguard. This was much
better than in
my earlier years when I was an amateur beach observer and did not
get paid
anything for the spying delights of the beach. Whereas before I
had been a
nosey gawker, now in my vigilant, yet professional role, I had a
license to
stare and watch, to scrutinize and analyze everything. Only the
horizon was
my boundary.
It always struck me as ironic that I was paid to sit in a high
chair and
baby-sit adults, teens, and families. It was great work most of
the time,
and ideal for one given to contemplation, observation, and
analysis. On the
majority of days, the water was calm and dangers rare. On those
days, it
offered visual Zen meditations amid the soft sounds of bathers
communing
with a mysterious part of their past, the light chimes of
children at
discovery, and the muted, easy tempo of the folding waves.
I have heard that the salt content of the human body matches
that of the
ocean. Perhaps there is a connection deeper than we know. The
ocean beach
provides a natural wonderland for children to frolic and a place
to be lost
in the elements of sun and breezes that sometimes seem to
breathe.
Although there were times when I was alone, it was not often
solitary
work. I usually had a bench partner to provide better
surveillance and act
as an emergency complement.
Bench partners came with different experiences and in
different sizes.
You got to know each other well, for you would spend the greater
part of
each work day sitting on a stand and observing beach theater
together. You
worked side by side for weeks, sometimes even months. Personality
and trust
were critical elements for the wedding of work.
The veteran partner who broke you in helped to shape the kind
of guard
you became. You learned how to deal with the public, keys to
spotting
developing hazards, and even how to bite into a whistle as you
blew for
maximum volume, sharpness, and impact. Because in my day the
veteran guards
had been to college already, you also had help in learning how to
drink beer
and advance a relationship.
A good partner could do the job of watching for developing
danger, react
to it quickly and wisely, and return life to a safer balance. The
most
complementary partners could anticipate each other's actions in a
tight
spot. A really good bench partner could also give interesting
commentary and
analysis to the unfolding scene, or, at the very least, strike
upon a vein
of conversation that was of mutual interest. Invariably, most of
the
conversations seemed to dwell on the opposite gender, and sex,
but
discussion could delve into the arts, politics, religion, sports,
and
family. It could be both profane and profound. Over time, many of
us—through
shared experiences, both good and bad—forged a bond on the
beach that will
remain forever.
I found camaraderie among lifeguards that spanned generations
and
locales. It is not uncommon for guards from one decade or one
beach patrol
to share experiences—some universal among lifeguards and
some distinctly
unique—with those from another time and place, particularly
among those who
have shown themselves worthy of the brotherhood.
They have witnessed and participated in the primitive aspects
of life
held in the balance. They have had the opportunity to swing the
odds towards
life by pitting their wit, muscle, and grit against ageless
natural
elements. They have seen the face that is confronting immediate
mortality
and have won the confrontation.
Nearly all the partners I worked with were college educated;
hence the
conversations were often an education in themselves. Indeed, an
oral
tradition is as much a part of lifeguarding as were the tales of Ulysses
or
Beowulf before they were put down on paper.
It was while meeting with generations of lifeguard friends
that I
realized the rich oral tradition of these men and women, and the
idea for
this book, a compilation of beach culture and life that traces
the evolution
of lifeguarding on the Atlantic, took form.
I began to write down my own experiences from my ten years as
an ocean
lifeguard and to interview and tape the guards I had worked with
as well as
some of the earliest guards at the Jersey Shore; I interviewed
and
corresponded with nearly three dozen men and women with
experiences spanning
seven decades, from the ’30s through the ’90s.
These first-person accounts and recollections were transcribed
and
edited. A few words were changed and punctuation was added to
clarify the
idiosyncrasies of the spoken word; however, I chose to preserve
the actual
words and diction of the voices over editing them into
"grammatically
correct" sentences. Thus, the voice and character of the
person comes
through more clearly to the reader.
The different voices in this book offer insight into the
heritage,
training, hazing, groupies, triumphs, and tragedies of
lifeguarding, as well
as skills and observations that have been handed down from
generation to
generation. They also provide valuable safety tips and mark some
of the
significant changes in guarding, including the introduction and
acceptance
of women as ocean lifeguards.
This book is an attempt to record a part of the oral tradition
and
culture of lifeguarding, to gather reflections upon experiences,
and to
preserve some of these voices of the beach. At times it may be as
ethereal
as the joyous squeals of small children splashing in the foam of
the low
tide, or as obvious as a shorebreak. These accounts are little
more than
tiny tiles in a mosaic; but when taken as a whole, they offer
each reader a
different picture colored by their own experiences. Although most
of these
recollections are snapshots in time from a small coastal town on
the Jersey
Shore, ocean lifeguards from practically anywhere or anytime may
find
something of their own experiences in this microcosm.
This book is also an attempt to pass along part of the
training and
experience that isn't written in the lifesaving manuals—but
is instead
normally passed along from one guard to another. It is my hope to
teach a
few lessons hard learned and record the deeds of these small but
mighty men
and women who guarded our beaches. It is my hope that it can
offer the
shared wisdom of many experiences and recapture what it is like
to be a
catcher in the rye.
Gordon Hesse
December 31, 2004