'It was the summer of 1958. I was a 20-year-old life guard in San Clemente, California, which to date is the only real job I’ve ever held. At nights I worked as a glorified janitor at Dale Velzy’s surf shop. Occasionally, while I swept up, Dale would show an 8mm surf film I'd made while stationed on a submarine in Hawaii. He charged 25 cents, and on a big night we'd rack in as much as six dollars. Dale, however, being one of surfing’s great characters, envisioned bigger and ...
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