All Summer Long
~ Tales and Lore of Lifeguarding on the Atlantic ~

by Gordon Hesse

A Sampling of Words & Images

~ Images from All Summer Long ~

Above are some of the primary voices in All Summer Long.

Author Gordon Hesse on the stand at Lavallette beach, mid-1960s.

Author Gordon Hesse on Lavallette beach, November 2005.

The former Carol MacKinnon stands proudly wearing her lifeguard suit with its Red Cross insignia (circa 1940). She was, most likely, the first female lifeguard on the ocean in Lavallette.

Map of Lavallette, NJ.
Note: Beach locations varied from year to year. Shown are circa 1967.

The 1939 Lavallette Beach Patrol - "Atlantic Coast Lifeguard Champions."
From left to right: Rudy Krone, Harry Bloom, Elmer Brackman, and Al Krone. These lifeguards competed against various East Coast lifeguards from New York City to Miami to win highest honors.

The 1952 Lavallette Beach Patrol.
From left to right: First Row: Kenny Killian, Ray Williams, John Marra - Captain, Charlie Keller, and Dan Florko; Second Row: John Frayman, Rick Nolan, Ronald Marra, Jack Hart, Joe Fisher, and Gus Eppinger; Third Row: [first name unknown] Hart, George "Chippy" Mauro, and Bud Birch. The following two years, in '53 and '54, Ronald Marra, John's brother, served as Captain.

The 1965 Lavallette Beach Patrol a.k.a. "The Vikings."
This photo was taken at the end of the season. Many of the guards had returned to college and are not shown. A mobile home trailer was used as the lifeguard office that year. From left to right: First Row: Dick Hoffman, Fosdick Ayer, Bob Ginglen, Frank DeLuca, Roger Krone, Dick Ginglen - Captain, and Sam Hammer; Second Row: Gene Ventimiglia, Mel Russen, Jay Gaskill, Tom Jacobsen (obscured), Les Smith, [name unknown], and Ron Mopsic. In the trailer doorway, just barely visible, is Bill Kemble.

The 1973 Lavallette Beach Patrol.
From left to right: First Row, kneeling: Rich Radcliffe, Ray Rowland, Charlie Furey, Jim Cresbaugh - Lieutenant, Ken Chapin, Steve Graves, Dick Hoffman - Captain, Bob O1Brien, Joe Matusewicz, and Steve DuFrense; Second Row: Roy Fischer, Wendy Bromly, Roz Caruso, Mickey Howes, Larry Barney(?), Chia Sabarese, and Lori Hoffman; Third Row: George Thompson, John Godfrey, Bill O1Brien, Greg Ciggelakis, Jay Pumphrey, Jon Slayback, Doug Murray, Carl Caucino, and Bob Konowicz; Fourth Row: Jim Caruso, Rick Keppler, Bob "Whale" Davis, Carl D1Alessandro, Tom Rack, Tom Arden, Parker Snare, and Paul Lenzo. Please note: The names of the people in this photo were not recorded at the time it was taken. Identities were presumed through a variety of sources.

Back cover dust jacket image - Rowing through the surf on a Hankins surfboat.

~ Excerpts from All Summer Long ~

from "Spring - Beginnings"

Monmouth and Ocean counties comprise the central Jersey coastal region. To the north, Monmouth County consists of farmland and rivers that give way to harbors and inlets. Beaches in Monmouth tend to have more jetties and boardwalks than the land to the south, which was developed later. Long Branch, Asbury Park, Belmar, Spring Lake, and Manasquan are some of its better-known beach communities. Originally, they had catered to city dwellers trying to escape the heat and take in the offshore breezes.

