Soul Surfer Johnny Rides: Again and Again and Again: All Three Books in One

By Bill Missett

This special edition of the "Soul Surfer Johnny" trilogy brings all three books together in one volume, with a special bonus chapter of 15 new stories.

It includes the complete versions of "Soul Surfer Johnny," "Soul Surfer Johnny Returns," and "Soul Surfer Johnny Rips" intact and unabridged.

Plus a new 12,000-word segment of new stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491812877

Bill Missett

Bill Missett, a retired California daily newspaper editor, lives in a small fishing/surfing village in Southern Mexico. Some 40 years ago, Bill experienced a life-saving incident of spontaneous mental telepathy while bodysurfing. That prompted more than two decades of study and investigation into metaphysics and psychic phenomena, which led to the spiritual experiences that created this book. He is married to Patrice Perillie, a prominent human rights/political asylum attorney with offices in New York City and Oaxaca, Mexico. He is the father of two adult sons, Bill III and Jeffrey. His personal interests include archaeology, artifact hunting, raising trees from seed, preparing homegrown chili spices, bodysurfing, bird watching, music and reading. He can be reached at [e-mail]

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© 2013 by Bill Missett. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/01/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1286-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1287-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover Art: Soul Surfer Johnny going left on a 12-foot Far Bar barrel. Photo by John Gardener

Contents

Chapter One :       Bells Are Ringing

Chapter Two :       Two Tickets to L.A.

Chapter Three :       Puerto, Here We Come

Chapter Four :       Ron Shares His Secret

Chapter Five :       Life’s Turning Point

Chapter Six :       Prowling Puerto

Chapter Seven :       Lurch Does Puerto

Chapter Eight :       Sammy’s Monkey and Other Tails

Chapter Nine :       Pluking In Puerto

Chapter Ten :       Fire in the Hole

Chapter Eleven :       Major Mackers for All

Chapter Twelve :       Burglars in the Night

Chapter Thirteen :       Returning to Reality

Chapter Fourteen :       Changing the Past

Chapter Fifteen :       As The Puerto Grinds

Introduction

to the Soul Surfer Johnny Trilogy

Although the third book in the Soul Surfer Johnny trilogy proclaimed that it was going to be the last in the series, there were a number of Puerto stories left untold, which were just itching to be printed. So I decided to package all three of the books in one volume, and include these stories as a special bonus.

That extra chapter, which tells 15 new Puerto stories in 12,000 words, is positioned at the back of this book, after the close of the third volume, Soul Surfer Johnny Rips. It is unnumbered, and is titled Make Me Another One With Everything, echoing the chapter by a similar name in Johnny Rips.

Throughout the three original books, I’ve cleaned up a few errors, corrected some grammar, caught a few typos, and smoothed out a few sentences. But other than those touches, the three books are presented here intact, uncut and uncensored. (Except for those stories I can’t tell.)

These new stories range from discovering how surfing originally came to Puerto, to discovering the existence of the mysterious Clipperton Island 500 miles off Puerto, to Johnny’s ode to the lowly turkey buzzard, to Jarhead’s recollections of his pioneer aviation exploits into Puerto, an eclectic blend of Puerto history, flora and fauna.

All that are lacking are the three great covers which graced those original three books, which unfortunately cannot be reproduced here. Those covers featured big wave bodysurfers on major waves, including one shot in Puerto featuring four-time world bodysurfing champion John Shearer on a classic 20-foot right.

The cover of this volume shows the author on a Far Bar left, shot in the early ’90s by pioneer Puerto surf photographer John Gardener, who also shot the Shearer cover photo.

Again, I would like to thank John Shearer, a veteran English teacher in the Los Angeles school district, for his editing assistance and guidance on various aspects of Puerto history. John edited two of the three Soul Surfer Johnny books, including the new additions here, and contributed many anecdotes for the books over the years.

John, a world-class bodysurfer and bodyboarder, first came to Puerto in 1974, and has been visiting twice a year every year since, until recently. So he knows a lot about early Puerto history and its cast of characters, and his advice has been invaluable.

He told me about Puerto in that summer of ’74 while we were competing in the World Bodysurfing Championships in Oceanside, Calif. You have to go to Puerto, he insisted. You won’t believe the waves there. It was great advice, which steered me to Puerto several years later. And he was right about the surf.

I’d also to thank El Sol de La Costa editor emeritus Warren Sharpe for once again enhancing the cover photo to higher quality book publishing standards.

Many thanks to Thomas Wilson, for writing the final back cover notes in this series edition.

And special thanks to John Hudson, aka Jarhead, for his entertaining recollections of flying into Puerto back in the good old days.

Hope you all enjoy it!

– Bill Missett

July 25, 2013

Soul Surfer

Johnny

The almost true story about

. . . becoming one with the wave

by

Bill Missett

Preface

The outrageous stories you are about to read are mostly true, but it’s hard to tell where the truth ends and the fiction begins in many instances. There is so much wild truth to be found here that the fictional passages are often tame in comparison.

In Chapter One, there really was a wayward altar boy, and his church story is true. However, for the life of me, I can’t remember his name. He was an Irish-American kid, so I call him Johnny Burke here. We went through navy journalism school together in 1960, and he told us this hilarious true story at least a half-dozen times over beers after class. After the incident in church, however, the remainder of his story is fictional – for him.

