My dad. What an extraordinary individual! A human being; a
man of compassion; yet all the brawn a person could muster.
He was born and raised in Santa Monica, California, 1920.
That's correct, N i n e t e e n T w e n t y. 85 years young
- and still going strong . . .
Let's take a trip back in time: Santa Monica, 1920. Not many
people in Southern California. Model A's or Model T's? (I
will have to ask). Route 66 finds it's end here. Gas powered
street lamps. Telegraphs still being used. No freeways, no
smog. Look down to view miles of white sandy beaches. Look
up and see the beautiful green Santa Monica mountains. And
all along this pristine coastline, tremendous opportunities
await. Calico Bass, Grouper, Halibut, Barracuda, Yellow Tail
& Albacore. The list goes on and on.
Dad grew up living only a block from the beach. One of five
kids. Things back then weren't as easy as they are today. My
dad's parents both worked multiple jobs to make ends meet.
And their modest home . . . only two rooms. Your SUV is
probably larger.
Living so close to the beach offered dad many fishin'
opportunities. Think about it for a moment . . . waking up
to a fog-shrouded morning and walking down the street to the
Santa Monica pier. The cool mist and the salty smell of the
ocean vitalizing all your senses. No noise, except maybe a
fog horn or the squawk of a few seagulls. No airplanes
lifting off from LAX...because there is no LAX.
While kids today are distracted by drugs and the heavy
negative influence of television, my dad's only distraction
was deciding whether to fish or surf in the beautiful blue
Pacific, his big backyard. Did he skip school? Sure he did,
but for fishing the pier to bang out a Halibut or two...or
maybe even catchin' a wave.
Yet, when fishin,' dad had to use the tools that were
available to him. He didn't have a boat, so he improvised.
He had a paddle board. No, not a surf board - a P A D D L E
board. Much bigger than a surfboard, as it was generally
used for relay races between the Santa Monica pier and
Catalina Island. But my dad had other ideas.
His paddle board was for catching fish. He would take his
tackle box and use a rope to tie it to the paddle board
along with his fishin' pole. Then off through the surf he
would go. And just like the Tuna Hunters of today, my dad
would be on the hunt for massive kelp beds. Yes, fish even
back then related to structure. When my dad would find a
kelp bed, he would have to get the paddle board to be still
so he could fish the kelp, not an easy chore when you have a
current and a tide that the mighty Pacific Ocean could throw
at you. Yet, my dad improvised again. He would locate a long
kelp strand and place it on his board. Then he would sit on
it, yes, sit on it so the paddle board wouldn't move. Talk
about "Kelp Butt!"
To hear him tell the stories of catching huge Halibut off
the pier is amazing. I'm not sure if any are even left these
days, but as he tells it, he always caught fish and they
were plentiful. He helped feed the family. Yet, sometimes
there was danger, like a whale surfacing only a few feet
away, completely catching my dad by surprise or the
ever-constant threat of sharks.
Dad always fished, and even when I was a small child, I
remember the poles neatly lined up in our garage, the big
Penn reels that he used, the big fat line on those
reels...and then there was the famous paddle board hanging
from the rafters in our old garage. Dad chose to raise us
kids in Santa Ana, which is about 40 miles south of Santa
Monica in Orange County. Yet, he always found time to take
us kids fishin'.
Whether it was surf casting off of Newport Beach, bass
fishing in little ol' Irvine Lake, or hanging out on a barge
off the coast, our family fished. Dad even let me skip
school sometimes to go with him to fish the pier at Dana
Point, when there were tidepools to explore, long before the
huge crowds that pack the massive marina today. Back then
all that stood at Dana Point was the pier. Excitement would
build because the last quarter mile to the pier was driven
down a very steep embankment that was always scary because
the fog always shrouded the visibility. Yet, I knew that
starting the trek down that hill (praying that the brakes
would hold) in that old truck was the start of another
fishin' adventure with dad.
Yet dad, preferred to fish sometimes without his little boy
tagging along...or he even went fishin' alone. I remember
one afternoon coming home from school and upon entering
the kitchen, I opened up the freezer to a find a school of
frozen Barracuda that my dad had caught without me.
Boy, was I mad at him!
Then there was the time when I coaxed dad into fishin' a
golf course pond with me. I had to sell him on the idea
because it was a beautiful day out, and many golfers would
be playing, but I just knew the fishin' would be good. I
told dad, "we'll be out of the way of the golfers and
they'll never notice us!" I knew we had to "sneak in" but I
somehow omitted that part to dad. Well, the fishin' was
fantastic on this little golf course pond. The 40-year old
son with his 80-year old dad pounding out a bunch of small
bass. 18-20 bass (at least) and two little boys having the
time of their lives...then I turned around. About 100 feet
from where we stood, a police cruiser was pulling up on a
side street - with an officer looking right at us. BUSTED!
Yet, I knew we were okay because as the officer exited his
patrol car and started to make his way towards us, he was
laughing. Walking up to us the officer exclaimed "I cannot
believe someone called you in, yet I will have to ask you to
leave. By the way, how was the fishin' and what were you
using?" Somewhat dejected, we walked away with our fishin'
poles over our shoulders, yet somewhat relieved we didn't
get a ticket or get hauled off to jail. Just imagine the
newspaper headline for a moment . . . "80 Yr. Old Dad and
40 Yr.Old Son - Busted For Trespassing On Golf Course Pond!"
Y'know, dad was much more to me than just fishin'. He taught
me several things while growing up: Don't ever honk your
horn if you're in a hurry; always stop for pedestrians
crossing the road even if they ARE NOT in a crosswalk;
always open the door for others; if you're with a date,
always open the car door for her; don't cuss; mind your
manners; and when walking down a street with a girl, always
walk on the traffic side of the sidewalk. Dad even made me
attend "Cotillion" which was a ballroom dance class for the
very young. At Cotillion, they taught us manners and how to
waltz with GIRLS!
Speaking of cussing, my dad NEVER cussed or at least said
any expletives that were ever within earshot. This was a
rule I never heard him break. However, one day a few years
back I was working outside of my dad's house helping him,
and he hurt his finger. When the pain registered, he loudly
exclaimed, "Damn!" I said to him, "DAD!" He paused for a
moment, and then without as much as a skipped beat, he said
"Hoover." Puzzled, I asked, "Hoover?" He said, "Yeah, Hoover
Dam. I was just saying it BACKWARDS!"
As I grow older, I have the occasion to reflect back on my
time with my dad. I know that from birth up to about the age
of ten, I really needed him. From 10 to 20 years old, I
always felt that I knew it all but would occasionally check
in with him. From 20 to 30 years old, I DID know it all and
gave HIM frequent advice. From 30 to 40 years old, I knew
about things, but every once in a while, I would ask. Now,
in my mid-forties, I do check in with him and ask for his
advice - and once again, I really need him. It's amazing how
some things come full circle. I must have finally grown up!
Today, my dad and I live miles apart, yet we still talk all
the time and I see him often. He gave me this wonderful gift
of fishin' when I was just barely old enough to tie my
shoes. So, give tribute and thanks to your dad or whomever
may have had a positive influence in your life. It may not have
been your dad, but maybe your grandpa, an older brother, your
mom, sister, or just a friend. Positive influences are like a
ripple effect, something we should treasure and pass along.
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