Further south down the coast is the Manasquan Inlet, the natural boundary between the two counties. Here the land becomes a peninsula with a large, mile-wide bay that extends south for about twenty miles before reaching Barnegat Inlet and Barnegat Lighthouse. The major coastal communities in Ocean County are Point Pleasant Beach, Bay Head, Mantoloking, Ocean Beach, Lavallette, Ortley Beach, Seaside Heights, Seaside Park, and Island Beach State Park, a ten-mile stretch of land left almost in the same pristine condition as when Henry Hudson sailed the region, with the exception of one main road and several bathing houses and parking areas. The next coastal landmass, known as Long Beach Island, consists of several communities including Beach Haven and Ship Bottom. South of Ocean County are the popular resort towns of Atlantic City, Ocean City, Wildwood, and Cape May.

Each of the beaches along this stretch of coast has its own character. In northern Ocean County, the beaches drop off with almost no sandbar. Further south, the shifting sandbars tend to be more pronounced. To the very south of the state, the beach tends to slowly recede further below the surface. The beach sand there tends to be finer and to compact harder.

The First New Jersey Lifeguards

From “The History of Lavallette, 1887-1997,” second edition:

The Beginning Of The Lavallette Beach Patrol

The Patrol got its start in 1926, so the story goes, when Mayor Enoch T. Van Camp watched three residents risk their lives to bring ashore a bather who had overestimated his swimming ability. “Nucky” waited long enough to order the bather's arrest for endangering his rescuers, then declared, “We gotta have a boat.” Accordingly, a skiff was ordered from Charles M. Hankins, and when it was delivered, Ralph Helmuth was appointed to man it.

Fort Colie Brice [sic] walked the beach as the first paid lifeguard in the summer of 1926. The beach then only ran the length of the boardwalk between New Brunswick and Ortley Avenues; the protected part was determined by the configuration of the shoreline in any particular year.

...There was little need for formal training or testing in the early days. Growing up in Lavallette, the guards were powerful if not polished swimmers. They were accustomed to handling rowboats far less seaworthy than the patrol's skiffs and were wise in the ways of the waves and currents.

Early Years Of Lifeguarding In Lavallette

RUDY K. ('32-mid-'40s; Captain) - Everybody in Lavallette was from Philadelphia back then. People came on the Sunday train excursions. The trains came from Philadelphia and the University of Pennsylvania. People wore ties and garters and went to the Roan Club. North Jersey wasn't even big then.

I started lifeguarding in 1932. Then there were only two guards. One was at President Avenue and the other was south of Vance. Before me was Colie Brice and Randolph Jacobsen (Old Jake). Then there was Tony Ryan, Dave Bendy, Old Jake, and myself. I guarded for about twenty-five years, even after Ralph (my son) was born. I also guarded in Sea Bay Park for a few years.

Guarding in those days was bare bones. We had Hankins boats, stands, and torpedo buoys. The buoys were made of tin by Gabriel in Seaside Heights. There was always a station at President Avenue.

Surfboats—Not Just Another Rowboat

ANDY B. - Boats were an important tool in the early days of lifeguarding when the beaches were spread out and bathers had more freedom to wander from the shore, thus engendering long-distance rescues. The surfboats were indispensable. In this case, the good surfboat—the only surfboat—was the Hankins skiff. My father once told me that the original Hankins skiff, designed and built by the Hankins Brothers during the 1930s, was much longer and had a more streamlined sweep than later models. Dad compared the early skiff to the wooden rocker on the bottom of a rocking chair: a high bow and an even higher transom with gunnels so low that they almost seemed at times to touch the water. It was this design that enabled the boat to maneuver through the roughest surfs by “rocking” up and over the waves rather than plowing through them and swamping.

Dad had been on the famous group of guards in 1939 who hosted and won an invitational competition comprised of teams coming from as far away as Atlantic Highlands and Atlantic City, both nearly forty miles away to the north and south respectively. Also on the team were Rudy and Al Krone as well as El Brackman and Harry Bloom. My father swore that the main reason for the victory of the Lavallette boys was the existence of the Hankins surfboat and the incredible ability of Greek gods such as Brackman and Bloom to row and maneuver this magnificent craft.

Uncle Richard, in keeping with the tradition, was a skilled and strong boatsman. Both he and Dick Hoffman (who would become captain of the guards and whom I would guard with in later years) both recalled the time that the two of them, accompanied by Jim Frazier, took a Hankins boat out in the wake of an early '50s hurricane to “ride some waves.” Such an undertaking would make a whaler's Nantucket Sleigh Ride look like a walk in the park.

