A good story...back in 1967, Reno and I chased Brewer over to Maui
to get boards shaped. Reno got his done but RB kept putting off mine.
One morning, up drove McTavish, Nat, George, the Witzigs, Russell Hughes
and Ted Spencer. Dick and Bob got into a lengthy discussion about
everything. On the car were a couple of the wide tail, deep vee bottom
boards that looked pretty strange to us...the only thing I liked were
the beautifully foiled Greenough fins.
After they left, RB got fired up
and shaped my board but it wasn't like anything I had in mind. I wanted a
9-6 Pipeliner longboard but he had other ideas after talking to
McTavish. It ended up being a 8-6 vee bottom mini gun, the first of its
kind, and really the first shortboard among our group. A few days later, a
big North swell came and Honolua wasn't great but it was clean in the
morning. We all went out, Brewer lost his board first, then Buddy Boy
and finally Reno..all their brand new boards busted in half. Nat paddled
out, spun out on his first wave, broke the nose off his stringerless
board. I rode a little one in. The only guy who surfed good that day was
Russell, he had a more conventional shape.
They all went back to Oahu
for the Duke meet where Bob got one wave that blew everyone's minds.
Solid 10' West bowl lining into the inside, he went straight down and
banked that wide tail over and went straight back up...no one had ever
done that before. He got heaved but he showed us something radically
different on that turn and nothing was ever the same after that.
winded..sorry. But they all went back to Maui and scored some epic
Honolua. Nat ripped and you could see in the pictures that John or Paul
took, his patched nose. But the hero of the day was George on his mat.
It was clean, peeling 6'-7' in front of the cave and the surf mat ruled.
Never forgot that.
That Fall/Winter of 1967, Bob McTavish, Nat Young, and George Greenough turned up in Hawaii...George with his red spoon kneeboard "Velo," and Nat and Bob with their relatively short, wide tailed V's. (9' and 8'6'' respectively.) Oh, and both boards were stringerless.
They got a lot of attention thanks to McTavish's radical, albeit problematic, performance at The Duke Kahanamoku Invitational Contest held at Sunset, and the Witzig brothers' photographic record of their stay.
Joey Cabell ripped Haleiwa on a 9'6'' George Downing pintail...the last ''leading edge'' longboard in the islands.
Within weeks, Dick Brewer shaped Gerry Lopez an 8'6'' mini-gun, inspired by the short V-Bottoms Nat Young and Bob McTavish rode on Oahu and Maui that winter...and all hell broke loose, leaving serious longboard development to wither.
What's been lost was how sophisticated Cabell's board, and surfing, was in the fall/winter of 1967. That board wasn't a big wave gun built for survival, or a small wave noserider for adolescent hot dogging and posing. It was a ''pure surfboard,'' designed to ride the heart of the wave...much in the spirit of the early shortboards.
Surfers who experienced the first
screening of Bruce Brown’s The Endless Summer, in August of
1964, left the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium knowing for an absolute
fact that they had just seen the best surf film to date.
What they didn’t know is that they’d
just seen the best surf film that would ever be made.
Brown was only 27 when The Endless
Summer premiered, but he was already a seasoned surf movie maker.
He’d released Slippery When Wet in 1958, Surf Crazy
in ’59, Barefoot Adventure in ’61, and Surfing Hollow
Days in ’62. Finally, in the summer of 1963, while conjuring up
The Endless Summer, he screened a compilation of his first
four films called Waterlogged. In his early work, you can see
the foundation being poured for The Endless Summer. The humor,
the confidence, the plethora of great surfing, and the holistic feel
to the music and narration were all beginning to bubble over. (Two of
his neophyte offerings, Slippery When Wet and Barefoot
Adventure, even featured original scores by the accomplished
jazzman Bud Shank. Not a bad start for a surf film maker in his early
Maybe it isn’t so strange that Bruce
Brown found his voice making surf films. The name “Brown” seemed
to be a prerequisite for the job. The originator of the home-brew
16mm surf movie, Bud Browne (sic), began showing his delightful tomes
along the California coast in 1953, and another Brown, Don, produced
three surfing features in those early days, along with filming that
bitchin’, snarling left that appeared every week on Hawaii
Five-O. None of the Brown(e)s are related, and yet they were
concurrently working in an era when there were less than a dozen
active surf film makers in the entire world. Go figure.
