Ocean Lifeguard III

As I've stated in my bio, I served as a proud member of the Atlantic City Beach Patrol for fourteen seasons. Unlike what you might have seen on the television show "Baywatch," our experiences with rescues on the East Coast, were much different. We faced ocean conditions that could change from day to day, due to holes that formed on the oceans floor. These were brought on by fierce conditions such as Nor'east storms. These holes, sometimes as wide as a city block, created a swirling vortex (offset) capable of dragging a bather under the oceans surface within minutes. Compounding the problem were menacing piers and jetty's hiding sharp barnacles beneath the oceans surface that could tear your flesh like a razor. Following is an account of a rescue my partner Tommy and I faced back in the 1960's. It is taken from the first chapter of my book entitled.

OCEAN LIFEGUARD

Chapter 1

THE RESCUE

Part III

One of the girls had slipped from the boat and grabbed a piling.Tommy swam to her, but, as he approached, she made a wild lunge for him, catching him off guard.

Bleeding profusely from the razor sharp barnacles, she threw her arms around him in a death hold. Instead of resisting, Tommy grabbed her shoulders and pulled her under. She let go immediately, struggling for the surface. Tommy came up behind her and encircled her in a cross-chest carry and draped her over the belly of the boat.

Geza and Jackie were now joined by two other guards who had decided it was fruitless to take a boat. Together, they ran down the beach and under the pier. Their plan was to intercept and swim to our aid. A huge crowd in hot pursuit witnessed every moment of this human drama.

The boat, with our endangered victims had been caught between two pilings. It was being perilously pummeled by large ground swells that threatened to swallow us.

As Tommy and I struggled to free the boat from its restraint we heard shouting and looked up to see the four guards racing to our rescue. A feeling of relief enveloped us, however, the four guards were having difficulty making headway due to the heavy surf. Pounding seas kept tugging on their can buoys, pulling them back toward shore as they tried to negotiate each monstrous wave. We were still not out of danger as the heavy surf continued to wash over us.

Two of the four guards finally made it to our position and, working with them, we were able to free the boat of its fetters. Once the boat came loose, guiding it the rest of the way through the pier was less difficult. We soothed our victims as the sun became visible and we drew closer to the other side.

I can only imagine what the Missouri Avenue guards thought, as they saw us emerge from under the pier. There was no hesitation. They quickly launched two boats, followed by the two can men who couldn’t reach our position earlier.

The waves are smaller, the ocean floor shallower, on the south side of the pier.This made the distance from the beach to our position much easier to cover. The guys were there in no time.

We helped getting the victims in the two boats and they were swiftly transported to shore. The rest of us swam the sunken boat to the beach. When we touched the ocean floor, we dragged it until we could bail out some water. We repeated this action until we were on the beach, the boat now empty of sea water.

Two more guys from the Missouri crew had launched another boat to pick up our equipment that was scattered all over the ocean. Surprisingly, they recovered all six oars,both cans, and donuts. Normally, you don’t get all of these items until later when they wash up on the beach, blocks away.

When we reached shore, there was still a huge crowd gathered. Quite a few of the bathers came to congratulate us, saying what a good job we had done. A couple of concerned women advised me to get my barnacle cuts looked at. By now, they had mostly stopped bleeding as the blood congealed. I knew from past experience they looked worse than they were, though they burned like hell.

We chewed the fat with the Missouri guards for a few minutes, not daring to linger, considering the conditions. We thanked them for getting to us so quickly and for retrieving our equipment. Even though our stations were just on the other side of the pier,we seldom saw these guys.

One of the unique things about the Missouri Avenue crew was, they were all black. Atlantic City was still mostly segregated at this time. Black people mainly lived on the city’s North side. Years before, Missouri Avenue had been designated the“Negro” beach, and all the lifeguards stationed there were black. It was still like that during the fifties and sixties though blacks were starting to spread out to other beaches throughout the city.

With the help of the Missouri guards, we picked up the boat by its inside braces and walked it back under the pier to our beach, rather than rowing it back out and around the end of the pier

I left Tommy on the stand to watch the bathers while I went to the tent to have my cuts attended to. Each tent employed a medical student who served as doctor for both bathers and guards. This was considered a plum position by these future M.D.s-- not just for the medical experience it afforded them, but more because of the babes they could “help.” Our guy was a handsome kid named Ralph Cavaleer, who eventually married a “Miss Atlantic City.”

After Ralph cleaned and sterilized my cuts, I went back to the stand and resumed my duties. Tommy and I sat quietly on the stand and collected ourselves. Our reverie didn’t last long. The weather began to deteriorate as the hours passed. The sky turned gray and the wind increased. The number of rescues accumulated along our stretch. We stayed busy herding bathers in small groups to prevent them from straying. Still we had a fair number of runs--some routine, others more serious. However, nothing matched “The Canadians” as that rescue came to be known.

Finally, the day ended.

The tent was abuzz, the adrenalin flowing, as it always was after a day of multiple rescues. Murph was his old self, again, busting our chops, saying what an easy day we’d had. Stevie, obnoxious as ever, stayed true to form. And the guys were commenting on who would score the best “chick” of the night.

Tommy came over to my place where I was living with a few guys. We stretched out with a couple of beers.

Later in the evening, we’d take a run uptown and assess the female situation.

Maybe we’d get lucky.