To prime themselves for the job, the three of them split two six-packs of Ballantine Ale. Miraculously, they made it outside of the break, and with Richard at the tiller oar, took two large waves all the way into the beach. Frazier and Hoffman shifted their weight toward the stern once the wave was assured to keep the bow of the boat from “pearling” and thus avoiding disaster. However, on the third wave they weren't quick enough. The trajectory of the monster wave drove the bow deep into the water with the crew, oars and all, being catapulted into the hurricane surf. Somehow, the capsized boat was maneuvered to the beach safely, and the courageous and lucky trio beat a hasty retreat and survived to fight another day.

Rubber Bathing Suit

MIKE H. - Just after World War II, they introduced skin-tight rubber bathing suits. They did not last very long since they were not especially comfortable and had other design problems. Once they started to tear, even a little, the rubber continued to split. One day a woman was standing at the edge when a large shorebreak hit her. It ripped the suit, and the whole thing split open like a torn rubber band. The suit shot away from her, and she was left standing stark naked at the water's edge.

Power Rowing

RAY B. - The Whale was a beach cop first, then became a guard. Bob Mrozek and I worked at adjacent beaches. The Whale would take the stern, Bob would take the bow, and I would take the middle. People said a cop shouldn't go out in the boat, so we convinced The Whale he should be a guard.

He was magnificently strong. He was so powerful, that when the boat was dead in the water and he needed to get it going, he'd snap the oars—he'd have two stumps in his hands. He had to deliberately try not to break the oars. Usually you got three or four years out of a set of oars, but they broke in less than two years with him.

Crank Calls

RAY B. - Back in the '50s, we had Army phones. A crank turned a magneto that rang the bell, which required a fair amount of voltage, which was why this thing was manual. It had four C dry cell batteries. They were in series. All the bells on all the phones rang at one time, and everyone could listen at the same time. We used to have sing-a-longs.

The phones had brass wires to connect with the lugs. If you were connecting or disconnecting the contacts when it got rung, you got a nick—a shock. I worked with Ritchie Wenzel most of the years. He had a good pair of expensive binoculars, and every night we would watch when guys called in to shut down at the end of the day. Bob Mrozek was at the next beach, or Eddie Verna with Dick Hoffman. We'd sit there every night, one of us with binoculars, the other at the crank, and say, “Get ready...get ready...” And when the one with the binoculars saw them start to loosen the lugs, he'd say “Now!” And we'd get 'em. We did this night after night. “We got'em again!”

When disconnecting the wires, nobody would think of using something like a handkerchief or some kind of light insulation—we were too dumb for that.

One time there were these three pesky kids that were hanging around the stand. So one of the guards asked us to ring the line as he held it against one of the kids. Nothing happened. He tried it again. Nothing. Finally the guard touched the wires—and we cranked the phone. Zap! He got it!

from "June – Expectations"

The salty breeze off the frigid ocean carries a brighter bouquet and an electric charge in June. It stirs a sense of freedom and possibilities that seem to permeate the last throes of spring. High school students prepare for graduation, a summer of fun, and anticipation of college. College students have nearly the entire month to party, make arrangements for living at the beach, and enjoy the reprieve from term papers.

It is also when lifeguard tests are administered to confirm the fitness—or lack thereof—of the candidates who would take their place on the white benches that would dot the beaches.

The would-be lifeguards may have any combination of a handful of motives for seeking the work: prestige, tradition, love of the ocean, exhibitionism, parties, pursuit of the opposite sex, a break from the mental rigors of college, or simply, an easy paycheck and a good tan.

Those that pass the test are not always selected. Small communities tend to give preferential treatment to their favorite sons and daughters and discourage those they do not know well or those with a perceived blot on their reputation. This is where the captain of guards and his lieutenants can begin to shape the character of their beach patrol squad. Troublemakers, defined in a variety of ways, are culled out. Those with whom they share values are drawn in.