In Chapter Two, there really is a legendary gang called the Tyrony Bros., who have been terrorizing Southern California with pranks, fun and mirth for some 40 years now. The gang is still in existence, now some 400 members strong and still taking in new members.

Hats off to Craig Shearer, the real Tony Tyrony, the Undisputed Exalted Leader of the Tyrony Bros., and all Tyrony Bros. and Sisters. Also, a big tip of the hat to Craig’s brother, John Shearer, aka Waltah Tyrony, for his recollection of the early exploits of the Tyrony Bros., printed here for the first time. (Full disclosure: I am also a member of the Tyronys, known as Boney Cojone Tyrony.)

The Tyronys really did find a great little-known surf spot in Southern Mexico in the early 1970s, which I thinly disguise here as Puerto Tranquilo. (It’s where I live, and there are too many people here already.) As a surf spot, it ranks near the top in the Western hemisphere. It is known as the world’s largest beach break (which means it has a sand bottom) with overhead surf 300 days of the year, so they say, and 80-degree water temperatures almost year-round. It is also unforgivingly brutal for the inexperienced and the experienced alike. Those who have been there will recognize this setting, and know the true name of this now-famous surf break.

All of the stories related are true, including many experiences I discovered on my first few trips there back in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Often, Johnny Burke and others relive the experiences I had or heard about in those wild years. A few incidents, however, are from later years, and a few are fictional.

All the Puerto characters are real, or were, and some names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty. There is no malice in the stories presented here, just a true record of a very real era in a very special town, which attracts many wild characters.

There really is a World Bodysurfing Championships, held annually in Oceanside, Calif., and a number of the Tyronys do compete in it – and frequently win – every year.

I’d like to thank San Diego Union-Tribune travel writer John Muncie for the use of his line, If Puerto was any more laid-back, it would fall down, from his 1994 travel article on Puerto and Bruno’s restaurant.

Thanks to famous singer-songwriter Jack Tempchin for borrowing the lines sliding down into your love, and peaceful easy feeling from his songs of the same titles.

Special thanks to John Shearer for his editing skills, to my wife, Patrice, for suggesting the explosive ending to the story, to Tommy Wilson for his heart-felt back cover notes, and to master watercolorist Gordon Mackenzie for the cover art, a birthday gift to me from Patrice.

Chapter One

Bells Are Ringing

Dawn’s first rays flashed over the purple-shrouded mountains to the east, and to the west illuminated the surf until each wave sparkled like a rock concert light show. Johnny Burke lazily rolled over on his boogie board, refreshing himself in the cool ocean water.

He was out in the rolling surf shortly after dawn, hoping to catch a few waves before work began this unusually hot summer day. Toasty Santa Ana winds whipping in off the desert blew the tops off the waves, making billowy gusts of ocean spray known to surfers as smoke surf. It was already in the 80’s shortly after sunrise.

Gonna be another scorcher, Johnny said, to no one in particular.

Enjoying the ocean was a wonderful new experience for Johnny Burke, who had 16 tough years under his belt. Riding waves was also new to him, as was his entire new life in California. Just months before, he had been living in the all too familiar grind of his rough and tumble waterfront neighborhood in Fall River, Mass.

Johnny, despite growing up less than 50 miles from the Atlantic Ocean, never had an opportunity to swim in it, and had seen it only once. He never went to the beach as a kid, but had learned to expertly swim in the tidal rivers that flowed through his hometown to the sea. There, swimming against the tide separated the men from the boys among the many young wharf rats who made the waterfront their turf. Johnny was one of the few who could beat the tide swimming between the abandoned docks where they hung out.

Now he was surfing in the Pacific Ocean with his new surf buddy Ron. They met when Ron rescued him from school bullies in Hermosa Beach High School, where he had unexpectedly found himself only eight weeks before. Johnny had just moved west, after growing up on the wrong side of the docks in Fall River, where being tough was a part of life. Fall River, an old seaport mill town south of Boston, is most famous for being the hometown of Lizzie Borden and her axe.

Those unkind memories were distant now, far behind him. His new California surfing life was fun, more fun than this poor kid had ever enjoyed. His sad past was forgotten in the instantaneous thrill of this challenging new sport. Never before had he experienced the joy and freedom he felt here, in the ocean off Southern California. The gentle waves lulled him into a dream state, as he remembered how he got here, so different than his prior life in the poorest waterfront section of Fall River.

Hey Bawston, he could still hear ringing in his ears. Go pahk ya cahr, he heard as he was bounced from wall to wall in the boy’s locker area at Hermosa Beach High. Over and over the taunt rang out, initiation for the new boy in town. Johnny could handle himself, but there were seven or eight of them, bouncing him from one wall to the other, banging him against the steel lockers. He was basically letting them do it, play locker hockey with him, while not resisting and trying not to get hurt. He could take this initiation roughhousing, this rite of passage.

They were making great fun of his heavy Bawston accent, which really was much more raucous than a genuine Boston accent, which seemed almost refined in comparison. His raunchy accent didn’t sound funny to him, however, for it was the only way he knew how to talk. The bullies sounded funny to him, with their Valley dude accents and expressions.

