Although the general public dismissed surfing on the Great Lakes as an eccentric niche activity during the 1960s, the surfing revolution had spread across the entire globe—quite an achievement for a sport that began thousands of years ago when Polynesians brought the skills of wave riding to Hawaii. As the first Europeans to observe and record men riding waves on specially carved planks of wood in 1778, Captain James Cook and his crew named it “the royal sport of kings.” By the turn of the twentieth century, writers such as Mark Twain and Jack London shared their wit and wisdom about the adrenaline rush generated by riding a Hawaiian wave. Soon after, Hawaii became a popular tourist destination for mainlanders, who watched with fascination the art of wave riding. Naturally, the tourists were eager to try it themselves, and many of Waikiki’s native surfers became teachers, including one who became a legend among surfers—Duke Paoa Kahanamoku.
Following his gold medal win in the hundred-meter freestyle during the 1912 Olympic Games in Stockholm, Sweden, his fifth medal in four Olympics, the charismatic Hawaiian became “The Ambassador of Modern Surfing,” touring Europe and the United States. Hosting exhibitions and swimming contests, Duke was known as “The Swimming Duke,” “The Bronze Duke of Waikiki,” and “The Human Fish.” After winning the 1920 Olympic gold medal in the hundred-meter freestyle at Antwerp, Belgium, Duke and his fellow Hawaiians stopped in Detroit for several exhibitions, marking the Midwest’s introduction to ocean surfing.
When a young Thomas Blake from Washburn, Wisconsin, met the legendary Duke Kahanamoku in Detroit that year, he soon became the conduit between the ancient South Pacific surf culture and America’s twentieth-century watermen. Reared near the waves of the world’s largest freshwater lake, Blake learned the skills of paddle-boarding and surfing as well as the art of carving boards. Developing the ability to produce watercraft in harmony with nearly one thousand years of surfing history, he was credited with revolutionizing the design of boards used for saltwater surfing worldwide.
Lee surfing off North Side Beach’s second jetty on October 31, 2009
At the time, surfboards were carved from a single plank of heavy wood, often weighing up to one hundred pounds. They were awkward and difficult to maneuver. Adopting the aloha frame of mind, Blake copied an ancient, largely ignored board design he saw in Honolulu’s Bishop Museum. Through creative experimentation, he began producing his “hollow board” with a new wood product called plywood. Lighter and faster than the typical boards being used at the time, the “Cigar Box,” as it was dubbed by skeptics, soon became famous after Duke tried and liked the design.
Besides making his surfboards, paddleboards, and lifesaving equipment easily accessible to the general public, Blake contributed to humanity with the invention of the rescue paddleboard, which lifeguards today use on a daily basis to save tens of thousands of lives each year. Throughout his life, Blake introduced new generations to the richness of surfing’s heritage and now is celebrated as one of the twentieth century’s greatest surfing innovators. His unique lifestyle—fusing religion, surfing, swimming, building surfboards, healthy eating, and exercising—became the model for the burgeoning beach culture.
By the early 1970s, the stereotypical surfer was identified as a bronzed, blond-haired, blue-eyed wave rider whose command of the ocean’s rhythmic pulses entranced throngs of girls waiting on the beach for even a tiny slice of his attention. In 1957, with the success of Frederick Kohner’s novel Gidget, which was based on his teenage daughter’s introduction to surfing, the surfing revolution in pop culture began. It exploded when Hollywood transformed the book into a 1959 movie and later into a popular television series starring Sally Field. As surfing’s nationwide popularity exploded stateside, there was soon no limit to how advertisers would exploit the iconic fun-and-sun images of woody station wagons, slick surfboard designs, and go-go dancing to the tunes of the Safaris and the Ventures.
Media-savvy surfers capitalized on the opportunity to become cultural icons. Filmmaker Bud Browne, who has often been credited with inventing the surfing movie genre in the mid-fifties, surfboard manufacturer Greg Noll, Surfer Magazine founder John Severson, and original surfing hotdoggers Dewey Weber and Miki Dora became household names. As the surfing craze of the early and mid-sixties captured the imaginations of both surfers and non-surfers, Middle America still didn’t quite know what to make of those dedicated individuals who were surfing the Great Lakes.
