Surfing into Downtown L.A.
Chapter 1: Barbi’s Playhouse, Playa Del Rey, California
“Good Friday,” 10 p.m., March 27, 1964
“It’s time for Barbi to go to sleep, Son, and it’s also time for you to get yourself home,” said Barbi’s father, FBI Special Agent Andre’ Molle (pronounced: MO-lay).
Locked and loaded, Agent Molle was speaking to Spaz Barnett, whose neck he could’ve snapped like a ...“Hmmmm. I could use that punk’s skinny neck like a toothpick for my olive.”
Spaz Barnett, who’s real first name was Jay, was the skinny 14-year-old holding a heavy, full, dripping bucket of live fish over the Molle’s new white rug.
Both Spaz and the Molle’s curvy, dark haired daughter, Barbi, had just walked into Molle family living room when two loud announcements rattled their hormones, and caught their divided attention.
They halted in their sandy tracks, when the first announcement from the T.V. blared out - in a deep authoritative voice:“Tidal Wave!”
The second announcement came from Barbi’s well-marinated mom, who croaked: “Shid! Taig that damn buggid into the kishin! You’re dribbing all over the carbit.”
The two teens, who knew their priorities, ignored Barbi’s mom. They only listened to the story about the tidal wave coming from the television.
Barbi’s dad, sat in his easy chair with his third martooni, cursing runaway teenage hormones under his breath.
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“Oh yes, about the fish.” — 3 hours earlier, “Good Friday,” 7 p.m. March 27, 1964
For four consecutive evenings in the spring and summer months along the Southern California coast, beginning with full and new moons, the little Grunion fish come up onto the beaches to spawn. The bite-sized yummy silversides wiggle their way up onto the sand, and in scientific terms “make awesome whoopie” for a few hours. The female grunion arches her lithe body and digs a nest in the sand with her shapely tail wherein she can deposit her eggs.
After the Grunion equivalent of smoking a cigarette (chewing dried beach kelp), the seven-inch-long grunion wiggle their way back into the sea.
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Shortly after sundown, on that Friday evening, the two 14-year-old secreters, Spaz and Barbi, walked down the hill to Gillis Beach, pail in hand, to enjoy the first grunion run of the 1964 spring season.
After waiting for an excruciating fifteen minutes, the grunion still hadn’t turned up onshore. Barbi wrote a message in the wet sand for the fish,“Hurry up you fucking stupid fish!” and returned to the towel. She smiled at Spaz. His playmate had such beautiful eyes.
Within ten minutes, as the moon rose, Barbi and Spaz were busy, arching and flopping their own young bods.
Jay “Spaz” Barnett was not quite sure what to do with this explosive young woman, who until that afternoon had been “just a pal,” “like a sister,” “his best friend.”
Suddenly, there she is, writhing on a beach towel beneath him.
“Was she having a fit?”
Spaz’ fourteen-year-old mind had not quite caught up to his more mature girlfriend. He hadn’t much experience with romance beyond trading dirty jokes with friends, and one dizzying kiss during a game of Spin the Bottle.
“Baseball! Baseball! Think about baseball!” his big brother had once told him. Calm down! Calm down! Spaz told himself. He knew as much about baseball as he did about girls. Nothing. He’d heard that some guy named Johnny Unitas was the “home run king.”
By then, Spaz, the nookie rookie, up at bat - had already knocked a few of his pollywogs out of the park.
True to his name, Spaz had managed to fertilize a few hundred grunion eggs, in two separate nests, within minutes - on that historic night - Friday, March 27, 1964.
Reports of “tiny mermaids and mermen spawning at Toes beach in 1967,” were filed away at a remote Air Force base, "Area 53" near Hamilton Beach, New York. These “reports" were initially ignored by the authorities. All eight of the unrelated witnesses were described as being "unable to even crawl at the time."
The spent male grunion had stopped bragging amongst themselves for a moment to chuckle at Spaz’s clumsy, though gallant, attempt to free the highly combustable Barbi from her flammable cotton restraints — as a lifeguard jeep approached....
The two lovebirds did not hear the vintage World War II jeep stop two feet behind them, as they were deeply involved in choking on one another’s rebellious tongues, and squishing the poor fish beneath them.
Loud, teenage static was playing on Spaz's fine new black Japanese transistor radio that was permanently stuck on KRLA. Disc jockey Dave Hull, “The Hullabalooer,” had just announced that the Beach Boys were still the most popular band in the world. Even more popular than the Beatles. Those pale limeys with their weird chords and stupid haircuts. No way, Jose!
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Chapter 3: Back at Barbi’s. “The News” 10 p.m., March 27, 1964
Barbi Molle's home was about one half mile up the slope from the beach at Playa Del Rey, where in the spring and summer, the Submarine races were scheduled nearly every night.
The teens had walked up the hill with their pail of grunion.
Sandy, sore and smiling, the two little fish fertilizers strolled through the Molle’s kitchen, and into the newly carpeted, modern living room. Spaz was still holding the bucket full of the equally sandy, sore, smiling and satiated live, nude grunion.
When they entered the room the 10 o’clock news was on “Special Report.” KCOP Hal Fishface was talking about a huge earthquake and resulting 30-foot tidal waves possibly headed for all west coast areas - sometime after midnight. "When The Pacific ...
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Target: Ballona Creek
The bridges spanning Ballona Creek would be the only structures damaged from these waves that hit L.A. Before sunrise on Saturday, March 28, 1964. Most of those bridges were already in various phases of construction and destruction, as the new 405 freeway was being built along the path of Ballona Creek. “The Creek” was an old river bed that ran nearly all the way into the heart of downtown Los Angeles.
Regardless of the terrible damage caused by the day's Earthquake on northern west coast seaside communities, the story of three, 14-year-old "Daredevil Los Angeles teenagers" would steal the day’s headlines, and top the front page news.
Yes, It would be the incredible stupidity and amazing dumb luck of three knot-kneed teen surfers who would captivate the imagination of the world .........on that following Saturday morning — so long, long ago.
The Alaskan Earthquake, had already spawned its own offspring of destructive tidal waves. According to the ten o’clock news anchor, Hal Fishface, on KCOP (Real name/Born: Halitozhisch Foqfaische in Czechoslovakia in 1912) the dangerous waves were probably working their way down the West coast from Alaska, toward Los Angeles.
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T.V. or Not T.V.
Commentator Fishface had said that the tidal waves, or a series of tidal waves had already done millions of dollars worth of damage in the Northwest and may have killed as many as a dozen coastal residents.
Waves of undetermined height might come ashore hitting Los Angeles beaches as early as 4 a.m. and anyone who lives in low lying areas along all California beaches should be vigilant, heed all warnings and be ready to evacuate if directed to do so by Fred the Lifeguard and Civil Defense, said the KCOP news celebrity.
Barbi’s father was repeatedly asking the oozing Zit or Spaz or whatever the juvenile delinquent’s name was to politely “GO HOME!”
Spaz’s eyes and ears were glued to the television. If he rode “the Big One” into Downtown, he’d be “hangin’ eleven in heaven.” (i.e. He would be beach bunny Barbi’s “Oh, my hero!” forever).
Barbi would be eternally stoked ... Fer sure.
Surfing down Ballona creek to Olveira Street? Whoa! Bitchin’!
— Ballona Creek with its potential for almost endless rides back and forth between the two jetties.
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