‘Bam!’ He slammed against one locker, and almost simultaneously, ‘Bam!’ he was slammed into another. Then suddenly, the gang broke and ran, as a beefy, blonde-haired senior turned the corner and dashed into the melee. He helped Johnny up, and asked if he was okay. As soon as Johnny answered, Ron Thorson said, You sure do talk funny. Where ya from?

As they walked toward class, Johnny’s rescuer learned that Johnny had just moved to Hermosa, and so he immediately asked him if he wanted to learn how to surf. Sure, I’d love ta, Johnny said. I love to swim. That afternoon, using a borrowed body board and swim fins, Johnny Burke caught his first wave, and was instantly hooked on surfing.

Hey, outside! shouted his new surfing buddy, alerting Johnny to incoming set waves. Both spun around on their boards and stroked diagonally toward the first looming wave as it rapidly approached. Ron expertly shifted his board’s course and caught the curling face of the wave as it began peaking toward shore. He rocketed off like a bullet, out of sight down the line as the wave barreled over him and sent him flying through a smooth-as-glass surf tube toward shore.

Johnny watched this thrilling moment unfold as he duck-dived his board through the face of the wave and slid safely underwater, out the back of the wave, under the wave’s breaking lip, just as Ron had taught him. He dreamed of the day when he could surf as smoothly as Ron. He hoped it was soon, because he already knew he wanted to surf for the rest of his life. He’d caught a few smaller waves, but nothing like that perfect tube ride. But he knew he had to learn to ride the small waves first before he could learn how to catch the bigger ones.

This was Johnny’s joyous new routine, early in the morning before school if the surf was good, and every afternoon after school. Surfing came first on Saturdays and Sundays, too, before chores at home and work – or church – required his presence. He’d get up at dawn, go surfing for two hours, eat a huge breakfast, and then take care of business.

Surfing always came first. Johnny had discovered that surfing was a wonderful new sport, one which helped ease the stress and tension surrounding his sudden, mid-year appearance at Hermosa Beach High, and his wrenching departure from the familiar confines of his old home town of Fall River, Mass.

And it was all his fault.

He could see it all unfold now in his mind’s eye, as he rocked gently in the waves between the sets. He remembered the whole thing like it had happened yesterday. He had been sneaking into the house just after 5 a.m., after another wild Saturday night, when his mother caught him. She was getting ready for six o’clock mass when he walked unsteadily in.

She gave him the Where have you been, young man? and Is that beer I smell on your breath? and Is that lipstick on your face? routine, then levied the penalty for this latest mega-offense: Go to mass with her as penance, right now, to show he was really sorry. John Aloysius Burke hadn’t been to church for many Sundays, although his mother thought he was attending 10 o’clock mass every Sunday morning. Actually, he was playing pool with his neighborhood gang buddies most Sunday mornings about that hour.

Gertrude Anne Burke was a straight-laced Irish Catholic single mother who barely made ends meet, but was strong in her faith that things would get better one day soon. For insurance, she made it a point to go to six o’clock mass every day she could. She still spoke in a heavy Irish brogue laced with old folk expressions from her immigrant parents, as did Johnny to a lesser degree. She told Johnny his father had gone off to sea when he was just a baby, and never returned. Annie Burke never married. Now she was far too busy trying to make ends meet to worry about Johnny’s descent into street gang life.

She made him a stiff cup of coffee to sober him up, made him change shirts, and then dragged him off to early mass. Let Johnny tell you the rest of his story, in his own inimitable Fall River tough guy Irish accent:

"Me mudda was so holy dat she sat right in back of da nuns, like in da fourth row. Dat morning, wid me being barely conscious, she dragged me in and knelt me down and made me say a prayer. We was right in back of da nuns. So I said me prayer, and I slumped down in da pew, because I knew Father O’Reilly would be coming out soon, looking for some altar boy ta serve mass.

Den Father O’Reilly was out dere, scouting the audience, and he spied me and gave me da hook, motioning with a curved forefinger. "It was a sick feeling in me stomach as I went into da sacristy, because I hadn’t served mass in like three years, and I was never very good at it ta begin wid. Plus, I thought I was gonna puke from all da beers I drank last night.

"Ya see, I was an altar boy starting at like age nine, even though da legal age was ten, but dey needed altar boys so bad dey’d take us kids early. So I’m dis altar boy for like three or four years, and den I joined a gang. Ya had ta be in a gang in my neighborhood, just for protection. If yer not in a gang, yer gonna get beat up every day.

And when ya join a gang, dere’s three things ya gotta do. Number one, ya gotta learn how ta cuss. Number two, ya gotta start smoking cigarettes. And number three, ya can’t be an altar boy. I already knew how to cuss and smoke, but I had to stop being an altar boy, like when I was 13 years old, so I could join da gang.

He followed Father O’Reilly into the sacristy behind the altar. "We was in da back, getting on our cassocks, and Father O’Reilly asked me when was da last time I’d served mass. I told him like about three years. ‘Oh, goodness!’ he said, ‘You don’t know about our new bell system!’

So he grabs me arm and takes me out to da altar, and we genuflect in da middle and den he takes me over to de right side of de altar, and we kneels down, Johnny says, a gleam in his eye. "I kneels right next ta him, and he takes me hand, and reaches under da step to da altar. He explains to me in a whisper that we don’t use da hand bells any more at da consecration, da holiest part of the mass, we use dese new electronic bells. I’d heard dem before, but I’d never rung ’em.