Once the selection is made, the pairing of partners and beach assignments is decided. Usually, the most seasoned guards are paired with the greenest of rookies. Sometimes bench partners are paired for the entire summer; other times it lasts only for a week. Captains strive for balance on each beach, mating the more experienced or more diligent with the eager but untested rookies.

The beaches in Lavallette are numbered, beginning with Beach #1 at the north end of town. For much of its history, Lavallette has had six ocean beaches and two bay beaches. In the 1960s, other unguarded beach areas were set aside for surfing.

Each beach has distinct traits. The people, the society, the currents, and the sandbars all can vary throughout the season. All summer long, one beach may have no rescues while another has them weekly, even daily.

The bathing areas have been marked off by several methods over the years. Thick, trimmed cedar poles, fifteen feet high, used to be jetted into the sandbars and on the beach. Then one-inch thick hemp line was tied from the pole in the water to the one on the beach. Children and elderly people would often hold onto these ropes for support as they entered the water. Later, lines were attached by anchors and the poles on the beach were replaced with stakes. Most recently, only white flags on the beach mark the north and south borders of the bathing areas.

Assignments for guarding partners are usually rotated every week or two. It cuts down on complaints from people who feel that they have been stuck with lousy guards, provides guarding equity, and helps to insure that equipment is checked regularly and maintained.

The gear varies from one beach patrol to another, but the “tools of the trade” are basically the same: a tall bench, a first aid kit, torpedo buoys, rescue line, a large rescueboard, and a surfboat. Recently, rescue kayaks and backboards have become commonplace.

The seven-foot high bench gives the guards a commanding view of the water and beach and provides a place to stow first aid kits, jackets, towels, lost-and-found items, sun protection, and radios. It also provides a place to hang torpedo buoys and wet clothing. Blackboards on the back of the stands usually post the beach number, guards names, water temperature, tide times, and occasionally, bathing guidelines.

The first aid kits usually include sun shield, gauze, band-aids, hydrogen peroxide, first aid cream, tweezers, and scissors. In recent years, latex gloves have been added to the supplies. Splinters, mostly from the boardwalks, are the most common injuries. Many youngsters are convinced that a Band-Aid from a lifeguard will have magical properties and make even the smallest cut better.

The torpedo buoys—sometimes called cans or torps—may be made of metal, foam rubber, or high-impact plastic. They are delivered to distressed people to keep them afloat and tow them ashore. Torpedo buoys can keep several people up in an emergency. The cans have clips to accept rescue line, if necessary, and are often connected by a trailing line to the heavy brass ring on the leather and canvas belts worn by some guards. The rescue line is rarely used except when the current is extremely strong—usually after a storm at sea.

The rescue boards—basically a tandem surfboard with rope handles—are used mostly for patrolling beach areas, but they can be very effective when a rescue involves numerous victims. Under the right circumstances, they enable a guard to reach victims extremely quickly.

The surfboats may be made of wood or fiberglass. The wood boats cut through rough surf without getting tossed about as much as the lighter but faster fiberglass boats. Wood boats are dwindling in numbers now; the craft of making them is dying out as the craftsmen age and retire—in some cases leaving no heir to preserve the lore and wisdom of their craft.

The surfboats are designed for two rowers, although one experienced rower can get through mild surf without much trouble. Two rowers must work as a team or the boat may become a deadly weapon, mowing down bathers and guards alike. It is not uncommon to hear profanity issuing from one of these boats as it bursts through waves or rides the surf.

Once they get to their assigned beach, the rookies begin to learn that the Red Cross Senior Lifesaving certification is just the beginning of becoming a lifeguard.

On The Beach

GORDON H. - I had practically grown up on the ocean beaches of Lavallette. When I was old enough to be trusted to walk on the beach alone—probably when I was about nine, I used to beachcomb for hours after school when the weather was good. After storms, I would search for the treasures of bottles from the shipping lanes and other flotsam.