Lee and Larry drew blank stares whenever they drove through the streets of Sheboygan in a beat-up, surf-sticker-covered 1963 Ford station wagon during the summer of 1970, their Hobie, Con, and Dewey Weber surfboards strapped onto their Sears & Roebuck gutter-mounted roof rack. No matter where they went after a morning spent surfing, their dripping wetsuits open down to their waists, the Williams brothers attracted comments from curious onlookers, such as “Those sure are fancy dive suits” and “Are you boys scuba divers?”
Lee and Kevin Groh overlooking Sheboygan’s North Side Beach
Lee politely replied, “We’re surfers.”
Equally polite but definitely confused, the person would respond along the lines of, “How fast do you get going with the sails on those boards?”
Larry would try to explain, interjecting Gidget and Moon Doggie as pop culture references to help the person understand.
“You can’t surf on Lake Michigan,” the person would say.
“We just surfed the Elbow, three blocks from here,” Lee might exclaim, pointing east toward the water.
If they had the time, the brothers would tell the person about surfing spots they’d heard about from other surfers all over Lake Michigan, mentioning Milwaukee’s Bradford and McKinley beaches, Racine’s Wind Point, known for its big antique lighthouse, and Chicago’s Rainbow, Loyola, Oak Street, and North Avenue beaches. They’d describe the surf beach just outside of Gary, Indiana, called Whiting, known for its pounding waves set against an urban backdrop.
MAP CREATED BY CLERISY PRESS
“It’s a very surrealistic setting,” Lee would say. “After paddling out, you’ll see brown, stinky steel mills to your left and the Chicago skyline to your right.”
Known amongst freshwater surfers as one of Lake Michigan’s favorite hot spots, Whiting is near another famous surfing destination nicknamed “Shooters.” Though Gary was known as one of the murder capitals of the United States, the boys weren’t sure how the break earned its nickname until they heard handguns firing near them.
Larry recalled, “Here I’m ready to start swimming away from the gunfire while everybody else is standing around, drinking beer, and waxing their boards. Nobody’s flinching. Not a one.”
“And I’m yelling, what the hell is going on? It’s gunfire, people,” Lee added.
They soon found out that the building near where they were surfing was a gun club with a shooting range.
“So when you made your way back into shore,” Larry explained, “the crunching noise under your feet isn’t seashells or rocks, it’s clay pigeons from the trap and skeet shooters.”
As the listener learned about a hidden culture thriving right in his own part of the country, the boys would continue their tour, describing miles of uncharted beach breaks before venturing north past Michigan City toward New Buffalo, Michigan. Since it’s only ninety miles south of the freshwater surfing Mecca of Grand Haven, New Buffalo was rapidly growing in popularity among the younger surfers. Larry and Lee described it for the uninitiated in Sheboygan: “They’ve got this great break on this huge marina because a bunch of millionaires from Gary and Chicago house their huge cigarette racers there and race on the open waters. So you paddle past their little marina, which is all of two and a half minutes to get to the other side, and you can surf on either side, north or south. Plus, if you know there’s going to be a crowd, that’s where you want to be. You want to hoot and holler with your friends, push the limit, and just share—you know, the water’s always 10 degrees warmer when you’re surfing with friends.”
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bsp; Larry surfing the Cove on his 7-foot, 2-inch Hobie long board in 1970
To explain the lure of the sport, Larry compared it to golf. “It’s not just about the drive or the putt,” he’d say, “but rather the anticipation you feel when stepping up to the tee, getting that first glance of your lie when walking up to the green or lining up the putt. The nuances are in the mental preparation.”
Lee related more to the adrenaline rush than the emotional quest: “As surfers, we have waves that are peaking while they’re shifting. So for a downhill skier, it’d be like racing straight downhill on a mogul run and hitting those huge bumps that keep moving, forcing the skier to tuck in just the right spot if they don’t want to wipe out.”