"Now he says to me to make sure that I only push da three buttons on da left, and ta be sure not ta push da button on the right. He said dat whatever I did, to make sure dat I don’t push dat button on da right! So we’s rushing through dis, and he takes me hand and puts me fingers on de buttons. And he whispers to me quickly, ‘Bing, bong, Bong!’ I said okay, I got it, and we went back behind da altar and den came right back out again and started mass.

"Right from da start I’m faking it, because I can’t remember anything. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, and I’m always on de wrong side of the altar, da whole time. He’s whispering at me to get over here, or get over dere, or do dis or do dat. I was confused and nervous, and felt pretty stupid in front of all da nuns and me mudda.

Den he’s whispering at me really loud ta go hit da bells, Johnny says. "I looked up, and he’s already down on his knee in da middle of da consecration, da holiest part of da mass, and I haven’t hit da first bell yet!

So I dashed over to da other side of da altar, skidded down on me knees, and reached under da step for da bell buttons. I hit three of dem, but dey didn’t go, ‘bing, bong, Bong!

Dey went bong, Bong, BONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!!’

"Dey was so fuckin’ loud dat all da stained glass windows in da church started rattling like dey was going ta fall out. The whole place was vibrating like an angry swarm of bees, and da noise just kept going and going.

And I looked up at all dat trembling stained glass, and I shouted, ‘HOLY SHIT!’ at da top of me lungs.

Time stopped. A strange silence enveloped the church.

That’s when me mudda got up outta da pew and walked outta da church, said Johnny. Right in da middle of da consecration, da holiest part of the mass.

It was the last time Gertrude Anne Burke, mortified beyond belief, ever set foot in St. Mary’s Cathedral Catholic Church. It was also the moment that the Burke family’s move to Hermosa Beach lurched into motion.

God acts in strange ways.

Chapter Two

Two Tickets to L.A.

It didn’t take Annie Burke long to make up her mind. She knew she could never set foot in St. Mary’s Cathedral again, not after Johnny’s little sacrilegious performance. During the consecration, the holiest part of the mass! She knew she didn’t want to live in Fall River any more, either. She knew she had to leave, for she was just mortified!

She got on the phone that Sunday afternoon, and after several tries, reached her brother Robert. Robert lived in Hermosa Beach in California, where he had moved several years before when their uncle Al, short for Aloysius, got him a job on the third shift at an aircraft parts factory in Long Beach. She explained the situation, and asked if she and Johnny could come stay with him, for a little while, until she got herself situated.

Robert reluctantly agreed, but could hardly say no, since his wild wife had run off to Stockton just six weeks before with a biker who used to live next door. Working third shift does that to a lot of marriages. Robert was a lonely wreck, and hadn’t had a good, home-cooked meal since his wife left with the biker. He had a nice two-bedroom apartment, so he could hardly say no to his only sister. Sure, he said unconvincingly, his voice cracking. At least I’ll get some good meals out of it, he thought to himself.

Over the next few weeks, Annie packed and shipped what she could, sold her old clunker of a car and her few salable possessions, and bought two cross-country bus tickets for her and Johnny, who also wanted badly to get out of town. He was the talk of the town, and could go nowhere without someone yelling, HOLY SHIT! at him at the top of their lungs. He had become, with that two-word exclamation, a marked man in Fall River, Mass., a strongly Catholic town.

Johnny’s little indiscretion at the altar wasn’t the only factor in Annie Burke’s decision to leave Fall River, however. She was not happy in her paralegal job, mostly due to a flabby new law partner who was constantly making passes at her. She also had no love life and was lonely, plus she was just itching for a change of scenery any way. She had no family left in the city, and no other ties to bind her to the place. Johnny’s little accident was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and gave her the excuse she had been seeking. At 35, she was looking for a new life. And all the better it was going to be in a Southern California beach town.

After four days on a cross-country Greyhound bus, they arrived in Los Angeles, where Uncle Robert eventually arrived to pick them up at the bus station. They could barely walk when they stumbled off the bus, and paced back and forth stretching their legs while waiting for Robert, who finally drove up in his battered Chevy.

HOLY SHIT! Robert instantly shouted at Johnny, with a big grin on his face. If it ain’t the little altar boy himself, he said in his best W. C. Fields’ sneer. Johnny snorted in contempt under his breath. He knew this wasn’t going to be any fun, particularly with Robert half in the bag most of the time.

Robert was a beefy, freckle-faced, red-headed Irishman whose red face advertised the fact that he drank too much. He mussed Johnny’s hair to let him know he was only kidding him. Yeah, sure, thought Johnny. The hour-long ride back to Robert’s apartment, just four blocks off the ocean in Hermosa Beach, was a blur of freeways to Johnny and Annie, who’d never seen anything like this maze of concrete in their lives. Johnny was practically carsick by the time Robert took the last off-ramp toward Hermosa.

Johnny looked at his new home approvingly. It was the second floor of a spacious two-story wooden apartment building, with lots of windows, painted sea foam blue, the cheap kind they built by the hundreds up and down the coast in the building boom of the ’50s. It was on a quiet side street lined with towering old palm trees. Johnny liked it immediately. Robert’s apartment was a lot better than his old one, Johnny thought. And he could hear the ocean! When he climbed the ladder up to the apartment’s roof deck, he discovered he could actually see the ocean from his new home. Cool!