I discovered how different tides would bring in whole varieties of aquatic life—calico crabs, sea robins, starfish, and a myriad of different jellyfish.

In the summer, I would spend every hour possible in the water—swimming, diving, snorkeling, rafting, and body surfing. I loved the action of the waves, the sensual wash of bubbles, and the prospect of shell treasures waiting to be discovered under the surface. In the evening, I would join beach buddies on the cool sand for football and baseball games, usually coming home in the darkness with sand coating my hair and in my ears and underwear.

Over the years, I began to take more notice of the guards and to learn the names of those that returned year after year. They became the embodiment of the best that I thought a young adult could be. They were great athletic swimmers, got to take out the surfboat, and got a lot of attention from women. A few were even friendly to me and made me feel important. They seemed like minor gods.

When I reached my teens, I felt that I would not be complete if I did not lifeguard at some point in my life. I would eventually guard for nine years on three New Jersey beaches and one year in Florida.

Trial By Ice

TOM A. ('63-'70) - Actually, the first test we took to guard in Bay Head was given by Harry Niehms in Lavallette. The year before, all the Bay Head lifeguards had gone on strike, so they fired them: it was a case of which came first, the chicken or the egg. So we got up for the tryouts. It's May or early June, the ocean is about fifty-four degrees, maybe. One of us has to swim out and be the victim, then the other swims out and has to rescue him. Then they switched and the other one had to swim out and be the victim. So you had to go in twice. I was never so cold in my life. Jumped in the water and my brother Jimmy looked like he was swimming backwards. Every muscle in my body started to tighten up. We got back to the beach, and Jimmy immediately went to the back of the beach and threw up. I was always proud of the fact that I didn't throw up. I thought I was going to die, but I didn't throw up.

When I had to take the test for Lavallette, Jimmy said, “I'm never going to take the test again.” He couldn't take the cold water anymore. For him, seventy degrees isn't warm enough. Now they take the test in a pool? Bunch of wussies!

Gearing Up

ANDY B. - “Andy, Dick Ginglen just came by on his bike. One of the guards has been injured, and they need you to start right away.” It was my mother. She had crossed the street to the laundry where I had languished and sweated away the summers of my youth, marking time until starting my new lifeguard job at the official opening of the season on June 26, 1965.

So my change in careers came abruptly as I jogged the seven blocks to the lifeguard headquarter's trailer.

I was quickly issued the standard equipment: two size thirty-six red cotton bathing suits—the only available size (which looked vaguely like a ballerina skirt on my 6'2", 153 pound frame), two white muscle-tee shirts, an Acme Thunderer whistle, a canvas and leather lifesaving belt with a brass ring, and a heavy blue wool overcoat.

After a quick change in the bathroom, and taking note of the fact that my skinny white body did not in the least resemble a lifeguard's, uniform or not, I continued jogging to my assigned post at Beach #4 on New Brunswick Avenue. Lugging my coat, extra uniform, and my street clothes, I must have looked as ridiculous as I was frightened.

Fish Names

GORDON H. - Veteran lifeguards would often give themselves romantic nautical names—like “The Whale” or “Cuda”—that evoked their behavior, style, or weight class—either of Viking or aquatic origin. Sam used “Leif,” his buddy was “Erik,” and John T. was “Thor.” “Shark” and “Dolphin” were but a few others. Part of the annual hazing ritual one year was to give derogatory names to the rookies—particularly those that were considered marginally good guards. One fellow by the name of Snider (who had wasted no time in establishing himself as an undesirable bench partner) was hissingly referred to as “Jewfish.” Andy was threatened to become “Blowfish” if he did not follow the hazing whims of his senior partner. Of course, this naming was taken up by the less clever sophomore lifeguards and degenerated to names like “Jellyfish” and “Turdfish.”

Beer Fishing

GORDON H. - The next time we went out in the boat, the party boats (boats loaded with tourist fisherman) were in close to the beach—only a few hundred yards offshore. Sam and I rowed out to the seaward side of the fishing boat and out of sight of watchful eyes on the shoreline. Sam struck up a quick conversation with the fishermen.

