That Brother Right There . . .

is someone whose story I'm now on a mission to tell. He and I have never met. I'd seen a photo or two of him here and there. I knew he was a surfer. And that was all I knew . . .

until . . .

I watched Hal Jepsen's Cosmic Children and noted that the camera stayed on him for a bit. He was only sitting on the sand, but I was struck by the fact that he was obviously where he was supposed to be.

By that I mean, he wasn't a mere spectator who just happened to be watching a surf contest at Malibu in the late '60s or early '70s. He wasn't Malibu Carl. ("Gimme a dolla.") He was someone who was part of that scene.

He was a surfer.

In fact, he was a very good surfer. Those who surfed Malibu regularly knew him well. I recently asked an old-timer about him. His answer? Well, the words "Jimi Hendrix of surfing" were used.

This brother, the one with the crooked afro and missing front teeth, was a surfer of note.

He's not a young man anymore. And I do believe those teeth were fixed long ago. He is, thankfully, alive and well. Unfortunately, he does not live near the ocean.

I suppose I've now embarked on a journey. I don't even know where I'm going. All I know is that I'm on my way. His story will be told—by me—one way or the other.