The
Wave
(Mark
S. Daniels)
~ End of an Era ~
I used to watch them as a child.
High over my home in the San Fernando Valley, during the
early 1960s; flying the old two-winged
"Biplanes" from an
era now long gone, making magic against the vast blue,
heavenly slate.
Skywriters.
Using their aircraft as though a pen; creating those
enormous, puffed-white letters, of an alphabet I had yet
to learn.
Craftsmen in the sky making larger than life those large,
spacey messages, seemingly so trivial today.
I watched them so long ago, floating across the apparent
stillness of those crystal-blue, California skies.
"Scripture" they were, these banners driven
slowly across
the valley heights by winds aloft, delivering
"Commandments" and "Messages,"
seemingly from God, like:
"DRINK COCA COLA"
"4TH OF JULY AT PACIFIC OCEAN PARK..."
"L.A. COUNTY FAIR, OCT. 1 - 31, POMONA
FAIRGROUNDS..."
~ California Brown Pelican in Flight
~
In Sunny California, that's how one would note the
season's change. The Summers seemed to last forever
there...
...and so we'd drink our "Coca Cola" on the
drive down to the beach, following Santa Monica Boulevard
and the like-minded in their automobiles, who
bottle-necked us at every stop light for what seemed like
a hundred miles!
We might stop at the Will Rogers Estate on the way to the
beach, and look at the old house, or the grass polo
fields where Wiley Post used to land his famous, wooden
airplane--the "Winnie May"--long ago retired as
an exhibit within a museum known as the
"Smithsonian."
Then we'd head to Will Rogers State Beach...
"Boy! People sure like Will Rogers! Hey, ma!? Who's
'Will Rogers'?"
...and then my brother Mike, my sister Chris, and I--we'd
jump and dance in the surf; picnic with Mom on the beach;
walk the shore at water's edge; look for sea shells in
the foam; then try to recite stupid things like...
"Sally sells sea shells at the sea shore!"
...and God only knows why--other than to laugh ourselves
silly, while trying to out-do each other with our grand
recitals!
~ Can Man ~
Then
we'd explore the barnacle-covered rocks beyond water's
edge, looking for Star Fish, Sea Anenome, and Octopi,
that would cling there in the waters of Santa Monica
Bay...
...in a day when those waters were still clean.
Then Mom, I, and her gentleman friend (since Dad had
"up and split!"), would hang around in that
warm, mellow, evening breeze, beside that gentle bay that
was friend to us all.
A bay upon which, stood two glorious piers--the Santa
Monica Pier, and Pacific Ocean Park. The former where the
Merry-go-round would twirl and the Calliope music would
play, and there was laughter under the stars.
Then three of us would listen to the distant Roller
Coaster on the latter, and Mom and her friend would joke
with me about whose loud yell was my "big
brother's," or which shrill scream belonged to my
"big sister" (neither of whom, were much bigger
than I)...
...both having departed to ride the giant Roller Coaster
ride at "P-O-P," just to our south.
~ Traveler ~
Those enormous piers sat majestically, side-by-side once,
thus we could listen and laugh at the sound of terrified
screams, ebbing and flowing like the coastal tide, as
dozens of riders got their thrills.
The behemoth, trestle-like structure of the Roller
Coaster, towered above the busy arcade. Cars, track, and
people, all supported by wavy hills and mountainous
climbs of white, wooden beams, that criss-crossed beneath
as timbered-supports.
There were so many of these timbers, that it seemed to
me, a pile of toothpicks waiting to fall!
Over the sound of the waves, came the sensational noise
of metallic wheels on twin, iron rails, as the Roller
Coaster sped along. Like a freight train whose passing is
constant, only whose momentum is such, that it flows like
an accordian affect.
"What holds the cars on!? Aren't those people
scared!? No, it's okay. I'm sure it's fun, but I don't
want to ride."
Then we'd watch the fireworks as they lit up the sky, and
fell as tiny snowflakes, glimmering into the water. As
they did, we'd light up a sparkler or two or twelve or
twenty...
"These are cool! How come they only come in one
color? Make 'em go up! Make 'em go up! DARN! Mine fell in
the water."
Then some time in the night, I'd wake up half-way between
the car and our small apartment on Hollywood Way, in
Burbank, California, being carried into bed while my
brother and sister would make faces at me.