“How's the fishin' today?” he yelled amicably. The men lining the deck rail all shrugged their shoulders. No one had caught anything yet.

“What kind of bait are you using?” he pressed with what I began to suspect was false interest.

“Jigs,” replied one of the fishermen. “The guys on the other side are using mullet.”

“Oh,” Sam replied, the topic exhausted. “You guys got a beer you could spare?”

Several men on the boat broke into smiles. One reached into his cooler and flipped one to Sam.

“Good luck,” Sam replied as he began to dip and pull the oars. “I hope you catch some big ones.”

Discourse On Women Lifeguarding

BOBBI A. ('65-'69) - I wanted to go up to the ocean and guard. At the end of the season, when they were short on guards and beach cops, I went up to the ocean and worked as a beach cop/third guard. I was there as a backup for the regular guards, maybe less than a week. I don't think I was allowed to sit on the stand.

GORDON H. - It's interesting to see the evolution of women working as guards. First, they got jobs on the bay that nobody wanted. Then, they worked occasionally as beach cops and emergency guards. And now, they work on the ocean fulltime.

JIMMY A. - It was like everything else with women. They get a foothold in one tiny crease, and then they all try to rush through it.

from "July – Into the Breach"

By July, bench partners have begun to become accustomed to one another. They develop a style of guarding established by the senior partner. Rookie and junior partners are quickly apprised of the “pecking order” and learn the appropriate subservience to the veterans' wisdom or priorities. Under the best of circumstances, the bench partners complement each other's style.

Water temperatures tend to be more stable in July, although west winds can make the temperatures plummet into the forties when the warm surface water is pushed out to sea and the cold bottom water takes its place. Although the sandbars constantly shift their sands, they seem more stable in July than at any other time.

The mornings may involve drills or the guards may be dispatched directly to their beach. Once there, they set up the gear. If they are diligent, they may even exercise. The stands are dragged down close to the water. The line boxes and buoys are carried down to the base of the stand. The boats are rolled down from their overturned berths near the dunes and boardwalks.

If there is time, the guards might practice rowing together in the boat. More often than not, they are shaking the cobwebs out of their heads from the previous late night outing and passing on guy gossip. Sometimes a simple head soak begins to get the blood flowing through brains and bodies addled by beer and other concoctions. Partners learn about each other's families, colleges, girlfriends, and fiancÈes. Confidences flow.

If they do take out the boats, often they will meet with neighboring beaches offshore and have “Viking wars” that consist mostly of spitting contests and trying to short-oar each other's boat.

Most beaches tend to have a relaxed atmosphere until the Fourth of July weekend. Then it seems as if everyone on the beach was just released from a mental institution with no sense of self-preservation. Like lemmings they appear, drawn by mystical forces. Overheated macho guys will race headlong into the ocean only to discover it is only fifteen degrees above freezing. Adults and children alike will scamper across grease-slick, seaweed-covered jetty boulders, oblivious to the potential of horrible consequences. People with perfectly white skin will spend the entire day under the blazing sun with no protection, anxious to get a jump-start on their summer tan. Some guards develop a distain for tourists—and sometimes, for reasons that are subject to debate, they are called “bennies.”

If the guards are lucky, the water will be calm. If not, they may be on their feet for most of the day. Seasoned guards and well-tutored rookies will walk along the beach, talking to bathers and explaining the reasons for restricted areas. It is an effective time investment that develops better rapport with the beach crowd and avoids the annoyance of whistles being blown every two minutes.

The Rush

MICKEY H. ('67-'76) - Most summers, you would sit on the bench for days at a time being bored and watching the hours drag by. I remember some summers where I did not make more than one or two minor rescues. However, when you did see someone in trouble, and knew you had to go after them, it was a real adrenalin rush. I remember making some wild jumps over waves and some incredible sprints through the surf to get to the people. There were more than a few times where I remember being wet all day from one rescue to another. Those days went really fast. You hardly had time to look at your watch before it was time to close down the beach.

