JUDGE GARDNER -- The Verdict

Once upon a time it seemed like I kept my whole calendar in my head.

Now, if I don’t immediately write down something it’s gone from my

memory. Some uninformed observers might attribute this to advancing age.

I attribute it to a game we played in my youth.

Prior to 1927, going in or out of the harbor could be treacherous. The

west jetty was in deplorable shape, and there was no east (Corona del

Mar) jetty. Boats overturned, people drowned. Then in 1928, the city

engineer decided to make it safer and built the concrete portion of the

east jetty. Sadly for his engineering, this didn’t do much to make the

harbor mouth safer for boats, but it was great for the surf. It made big

waves out of little waves and monsters out of big waves. As the surf hit

the end of the concrete it would curl off into fantastic shapes.

Board surfers worked off the end of the jetty, riding clear across the

harbor mouth. For body surfers, the waves rolled along the jetty, holding

a perpetual shoulder. All you had to do was dive into the water at the

end of the jetty, get into a wave, and take an 800-foot ride. At the end

of the ride you would climb up on the jetty via a chain ladder, run back

to the end of the jetty, dive in and repeat the process.

It wasn’t these two activities that contributed to my forgetfulness,

however. The deck of the concrete jetty was constantly covered with

water. As a result, a growth of marine moss developed that provided a

slick surface. This slick surface gave rise to a rather original game of

chicken. In this game, two surfers ran toward each other on the top of

the jetty. They threw themselves down on their bellies and slid toward

each other. As they approached, they would lift up on their fingertips

and toes and head toward each other on a collision course.

Theoretically, one of them would chicken out at the last minute, drop

to his belly, and the other would slide over him. However, sometimes

neither chickened out. Or both did. In either case, two careening bodies

hit head to head -- no helmets, no shoulder pads, nothing but bone on

bone. Those of us from Balboa actually walked all the way down to the

Point (now the Wedge) and swam across the channel, just to have a

fun-filled day trying to fracture our skills.

Now when I wander around the house trying futilely to remember where I

left my glasses or what day I made that lunch engagement for, it is to

this long ago game that I attribute my situation. It certainly could have

nothing to do with my 89 years. Now, if I can just remember to send this

column in.

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

column runs Tuesdays.