Both would be laughing about all the fun they had, and
why didn't I come along (hee-yeah, right!), and what a
"chicken" I was, since after all...
"...it was just a little ol' rolly coaster!"
~ "Rolly Coaster" ~
A
Roller Coaster that lived in days long before P-O-P was
consumed by fire, but still lives in my mind today. Back
in a time when "Ike" was our President, when
the Summers were neverending, and life was good.
These were among my first memories. As was the Summer I
nearly drowned.
The year was 1959, and I was three and a half years old.
My brother, sister and I, were walking at the edge of the
surf at Santa Monica Beach, looking for sea shells.
As usual, we were letting the waves roll across our bare
feet, as each wave caressed the shoreline. The three of
us liked that feeling of motion--even when standing
still--that we got when the surf returned to the sea.
Somewhat a sinking feeling, that seemed to drag you
towards the sea, as the waves withdrew from where they
came.
...or should I say, one ended up feeling like they were
farther from the beach, than the moment each wave first
touched the shore.
~ Fishermen ~
Mom
had given us all the warnings, such as not swimming for
twenty minutes after eating--otherwise, we'd get cramps
and drown.
"Ma? What are 'gramps'!?"
She, of course, warned us of the dreaded "Rip
Tide."
Personally, I thought he was a character from Grandma's
favorite song, "Mack the Knife," or, perhaps...
...a famous actor? (Come on, give me a break--I was only
three years old at the time!)
In actuality, the Rip Tide was a strong, underwater
current--known as "undertow"--that exists when
nearby storms of great strength, create a hydraulic
"force" that builds a sandbar near the shore.
As the sandbar grows, the water in between builds up
until it overflows the barrier, then cuts a path back out
to sea.
Working through Physics as though a "Venturi
Tube," the pool of water passes through the channel,
increasing in velocity at the narrow point, before
exiting the sandbar in a rush.
Thus is created a "ripping" -- like with a saw
blade clearing through a piece of wood -- becoming a
device that can drag at first, then flow quickly,
ultimately taking even the best swimmers out to sea very
rapidly.
As it was, I didn't know how to swim.
We hadn't wandered far from our Mother when a wave came
in, and I ran out to chase it back to the sea--a big
mistake, because the wave was followed by a second,
larger wave, before the first had even retreated.
That larger wave grabbed me like fingers curling on a
hand, and proceeded to pull me right in.
~ Wooden Planks of the Santa Monica
Pier ~
The sensation of being tumbled in the sand, under the
water, was as heavenly as it was frightening. I couldn't
breathe, I was swallowing great amounts of water, and
I could see my sister and brother trying to grab me from
the sea, without being pulled in themselves.
In fact, they were chasing me as the wave took me out
towards the ocean. Neither could seem to catch up.
My ears, immersed in water, could hear only the pouring,
bubbling sound of the surf, and an occasional word or two
my sister yelled to me through the brine.
I was running out of air and becoming weaker. I was
scared, and yet the feeling was of being so airey and
light. There was no feeling of suffocation -- I would
liken it to being in the womb--though I am hard-pressed
to remember that far back!
Just the same, I do think that was the closest I ever
came to being in the hands of something angelic, though I
did not see an angel.
Or did I?
I remember looking directly at my sister, and the effect
was as though looking through a plate glass window with a
waterfall rushing over it.
There she was--my "big sister"--desperately
reaching out for me!
Then I heard her yell: "Grab my hand!"
I was ready to let go, but instead, I made one last
thrust.
I couldn't even reach for her, I was too weak. I just
thrust my hand out, and she caught it, clenched it, and
pulled with all her might, dragging me from the wave.
One hand trying to take me out to seas, the other trying
to pull me back in to shore, and the smaller of the two
hands won!
Then the reality of my situation was clear as I gagged
and spit up salt water, then began crying, my lungs once
again filled with air!
No doctor around, but I should have been slapped!
My brother and my sister were laughing, while
simultaneously scared to death!
My sister remarked: "We almost lost you! You almost
died!"
Forty years later, I still haven't learned how to swim.
Go figure!
I still love the water's edge, and I still want to spend
some time on the open waters of the Pacific. Wherever I
can find an ocean, a lake, a river, or even a stream --
somehow, I can find peace there.
Only my Creator knows why.
~ Sailboat on Santa Monica Bay ~
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