The surf movie makers of the 60’s
were “indie” decades before the term even existed. These guys
were so independent, they didn't even bother to work for themselves
half the time. They cobbled together used, bottom-end 16mm film gear
with a desire to earn a living near the water. Then they made it all
work with as little movie-making expertise as possible. They shot
miles of film during the wave rich winter months (the romantic
wedding of “surfing and summer” being largely contrived), slapped
the footage together in the spring, then toured coastal areas that
summer. They screened at women’s centers, high school auditoriums,
and tiny local theaters. Inland surfers had to rent the films they
wanted to see via mail, then project them for surf clubs and frat
houses at a buck-a-head to cover their expenses.
During this embryonic period, neither
the filmmakers or the audience were sophisticated enough to tell the
lies the other wanted to hear. Producers trusted their gut when it
came to content, and the audience didn't respond to a poor offering
with acrimonious coffeehouse critiques later that evening. They
looked for the guy in the parking lot when the show was over. The
closest thing to the touring 16mm surf films of the 60’s, probably,
would be the rock and roll shows of the 50’s, when the likes of
Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, and Eddie Cochran would drive from town
to town with their gear stashed in the trunk, putting on shows in
The era of straight-from-the-hip,
straight-from-the-heart, surf film making (which lasted roughly from
1958 through 1976) was often characterized by shady financing (you
can guess the details), short-sighted archival sensibilities, and, on occasion, riotous screenings in venues filled with three
thousand surfers. (In this era of pint-sized, multi-plexes, the
concept of three thousand people sitting in one theater is awesome.
The concept of three thousand surfers stuffed into one theater
is flat-out terrifying.)
As works of art, these low budget
productions were rarely compelling enough to transcend eras, let
alone reach beyond the beach culture. But The Endless Summer
has steadfastly refused to fold its tent. Five decades years after
its initial released, it’s almost eerie how it can still speak to
us. Through 10 U.S. presidencies, the hippie movement,
women’s lib, gay lib, man on the moon, the Vietnam war, the pill,
Kent State, Watergate, Monicagate, vinyl, eight track,
quad, digital, disco, leisure suits, herpes, aids, another round of disco,
phone sex, computer sex, Martin Luther King, Rodney King, Desert
Storm, and the internet, there isn’t a
non-surfer with a pulse who isn’t itching to give surfin' a try
before the closing credits roll.
Bruce Brown’s simple, engaging
narration in The Endless Summer is the key to the film’s
appeal, and the creative process behind his story-telling hearkens
back to era of the Marx Brothers, when early talkie comedians
performed their material before live audiences for months before
committing it to film. When The Endless Summer was initially
shown in high school auditoriums, there was no sound on the
projection print. Like most surf film makers of the day, Brown sat on
the stage just off screen and DJ’d the music track via a reel to
reel tape recorder while providing the live narration. It was a
one-man band affair, and it took real talent to mingle all the volume
levels while talking story. For months, Brown exhibited The
Endless Summer “live” before he committed his spiel to the
version that’s now burned into our psyches. He knew exactly what
gags and sentiment and exposition worked, because he’d performed it
in front of the toughest audience there was…surfers. (The nicest
thing you can say about the denizens who attended surf movies back
then is that they arrived without automatic weapons.)
By 1966, the original 16mm version had
been shown to death along the coastlines of the surfing world, and
Brown was confident enough to seek out a distributor who would
exhibit it theaters across the country. He couldn’t drum up any
takers based on his early success, so he screened his film (still
flickering away in 16mm) in Wichita, Kansas…in the dead of winter.
This was as an acid test aimed at proving his point. The film was a
smash, breaking the theater’s all-time attendance record, but there
were still no takers in Hollywood. So, on spec, he blew it up to
35mm, rented a movie house in Manhattan Beach, California, and filled
the joint every day for an entire year. Finally, the power of The
Endless Summer to draw large audiences was undeniable, and a
distributor was signed. The film went on to gross a reported 30
million dollars during its worldwide theatrical run.