By week’s end, Annie had unpacked everything she had shipped, and had her back corner room nicely set up. Johnny bunked on a folding bed in the hallway outside her bedroom, and kept his few clothes in her closet. It was a little crowded, but it already felt like home to Annie. When summer came, Johnny started sleeping on a mattress on the roof deck, out under the stars.

On Saturday morning, Annie and Johnny walked down to the beach and hung around the Hermosa Beach pier, just taking in the scene, so fresh and different than their prior neighborhood. Both felt exhilarated by the new life that awaited them here in Hermosa, and both felt very comfortable with the easy-going atmosphere at the beach. Johnny particularly liked the abundance of chattering, giggling pretty young girls in bikinis. It was the era of the Gidget beach bunny craze and dozens of girls were trying to out-Gidget each other, particularly with the surfers and lifeguards.

Annie and Johnny bought lime ices and stood on the boardwalk, slurping their sweet confections and breathing in the fresh ocean breeze. This was heaven compared to Fall River, where the waterfront smelled of diesel fuel, stale fish and rotting docks. When Annie discovered that hermosa was the Spanish word for beautiful, the reason she felt so at peace sank in.

Annie knew living with Robert was not going to be easy, but she had a plan to keep him off her back: stay out of his way, do the grocery shopping, and cook a good meal for him every night. She was a good cook, and he knew it. He was working four 10-hour shifts each week as a machinist at the aircraft factory, which meant he had three days off to watch sports on TV and drink beer. When Annie and Johnny moved in, Robert started doing most of his drinking down at the corner sports bar, where he was a well-known fixture any way.

Johnny did his part by taking out the trash, running errands for his mother, and going to the corner store whenever Robert needed more beer and cigarettes. Robert had arranged with the corner store, owned by a friend, to let Johnny pick up the beer and smokes for him. It wasn’t long, however, before Johnny was picking up beer and smokes for himself and his friends as well.

Annie, a paralegal for eight years, knew law jobs would be scarce in Hermosa, so she decided to get a temporary job waiting tables until she scored a position with a law firm. She had waited tables in college, to help pay her way through school, and knew the ropes. Her maturity and skills quickly landed her a waitressing job that Saturday at a trendy restaurant/bar in the downtown business district. There, she was sure, a lot of young attorneys would be doing lunch frequently.

That Sunday, Annie Burke found her way a few short blocks from her apartment to Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church, and knelt to offer a prayer of thanks for her new life in California. Johnny willingly went with her, since he knew he wouldn’t be summoned as an altar boy in this church. When the mass came to the consecration, Johnny silently shouted, HOLY SHIT! to himself and smiled in satisfaction. After all, those two words had launched him into a new life in Southern California, one he was finding immensely enjoyable.

After mass, Annie introduced herself to the pastor, Father James McGuire, who immediately perked up when he heard Annie’s Irish accent. Although they parted on friendly terms, Annie had a strange feeling she had met this man before. She knew she would be seeing Father McGuire again for confession, but for some reason had misgivings about confessing to him. After their meeting, Annie went back into the church, knelt down, and said an extra prayer to the Virgin of Guadalupe, the Mexican Madonna, thanking her again and asking for guidance.

That Monday she took Johnny to Hermosa Beach High School and enrolled him in the 11th grade. It was mid-April, and there were only six weeks left in the school year, but she didn’t dare leave him home alone while she worked the 8-to-4 shift. She did not want to rile Robert, who was easily riled, and who was home until about 7:30 most evenings before he left for work in Long Beach down the coast.

Before that first week of school was out, Johnny met Ron and started surfing, which was just what the doctor ordered to keep him out of mischief. Instead of hanging around the apartment, riling Robert, Johnny was out in the surf practicing his new sport as soon as he got home from school until it was almost dark, with his mother’s happy encouragement. Annie breathed a sigh of relief when she realized Johnny would not be idle in his spare time, getting into trouble.

Going surfing, Mom, Johnny announced as he was leaving the apartment, body board under his arm, swim fins hanging from his fingers. Okay, hon, said Annie. Have fun. She felt really good about Johnny’s newfound passion in surfing, and his new group of friends, a great improvement over the gang members he ran around with in Fall River. She was also feeling better about her life, having just landed a secretary’s position in a law firm, with promotion to paralegal status promised as soon as a position opened. Her six weeks of waitressing had paid off exactly as she had hoped.

The next weekend, Ron stopped by Johnny’s apartment on Saturday morning to rouse him for an early surf session. They could hear the surf just four blocks away as Johnny jerked on his surf trunks. Before they took off for the beach, Johnny introduced his new friend to his mother. I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am, Ron said to Annie, shaking her hand and looking her straight in the eyes. Annie was impressed with Ron. He was a quiet, well-mannered, clean-cut kid who looked like he would be a good influence on Johnny. At least, she knew that while Johnny was surfing with Ron, he wouldn’t be hanging around with the kids in the neighborhood, getting into trouble.