The Horror

RUSSELL F. ('50-'51) - Back then, they had the ropes attached to the pilings to mark the bathing areas, and the people would go out and hold onto the ropes. The biggest pulls we had in those days were the old ladies who were holding onto the ropes and losing their bathing suits. We had to pull up their bathing suits before we helped to bring them in—they were big, fat, old ladies. Boy, was that embarrassing.

The Man With The Movie Camera

GORDON H. - A father on vacation had his eye glued to the eyepiece of his 8-mm movie camera. He must have thought he was Cecil B. DeMille. He was so engrossed in keeping his son in focus that he did not notice that the boy was being carried out in a run and beginning to show the first signs of distress. My partner clipped on the can and began rushing toward the surf. Out of the corner of his eye, the father saw the guard and decided to get action footage of a rescue. He must have thought the home movie would be elevated to documentary status.

My partner dove in and came up just feet from the man's son. It looked like the father was thrilled by this exciting moment in his vacation until, through the viewfinder, he saw the guard shove the torpedo buoy to his boy. At that moment, his head recoiled as if the camera had become a discharging shotgun. Mortified, he walked down into the surf as his rescued son was brought ashore, none the worse for wear, if not a little shaken by how quickly the current had taken him beyond his capacities and how his father had been oblivious to his situation.

from "August – Seasoning"

Black Day At Island Beach

MICKEY H. - It is hard to watch someone die in front of their wife and children and know that there is nothing you can really do to save them. The year I was at Island Beach State Park, a guy fell over right next to the bench to the north of mine. By the time I could run over, the guards were already giving him cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. Due to its isolation and the large number of tourists that would show up there, the guard squad had its own paramedic and first aid room.

The paramedic soon arrived and took over as we carried the victim up to the first aid room on a backboard while giving him CPR. Although they called for an ambulance immediately, it was a Sunday afternoon, and the roads were jammed up with traffic. It must have taken twenty minutes for them to get there. We were working on him the whole time, but it was obvious he was gone.

The wife was crying and praying and asking when the ambulance was going to arrive. The kids just looked at us like there was something we could do to change things or save him. We were just lifeguards: we could rescue someone in the ocean, but we could not bring back the dead. Later, we found out that he died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage. There was nothing anyone could have done to save him. It was one of the hardest days I have ever had at the beach. I can still remember feeling so helpless while we waited for the ambulance to get there, even though we knew it was too late.

Chug Contest

ANDY B. - Charlie B. was in a chugging contest with Patty K.'s friend. The first round was a draw. Charlie won the second one outright. The guy said, “Let's do the best of three.” He got halfway through and retched in the sink. Bob J. said to Patty, “Where did you find this gladiator?”

Boredom Fighters

JON S. - John T. would get bored, and he'd let people get in runs so he'd have something to do. “That person's getting close, should I whistle?” “Nah, let'm go, and we'll have something to do.”

August 20, 1967 - Captain's Notice #10

Guards - From now on I want one mother (guard) on the beach at all times, not a beach cop. If you want to play in the bathtubs, take one from each beach. Today all beaches had tourists in between 3:00 and 4:30 and Beaches 1-3-4 had no others to watch the sports. Beach 5 took their tub out but left one man behind to watch the sports. Beach 2 also left one man behind. Thanks to our lieutenant. After patting Beach 5 on the back, I go up there and what do I see? Four snappers around the stand and one sliding pond expert putting sand on the surfboard and showing the snappers how he can slide the length of the board with just a short run. I'm sure this sport would be much better in a bedroom: run, slide, and pole vault right into bed.

from "September – Light Changes"

Once August has passed, there is a melancholy that seems to ride on the very rays of light that reach the shore. The dry breezes have a bittersweetness to them, and the evenings are tinged with the stronger chills that are to come.

The waning days of the season are like a death knell for summer and the youth, hope, and carefree living that are a part of it. People's minds begin to drift toward more purposeful pursuits—college, school, business, and their homes. Romances either come to an end as the distance between lovers works a wedge between emotions, or they become deeper, stronger, and more mature.

