Ocean Lifeguard

As I've stated in my bio, I served as a proud member of the Atlantic City Beach Patrol for fourteen seasons (left). 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 Russo 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 1

The ocean was bathed in brilliant sunshine, its reflective surface casting a shimmering glow. To the casual observer the day may have appeared sunny and beautiful. All seemed serene, and yet there was an ominous feeling, as if something was about to happen.

One observation not to be denied was a dry nor’east current running swiftly down-beach toward Million Dollar Pier. The danger was further marked by a churning offset, covering a two-block area from Michigan Avenue, to the Pier. These conditions were exacerbated by menacing winds blowing down from the north, that momentarily hid the sun and brought about an uneasy chill.

Even the locker room banter as we changed into our uniforms on this day, was not the same. It was subdued, without the usual good-natured camaraderie that normally set the day’s tone. No one engaged in the daily ball-busting ritual. Guys were uneasy, as if they felt a sense of foreboding. Where silence is sometimes thought to be golden, this was anything but.

Bernie “Murph” Levy, our Captain, was pressing us to “make sure your boats and stands are down by the water’s edge.” He kept saying, “This is a bad ocean,” as if we didn’t already know. His five-year-old son, Stevie, whom we had to endure on a daily basis, was even more annoying than usual.

It was that kind of day.

We grabbed our oars, donuts, and can buoys and proceeded to our stations as if to say, “Let’s go and get this day over with.” My partner, Tommy, and I turned the boat upright and rolled it to the water’s edge. We carried the lifeguard stand down to its place beside the boat.

Tommy put curtains up on the stand to shield the wind. He then laid a beach chair pad the length of the seat and stretched out with the morning paper. I opted for reclining in the boat which rested on its rollers. Boats carried donuts in their bow and stern. They were quite pleasant to sit on, like a comfortable potty. We both wore our full uniform consisting of tank top, trunks, sweat suit, and jacket. These kinds of days could get chilly, after being exposed to a cool wind, blowing down beach for hours.

While Tommy read the paper, I kept an eye on the empty ocean. Apparently, the beachgoers also had some reluctance about getting there too early. Somewhere around 11:00 am we snapped out of our lethargy and sent our thirty-something-year-old mascot Kenny, for coffee.

Even though the wind had picked up, the day began to warm and beachgoers started to succumb to the allure of the salt sea air. As the more adventurous found their way to the 67-degree water, we introduced them to the shrill blast of our whistles. It was necessary to keep the crowd herded uptown, away from the pier and out of trouble. This was not difficult, since none had ventured out past their waists.

There was, however, still reason for concern. During a fast-running nor’easter a bather who attempts to swim or float, can be drawn swiftly into a dangerous situation. Before they realize the seriousness of their condition, it’s sometimes too late. It was the same way along our entire stretch. All the guards were down by the waters edge, like traffic cops, directing bathers to stay clear of danger. Because of this necessity, beachgoers moved their blankets and umbrellas from the area between our stand and Million Dollar Pier closer to the safer confines of Michigan Avenue. In so doing, they had less distance to travel from their beach location to the water.

We had been keeping tabs on some French Canadians, who had come to the beach after the others had moved away from the pier. They couldn’t have missed our efforts to keep everyone up and away from the danger, but they saw this expanse of empty beach and predictably planted themselves close to the pier. It was often our experience with French Canadians, that they seemed to have an affinity for keeping to themselves. I don’t know if it was because of the language barrier or, in this case, if they thought somehow they’d miraculously found an open area away from the gathering throngs.

The group consisted of two men and four women. Immediately, they started breaking all beach conventions like throwing mud, not disposing of food wrappers and as we strongly suspected, drinking.

We were just getting ready to go tell them to cut out the nonsense, when suddenly, the four girls yelling like banshees broke and dashed for the ocean. They were heading straight for the danger area. We whistled to them, but they either ignored us or didn’t think the warning was for them. This was common among bathers.

Knowing we had to react quickly, we sprinted for the boat, shedding our jackets and sweat suits as we ran. This was definitely trouble!

We launched the boat off its rollers and leaped in, me in the bow, Tommy in the stern. We were rowing in seconds. As we blew run whistles, bathers scurried to get out of the way. Seconds after we launched, I observed the backup crew of Geza Csaszar and Jackie Bishop following us. It was comforting to know we weren’t in this alone.

We were rowing at a dangerous angle, the waves pounding us on the port side, and being soaked from the resulting spray. It was difficult keeping our bow into the wind. Every time we’d gain momentum, we’d get hit again. We feared capsizing with every stroke.

As I turned to assess the situation, it was already worse than I feared. Two of the girls had recklessly abandoned any caution and were moving headlong into the offset.

The waves were getting bigger. Our adrenalin was pumping as we pulled with all our strength, while a powerful wave, nearing its apex, was bearing down on us. For a split second, I didn’t know whether to let it break first, then try to get over, or race for the crest before it swallowed us. As the bow man, I opted for the latter.

All I remember, is shouting, “Tom, give me some motor.” It wasn’t necessary for him to look. He dug in and we frantically picked up our stroke. We felt ourselves go straight up in the air, hang suspended for what seemed like five seconds and come down with a mighty splat!

To be continued...

This picture was featured on the cover of one of our annual Lifeguard Yearbooks. It is of an actual rescue, and difficult to make out just what is happening due to the picture quality. However, just as the boat was lifted by the wave, the stern man (rear) was pulling the victim into the boat. At times the waves were so big, that a boat going up at this angle would just continue over, landing upside down, depositing its unsuspecting cargo unceremoniously into the sea. The term for this scary event is known as : "Pitchpoling."