But unknown to Annie, Ron was a gang member − but a gang member of a completely different stripe. Ron was a member of the dreaded Tyrony Bros., the legendary all-white boy gang formed the year before by a group of scared-shitless Anglo kids. The Tyronys came into existence as a matter of survival for these middle-class white boys. The Crips and the Bloods had just risen to prominence in East L.A., and there were many imitators appearing in surrounding communities. There were black gangs, Mexican gangs, Korean gangs, Salvadoran gangs, Samoan gangs, and Filipino gangs in the area − but no white gangs.

So this group of enterprising middle-class white boys realized they had to have their own gang, so they took the name of the most feared black kid in town, a huge, hulking teenager who looked about 37, named Tyrone. You just didn’t mess with Tyrone. Rumor had it that Tyrone, besides being the baddest of the bad in a street fight, also had a pistol for big trouble. He was a proto gang-banger.

When the Tyrony Bros. gang was born, their main occupation after covering each other’s backs, was spreading the word through the halls of their parochial school and up and down the beach about how terrible this feared new gang of Tyronys really was. This provided protection, for no one wanted to earn the wrath of Tyrone. To promote their fearful reputation, the Tyrony Bros. had T-shirts made with their gang name on the front, so you could see them coming. They wore their gang T-shirts to school on certain days, promoting their reputation. Good propaganda, they discovered, went a long way. They were not to be messed with without inviting retaliation from Tyrone, who miraculously was always moments away if needed.

The Undisputed Exalted Leader of the Tyrony Bros. was Tony Tyrony, who organized the gang and made the rules. His real name wasn’t Tony or Tyrony, for each member of the gang adopted a fictitious name ending in Tyrony, as if they were all one big happy gang of Tyrone’s protected white brotherhood. One of the first rules Tony created was that whenever you were going to speak his full name, you had to state his full title, too. As in ‘Undisputed Exalted Leader Tony Tyrony pontificated again today.’ His younger brother Waltah was the only Tyrony who consistently followed that rule, however.

They took turns inventing Tyrone stories, to make their erstwhile hero appear to be their closest friend, and even more fearsome than he really was. Tyrone, in the meantime, knew nothing about this use of his name until the day Tony timidly approached him. Hey, Tyrone, Tony girded his loins as he spoke. How ya doing? Tyrone just glared at Tony. He had little to do with white boys, who seemed to be uniformly insensitive and uncaring.

What does this honky want with me? thought Tyrone. Yeah? he grunted. Then Tony spilled the beans: Me and my friends have just formed a club, and named it in your honor. You wanna join? Tony figured it would be better that Tyrone knew about them, instead of having to find out the hard way. But he kept the facts to a bare minimum. Tyrone thought this news was funny, but he declined to join any gang of white kids, whether they used his name or not. He could care less. Tyrone would never become a Tyrony.

The Tyronys were noted for one distinction from most gangs: they rarely engaged in gang fighting. Just dropping the threat that Tyrone was coming was enough to settle most disputes. If a fight started, Tyrony members would start shouting, Tyrone’s coming! and the skirmish would suddenly end. It was gang protection by proxy. Furthermore, few of the Tyronys were really interested in fighting, any way. You could get hurt doing that.

They were more interested in surfing, drinking beer, smoking doobies, taking willing young beach bunnies below the boardwalk, and having fun, the more outrageous the better. Soon, Tyrony girlfriends were drafted into the gang, becoming prankster gangster surf chicks. So there were some pretty cool women associated with the Tyronys, ones who enjoyed stepping over the line and questioning authority.

It was only a matter of weeks before Johnny Burke became a Tyrony, installed in the gang through the blessing of the Undisputed Exalted Leader himself, Tony Tyrony. Johnny took the name Lurch Tyrony, after the character on the popular TV show, The Addams Family, because Johnny Burke thought the huge Lurch was the epitome of intimidation. Aarrrgh! snarled Lurch, practicing his fearsome new persona. Aarrgh! he growled as he spun around like an out-of-control monster, scaring the little kids next door. Soon he was Doing the Lurch at every opportunity.

Ron Thorson took Johnny under his wing, and looked out for him. Although Ron had just graduated high school, he wasn’t going to college, and thought that playing big brother to Johnny was his calling. He had no brothers of his own, and he liked this feisty kid. Ron first got Johnny a janitor’s job working at the private gym where he pumped iron, just to keep Johnny busy, then lined him up with a prime job as a waiter when a friend quit to prepare for college. Waiting tables was a job prized by surfers because of the good tips, good snacks, and good hours − for surfing. Mornings and late afternoons were always free for surfing, with most work during the lunch and dinner hours. Most restaurant owners understood and appreciated surfers, whose handsome, clean-cut looks kept their places crowded with young Gidget lookalikes and older beauty queens on the prowl.

Fellow Tyronys warmly welcomed Johnny, because he was about as close to being a real tough guy as any of the existing Tyronys. Lurch talked tough, with that bad Bawston accent, like none of them could. Pretty soon Johnny was doing a Bawston Lurch imitation at Tyrony parties that had everyone rolling in laughter. He was one of the gang, and he’d never been happier.

Aaaarrrgh! growled Lurch, as he lurched around the Tyrony party, grabbing every girl within reach. Aaaarrrgh! He was a harmless groper who copped a feel from half the girls there, girls who squealed with delight that Lurch was hitting on them. The girls liked being the center of attention with Lurch, for everyone was watching. It was like a stage production, where a little raunchy play wasn’t considered bad behavior, just another Tyrony prankster at work.