The Endless Summer elucidated
the true joys of surfing to a generation of Americans who were
otherwise stuck with two conflicting, and largely fictional,
images…the candy-assed Beach Boys/Frankie and Annette portrayal, or the surfer-as-waterborne-hoodlum portrayal. The film’s popularity was
bitter-sweet for surfers, because the entire country had finally
embraced our sport for all the right reasons. But dammit, it was
Brown’s cinematic formula is
pedestrian, and the film is rife with sloppy photography, sluggish
pacing, lame gags, and a sometimes embarrassing social perspective.
It doesn’t even scratch the surface of who stars Mike Hynson and
Robert August are, or where they’re going with their lives. They
aren’t even characterized as exceptional surfers, which they were.
As far as we know, they’re just two guys who, when they aren’t
striking out with chicks, are looking for a few waves to ride. The
rarest of all feelings is generated between the film’s principles
and the audience…the feeling of being equal.
The Endless Summer was so
successful in its heyday, it actually killed what little innocence
was left in the 16mm surf movie genre. It was impossible for surf
film makers not to play to the hope that their homage might
also be picked up by the big boys in Hollywood, and elevate them into
an early, well-heeled retirement. What’s astonishing is the no one
else has even come close to duplicating it with any real success…and
they’ve been trying for 5 decades! (Even Brown’s slick,
beautifully photographed 1994 sequel, The Endless Summer II,
hit the target but missed the bull’s eye.) The idea of two guys
traveling the world to find something (themselves, great waves, whatever) combined with good surfing footage, a
few sight gags, some funny narration, and a catchy musical score has
surfaced time and time again, but it’s never the same when seen
through the eyes of anyone but Mr. Bruce Brown.
For non-surfers who stumble across the
film, there’s always a sense of revelation. “Is that what
surfing’s like?” they ask, with a quizzical smile.
For surfers, it captured the mythology
of our sport so thoroughly, it actually became a part of that
mythology. When surfers of any age, and from any country, speak of
great surf movies, “The Endless Summer” rolls off their
tongue within 15 seconds. To this day, it validates why they surf.
Someone finally articulated something that surfers are either unwilling or
unable to voice ourselves. It almost functions like an old, scratchy
Louie Armstrong 78. Thank God we have it, because how else could we
explain real jazz?
loud, glossy, corporate-sponsored surf videos give us a sense of the
new, The Endless Summer gives us a sense of renewal. In Brown’s scheme of things,
regardless of your age, when you surf you're young. Even in its fifth decade, it remains the unbeaten, untied,
undisputed heavyweight champion of the surf movie world.
Faria Beach in Ventura County is the defacto home of 4GF Surfmats. The zippy right point break was where the lion's share of R&D was done in 1983 and 1984. It is also ground zero for hull riding in the Ventura County area.
The homes there are currently is being threatened by the fires in the area. While this pales in comparison to the fire damage being done elsewhere, I wanted to provide an update that indirectly relates to us.
I had liver cancer that was located in my liver alone but some legions
were appearing near my bile ducts which would have put the cancer into
my blood and made it a different battle. We did chemo and blasted the
tumors, but they were stubborn, so we opted for liver transplant. It has not
been a cakewalk. I ended up with Peripheral Neuropathy in both legs
and feet which is 24/7 pain, and I had to learn to walk properly again.
Peter St. Pierre keeps trying to build me a ''handicapped'' surfboard at Hobie. We did a few boards with scooped decks but it still did not give the
extra push up. Google 'peripheral neuropathy' and you will see the
issue...I'm very slow to my feet because of signals from brain to feet and back.
The board has 2 1/2 inch high rail lifts. The original idea came from Flippy Hoffman. We are hoping it will work.
Mark Johnson is one of my best friends - he shaped it, and we worked it
out on the computer. If you know Mark, you know what a perfectionist he is. Hope to get it this week to enjoy some of this weather before the
rains come !
With that and my new 4GF surfmat, I should be covered for few years anyway. Every day is a gift from God
and sweet as Coconut Pie!