Satisfied with Lee and Larry’s colorful and detailed descriptions, the listener would wish them well, perhaps adding, “I’ll look out for you next time I’m at the beach.”
By the summer of 1970, Lee was doing quite well for himself. The sixteen-year-old was about to enter his junior year of high school and had a well-paying (by high school standards) part-time job at the local grocery store. He’d begun competing in some regional surfing events, and he took home hardware after almost every contest he entered. Larry was too preoccupied with odd jobs and a growing interest in chasing skirts to get involved in the competitive surf circuit.
When the initial novelty of beach-bunny surf movies and Gidget-esque fiction began to wane in popularity during the mid-sixties, the sport’s appeal remained strong through competitive surfing contests, which drew audiences interested in experiencing a sense of combat without blood during the height of the Vietnam War. Although surfing contests had been around since the first time Polynesian surfers raced each other across a rolling wave, the modern surfing contests held in Hawaii and Australia and on both American coasts were a more recent phenomenon and attracted the attention of magazine writers, television producers, photographers, and sponsors. Knowing they’d never get rich surfing in meets, most surfers participated just to feed their egos and fuel their images. Most serious surfers felt that the judging of performances was as fluid—and capricious—as the waves they rode, and so being chosen “the best” at a particular contest didn’t mean all that much to them.
Lee posing with his first surfboard in July of 1970
Lee adapted to competitive surfing quite naturally. Beyond being a talented surfer, which he was, he needed to be flashy—putting lots of crowd-pleasing pizzazz into his performance to grab the title of “champion.” He learned the three skills needed to succeed in competition: impress the judges, please the crowd, and master the waves at the contest site. Since the surfing contest on Labor Day weekend in 1970 was held on his home waves in Sheboygan, Lee overflowed with confidence, and it showed. The decent-sized crowd reveled in his grace and determination as he rode the waves with panache unrivaled by any of his competitors.
He made everything look easy. Surfing in unseasonably chilly water, he weaved through rough, choppy, and inconsistent waves. After finishing his last run, he was so numb from the cold that he could barely walk out of the water. If a competition official hadn’t grabbed his board at the shoreline, Lee might have not made it to the roaring bonfire to thaw out in time for the trophy presentation.
Looking loose and relaxed in front of the enthusiastic crowd gathered at Shooting Park, Lee graciously accepted his trophy. He did his best to hide his exhaustion. While many surfers are blessed with tremendous natural ability, few had the drive Lee Williams possessed when it came to accomplishing goals.
Starting out like a million other skinny, pimple-faced gremmies, Lee developed an intense desire to become a respected surfer. He worked constantly to refine his skills. As his skills sharpened, he grew more and more confident in his ability, and he used that self-assurance to succeed in competitions.
He felt far less confident, however, when interacting with the opposite sex. He would stumble nervously through conversations with girls—if he even found the courage to speak at all. But he saw someone after the Labor Day surfing competition that inspired him to conquer those feelings. As he was drying off among a group of fellow surfers, Lee spied a spunky brunette with emerald eyes walking with her group of friends on the park’s far side.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“They’re from North,” one of the boys replied, snapping Lee on the leg with a towel, a gesture that Lee uncharacteristically ignored.
“What’s her name?”
The boy looked at the three girls walking closer to them now. “Which one?” he asked, clearly not interested.
Lee didn’t break his stare at the beauty. “The dark-haired one. What’s her name?”
“What do you care? Girls like her don’t go for surfers like us,” the boy said, rolling up his towel to give Lee another snap. “If I told you her name, you’d just embarrass yourself. Let it go.”
“Introduce me. I want to meet her.”
“Man, North High is a world away. Why would she want to date anyone from South?”
Lee was well aware that the north side of Sheboygan was the more sophisticated and financially entitled part of town, known for looking down upon the blue-collar south side. Nevertheless, he grabbed his trophy—in hopes it would give him confidence—and sauntered up to the spunky brunette.