The days immediately before and during the Labor Day holiday are legendary for lifeguards. Hurricanes and tropical storms, hundreds of miles away, seem to stir the piss-warm waters into torrents with forces like raging, flooding rivers. There is a tradition that the roughest, most rapidly changing surf is likely to occur on the last heavenly days that summer can bring forth. Over a ten-year period, the number of rescues on the Labor Day weekend markedly increased during seven of them.

One moment, bathers are in rapid currents around their knees; the next, they may find themselves chest deep in rushing water too powerful to stand in. Even the fittest, fastest swimmers are overwhelmed by the force of the volume of water in the large waves that add to the shoreline currents. In an instant, large groups of people—five, ten, fifteen—have been put in peril as they were lifted off sandbars and carried to deeper water. It is under these circumstances that some of the greatest and most cursed rescues have occurred.

When old guards get together, Labor Day is spoken about with the reverence, awe, and nostalgia of a benediction for summer and life.

The Big Rescue - Part II: Hangers On

CHARLIE B. ('65, '67-'71) - I'd like to match notes and see what I remember about the big rescue. We had a lot of rescues that day. We were almost always on the beach instead of the stand because we were so busy. It was at the beach where the “renters” lived—people who came down for the week, so they didn't know much about the water. Andy took the torp; I took the rope. The current was sweeping northbound. I went forty yards up the beach hoping to sweep around the people who were all washing in that direction and to ring them in.

As I swam out, though, the people in close grabbed the rope, and I couldn't pull it out anymore. I was going nowhere. I told them to let it go, but they didn't want to.

By now, Andy had about three or four people on his torp. I unhitched the line and gave away my torp.

That was when I saw the lifeboat coming out. Some people on the beach—I think there were three—launched the surfboat. When they got out where I was, I yelled, “What are you doing with the boat?” They didn't know what they were doing. Then they turned the boat parallel to the beach to pick someone up and got broadsided by a wave. They flipped the boat. People hung onto the side.

Eventually, the twenty or thirty people who got swept along ended up at the end or edge of the strong current. Then it seemed that the water just stopped. I'd say I was out in the water about half an hour.

The Lightness Of Being

MICHELLE P. ('77-'80, '83-'84) - I remember Cres calling once and docking me for sea glass hunting while on duty. I remember jogging on the boardwalk at 5:00 a.m. and watching the seagulls. I remember flying a kite from the stand one whole day. I remember handing out band-aids and telling the time endlessly. I remember dragging the stand up at the end of the day and having an utter feeling of great calm.

Five Drownings

JON S. - Sam H. got married on a Saturday in the fall while we went out body surfing off the end of the street here. A whole lot of people, all the old guards, had gathered on the beach. We were having a ball. No guards were there. Big waves were going right off the end of the jetty. It was like a big ski run. Just go right out, swim over, ride in, and go around in a big circle. That afternoon, I think five people drowned between here and Seaside Heights. There were no guards on duty—it was late September or early October of '69 or '70.

from "Looking Back"

A Clean Job

RUSSELL F. ('50-'51) - As far as I can see, of all the summer jobs that people can have throughout the country, I think lifeguarding—no matter what beach it is on—is the cleanest, the best. It's a good education for children. It's a good way of life, a good way to start your career. It's a good background. It's not like working construction or with guys doing shots and beer.

Watching The Water

MICKEY H. - After guarding for a couple of summers, you instinctively know what to look for while watching the water. You can tell when someone is in trouble or is about to get into trouble, usually before they do. You can see rips and other currents as if they were stained with some type of marker dye. It often amazes me how obvious these things are to me, while people all around me do not see them.

Watching the water has never left me. Whenever I go to the beach, I am always checking it out. I have made ocean rescues in Costa Rica, Mexico, and California just because I could see the problem developing and was able to get there in time. Sometimes, people standing near me have asked what I was doing as I started running toward the water to make a pull. In at least some of the cases, the person would probably have drowned if I had not been there because there were no lifeguards around and no one else who could swim good enough to get them in.