As the summer wore on, Johnny and Ron became a familiar sight together, in the surf and out. About that time, a group of Tyronys came back from a summer-long surf expedition that had gone all the way to Ecuador. They had driven from L.A. to Quito in an old clunker of a car loaded with boogie boards and swim fins, and stopped at every beach they found along the way just to check out the waves. There were five guys and one girl, Carmen, an early Tyrony member who spoke Spanish. She was also a fearless bodyboarder, and a smart, quick-lipped surf chick who could hold her own with any guy, verbally or in the lineup. She took shit from no one.

She was also known for her snappy patter: You like papaya? Carmen asked Johnny one morning as he scarfed down some chunks with his pancakes. When Johnny nodded yes, Carmen snapped: Yeah, I used to like it too until I realized it all smelled like baby vomit. Johnny never enjoyed another bite of papaya in his life, even though he had liked it. Every piece of papaya he ate brought up the thought of baby vomit, which killed his appetite every time.

Carmen’s Spanish abilities had guided the intrepid Tyronys all the way through Mexico and Central America, until they reached Ecuador, the South American nation where her parents originated. In the middle of that epic teenage surf trip, somewhere deep in Southern Mexico on the Pacific coast, they had discovered a place we’ll call Puerto Tranquilo, where the surf was consistently hot, the food was good and plentiful, and the beer cheap. The Tyronys loved Puerto Tranquilo, and immediately started planning another trip, just to Puerto, as soon as school let out next summer. Ron challenged Johnny to start saving his money, so he could make his first surf safari.

Annie Burke was dubious when she first heard about the surf trip Johnny was planning with the Tyronys, because he’d never been away from home on his own. But she tentatively approved, for reasons she didn’t fully understand. Even though she liked the boys in the Tyronys, and she especially liked what she saw happening to Johnny, this was his first trip away from home – and her. But she recognized that Johnny was now much mellower, more relaxed and confident, and friendlier than he had been back in Fall River. There, he had been sullen and difficult most of the time. Now his personality was actually pleasant, because he was enjoying life for the first time either he or she could remember.

In Hermosa Beach, surfing daily and hanging out with the Tyronys in his spare time, Johnny truly felt much happier and much less tense, and behaved that way. His mother soon realized he was being more polite and less argumentative with her, and started taking better care of his grooming and his manners. It must be all the girls in their bikinis, she thought. One day, she asked him about his improved attitude.

It’s the surfing, momma, he readily explained. "There’s something about surfing that just changes you. I don’t know how to explain it, but when you’re out in the surf, you’re all the same − young, old, rich, poor − you’re all just surfers. You get to talk to old guys who are friendly to you and give you tips, to little kids you would normally ignore, and you’re all just surfers. Nobody’s any better than anybody else − except how good they can surf. You make friends out there, good friends. And the ocean has a wonderful effect on you, momma. It makes me feel peaceful. I don’t feel so stressed out any more, because of surfing.

Another thing is all the wildlife out there, the gulls and pelicans, the fish and dolphins, the seals and turtles, they’re not afraid of you, Johnny said in wide-eyed wonder. They come right up to you. You really feel a lot closer to nature. It was the first time he’d really thought about it. Just the other day, Johnny said excitedly, I had a dolphin come up right next to me, look me in the eye, and then take off. Then I watched him ride a wave with Ron, just like a surfer!

Hmmmm, thought Annie Burke. There must be a lot more to this surfing than I realized. Anything that can calm down my wild son this quickly must be something really good that I don’t know about yet.

God truly does work in strange ways.

Chapter Three

Puerto, Here We Come

Johnny Burke had never saved more than a few dollars in his life, but he devotedly socked away his hard-earned cash for his Tyrony trip to Puerto Tranquilo. He opened his first bank account and deposited money every week, money that he declared untouchable, dedicated for the Puerto trip. By the end of the year, he was halfway toward his goal of $1,000, and his excitement level was running high.

Returning to Puerto was practically the only thing the Tyronys could talk about, for the anticipation was so high the subject dominated every conversation they had. Once, while sitting on the beach near the pier, Tony mentioned Puerto Tranquilo rather loudly. When he did, a kid sitting 30 feet away suddenly jumped to his feet, and ran over to them. You guys going to Puerto Tranquilo? he asked excitedly.

When they confirmed they were, he excitedly exclaimed, Man, I went there two years ago and never wanted to leave. Without prompting, he launched into the story of how he had gone to Puerto for a planned three-week stay, and had such a good time that he slowly sold everything he had, extending his stay to almost four months. Then I sold my board and took a bus home, he said. But I can’t wait to get back there.

Neither can we, said Tony wistfully. Neither can we.

The Tyronys had gained great exposure the prior summer when Tony Tyrony, the Undisputed Exalted Leader of the Tyrony Bros., commandeered the microphone at a packed teen dance. A musician friend had asked Tony Tyrony to introduce his band at a dance at St. Cross Church in Hermosa Beach. But before he introduced the band, Tony introduced the Tyronys. The Tyronys were in the formative stage, less than six months old. Tony Tyrony, Reggie, and Jesse appeared on stage, all menacingly dressed in black leather jackets and wrap-around shades. They all looked b-a-a-d, like Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones.