“I just wanted to introduce myself as the guy who thought you were the prettiest girl in the park today,” he said.
She blushed. Her friends giggled. Lee felt his confidence shaking a bit but stayed focused. “I’m Lee Williams,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Michele, but my friends call me Mitch.”
“Nice to meet you, Michele.”
“You can call me Mitch,” she said with a smile. “You were pretty good today.”
“Oh, you saw that?” He waved away her compliment, feeling more confident. “Nobody cares much about my surfing.”
“I think it’s fascinating,” she said, gazing softly at him with her big emerald eyes.
They chatted for a few minutes, the whole world dropping away as they talked. Lee had never felt this way before, and it seemed clear that his feelings were reciprocated. Hoping to continue the connection, he asked, “Do you and your friends need a ride home?”
She nodded. “A ride home would be lovely.”
With the surfing events concluded, Lee left the park with Mitch and her two friends in the backseat of his 1963 Ford station wagon. As they drove along the lake toward the north side of town, Lee struggled for things to talk about.
“Tomorrow is the first day of school,” he said, “so we probably won’t ever see each other again. Ya know? Since we go to different high schools and all. So I just wanted to let you know how nice it was to meet you today.”
He looked in his rearview mirror and saw Mitch sitting between her friends in the backseat with a tear rolling down her cheek. He stopped the car and asked if she’d get out of the car for a minute.
They stepped out. With Mitch’s friends waiting in the backseat, they strolled to a nearby park. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
She flipped back her hair. “I want to see you again.”
Lee’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “I would like that,” he said as calmly as possible. “Can I pick you up tomorrow night to just talk about the first day of school?”
“I’d like that,” Mitch said, smiling as she looked into Lee’s blue eyes and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. It was a soft kiss, warm and inviting. For Lee, it was a kiss that would change his life forever.
Larry was enjoying the Labor Day festivities with Kevin Groh and several Lake Shore Surf Club alumni. The makeshift “People’s Party” reflected the times as hippies and beatniks rocked to anti-Vietnam War tunes, burning incense and selling beaded jewelry as quickly as they could weave it. The cloud of marijuana hanging over the wooded park that afternoon was probably potent enough to bake an innocent bystander in Manitowoc (about thirty miles north). Since Larry and Kevin weren’t interested in particip
ating in surf competitions, they focused on persuading friends to sneak them beers, while trying to balance their surfboards on their heads with their wetsuits pulled down to their waists. Having already drunk too many beers, Larry didn’t realize his brother had left the festivities hours earlier with Mitch. He spent his night weaving through hippies squatted in the lotus position and blowing his money on beer—and later that night, blowing chunks behind the stage amps.
As the school year progressed, Lee and Mitch’s relationship blossomed from physical attraction into true love. Thanks to years of surfing, Lee was a handsomely tanned, blue-eyed, sandy-blond-haired teenager. Besides his athletic build and the broad shoulders of a powerful swimmer, his ability to make her laugh made him the most romantic man Mitch had ever met. For Lee, Mitch was the perfect combination of a muse and dream girl from the moment they met. Although her petite figure, curly brown hair, and big green eyes gave the impression she was dainty and soft-spoken, Mitch immediately began holding her own around Lee and Larry. Playing the challenging roles of girlfriend, cheerleader, and referee when dealing with the brothers, she soon found herself in the middle of a feud between them. And they were feuding about her.
Larry made a habit of criticizing Lee’s choice of a girlfriend behind his back. He wasn’t kind in his assessment of Mitch. In retaliation, Lee dished the same criticisms when Larry began dating someone. It grew into an ugly routine—each of them badmouthing the other’s girlfriend with “she has this issue” or “she’s a that.”
Since Lee was a junior and Mitch was a senior, he felt pressure to impress her at any cost, even if it meant acting against what his surfing buddies would say is “cool.” He courted her with personalized sonnets, sketched drawings, and flower bouquets poached from neighborhood gardens. Since she was a northsider and he was from the south side, their relationship was frowned upon by their friends and families.
Some Like It Cold Page 10