The lifeguards were quirky but qualified

I saw in the Pilot that Wes Armand is going to retire soon. I

first met Wes when he was the lifeguard at Little Corona. In those

days, one lifeguard was assigned to the beach for the entire season,

so we got to know them very well over the course of the summer. Wes

was one of the best.

I’ve told the story several times of the tourist who wandered down

to the beach one day, looked out at the ocean, and then went up to

Wes.

“How deep is it out there?” he asked.

Wes could have been a smart aleck and pointed out that the depth

went from a fraction of an inch at the water’s edge to miles deep at

the Philippine Trench.

Instead, he said gravely, “It’s over your head, sir.”

The man nodded and walked away satisfied. More importantly, he

didn’t go in the water.

Then there was the time, before there was an ordinance forbidding

dogs on the beach, that my daughter brought our beagle, Sam, to

Little Corona.

Since beagles don’t understand commands, such as “sit” or “stay,”

when Nancy went in the water, she tied Sam to the lifeguard tower.

Beagles also don’t understand being tied up (Beagles don’t understand

anything except doing what they want to do) and he expressed his

dissatisfaction by baying not only loudly but constantly. Nancy

couldn’t hear him from out in the water, but Wes, sitting only a few

feet above him, got the full benefit of Sam’s complaints.

After numerous verbal commands proved futile, Wes climbed down

from the tower, walked over the sand to the trash can, emptied its

contents, brought it back and placed it over the dog. Sam let out an

outraged howl at this indignity, but the reverberation must have

stunned him, because after that one howl, there was not a peep out of

him and he remained quiet until Nancy came in from the water, at

which time Wes told her of a new rule -- no dogs on the beach -- and

sent both home.

One of Wes’ successors was Bubba Broering. How Bubba made the

force was always a question. Although he was an excellent swimmer and

a conscientious guard, he was also blind. Even with his thick

glasses, he could see only a few feet in front of his face. Without

them ... .

If there was any surf, the regulars would keep a sharp eye on the

water. Inevitably, a set would come through mowing down any number of

tourists. A yell would go up: “Bubba! Someone’s caught in the rip!”

Like a retriever after a bird, Bubba was off. Grabbing his buoy,

he’d charge into the water, swimming with powerful strokes -- right

past the floundering swimmer. You could see the victim madly swimming

after Bubba, making futile grabs for the buoy in an effort to be

saved.

“To the right,” someone would yell.

Bubba would make the correction and eventually hook up with the

relieved swimmer. With a little help from his friends, he never lost

one.

Today’s guards are probably more accomplished swimmers, but I

doubt they have the ingenuity of these earlier guards.

ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.

His column runs Tuesdays.