The audience was socializing and not paying much attention to what was happening on stage. Tony approached the microphone and barked into it, Hey, I demand some respect! He then proceeded to tell the audience how they had just witnessed the Hermosa Beach police pull over famous movie detective Shaft’s car while the T-Bros. were on their way to the dance. It wasn’t Shaft, of course, but actor Richard Roundtree, who made the bad-ass Shaft detective role famous in three films in the early ’70s.

Tony told the rapt audience that when the police recognized who they had pulled over, they were immediately nervous and apologetic. Tony heard the police asking for forgiveness and saying, Sorry, Mr. Shaft, may we escort you to your destination? That brought gales of laughter from the audience. Tony continued regaling the stunned dance crowd with additional stories about Shaft and the deeds of the Tyrony Bros. His talk was so inspirational it turned into an impromptu membership drive for new Tyrony recruits.

That chance encounter with the actor who portrayed the daring black movie detective John Shaft had a dramatic effect on the fledgling Tyronys. Shaft joined Tyrone as a figurehead inspirational hero for the Tyronys, one with instant name recognition. Tyrone, they all felt, would approve. Many Tyrony members took Shaft as a middle name in his honor. They then added the black power fist salute to the backs of their T-shirts, making their presence even more menacing.

Then came the famous Tyrony Library Caper, executed in Shaft’s honor, which cemented the Tyrony’s reputation as pranksters instead of gangsters. We’ll let Waltah Tyrony, brother of Undisputed Exalted Leader Tony Tyrony, tell the story, because he was there:

We had just formed the Tyrony Brothers, and we decided we needed to do something that would make our hero, John Shaft, proud of us. Tony Tyrony ambitiously decided to fully overhaul his trusty, hulking one-speed Schwinn bicycle. He painted the frame black, bought a black seat, black handgrips, and blackwall tires and named his creation Shaft’s Ride."

One summer day in mid-August, 1971, I called the Manhattan Beach Public Library. Beware of Shaft! I cryptically warned before hurriedly hanging up. The next day Suzone Tyrony called the library. Beware of Shaft!" she threatened. Jackson called on the third consecutive day with the same message. The following day, 12 Tyronys met at the MB Public Library. The librarians, who had not seen us since the end of the school year, were pleased that we voluntarily chose to come into their world of books before the start of the school year. Little did they know that we were not in their facility to read.

We milled about in the book stacks, awaiting the precise moment. We nervously chattered as the clock approached 3 p.m. Then Lester looked up the steep 15th Street hill and whispered to those near him, Here comes Shaft." As the secret shot like lightning through the library, the 12 Tyronys moved into position.

"Pedaling hard and swooping down 15th Street flew Tony on Shaft’s Ride. Tony was dressed in black pants, shoes, and socks, and he wore a black T-shirt, cap, and gloves. He had rubbed charcoal all over his face. His black cape snapped in the wind as the moment of truth approached.

An eerie hush descended upon the library. Tony raced toward the doors on Shaft’s Ride. The Tyronys were ready. Rocky and Elijah pushed open the double glass doors on the north side of the library and Tony burst into the building on his bad black bicycle. He cranked by the circulation desk to the shock of the librarians as Jackson and I simultaneously opened the double glass doors on the south side of the building. Rocky called out, Shaft rides again!" Before the librarians could blink, Tony on Shaft’s Ride raced through the south doors and vanished down the street.

The twelve Tyronys rushed outside and collapsed in laughter. Our legs would not support us and we rolled on the library lawn bumping into one another. But our exuberance was not shared by the librarians. One quickly regained her composure and rushed outside to scold us for our hooliganism. She scared us, but we were too excited to worry much about her raving. We knew Shaft would have been proud of us that day.

The story of the Tyrony Library Caper spread far and wide, gaining the gang even more respect. Johnny reveled in this new-found recognition, giving him the confidence he had so sorely lacked back in his old hometown of Fall River. Newcomer Johnny was thrilled to be able to actually participate in the next legendary Tyrony Bros. caper, the nighttime invasion of the abandoned hulk of the old Pacific Ocean Park amusement center.

Pacific Ocean Park, or P.O.P., was a beautiful amusement park built over pier pilings on the Venice/Santa Monica coastline. P.O.P. thrived with tourism in the 1950s and early 1960s, but as the latter decade expired so did P.O.P. By the early 1970s, P.O.P. was fenced off, condemned property, severely damaged by the huge, legendary winter ocean swells of 1969. To the Tyrony Brothers, P.O.P. was open territory about eight miles north of their South Santa Monica Bay homelands. Pacific Ocean Park was potential Tyrony turf.

Again, Waltah Tyrony tells the tale of this harrowing night-time caper:

On a cool November night, Jackson Tyrony borrowed his parents’ Ford station wagon, affectionately named The Bitch," and picked up Lester, Tony, Waltah, Reggie, Jessie, Lurch, and Dexter. The eight of us each told our parents we were going to the movies, but our mission was to explore the abandoned ruins of P.O.P. It proved to be a frightening night of blood-curdling fun.

"Jackson parked on a residential street of Venice near P.O.P., and we stealthily swooped across the beach to the shoreline. We approached the P.O.P. Pier and spotted an opening in the fence. We slipped through the opening and walked up a cement ramp. Gaping holes