GROWING UP ORANGE COUNTY NOW
4/30/08
By Corky Carroll

This is the beginning of series of columns that I have looked forward to bringing you for some time now. As those of you know who have been reading me for awhile I, from time to time, present stories sent in to me from readers who have grown up here in our beauteous Orange County telling about their own experiences over the years in this magical place. This gave me the idea that it would be cool to hear from people growing up here right now. So I asked my pal Jim Blaylock, who is the head of the creative writing department at the Orange County High School of the Arts, if maybe some of his students might wanna submit their own versions of GUOC (growing up Orange County). I figured this would be a great way to not only hear some current stories but also give some ink time to some of the best up and coming creative writers in the area. I just got the first batch of stories so here is the first installment of GUOCNow.

From Olivia Siegel:

“While I've been in Orange County since my tiny little frame was introduced to the world, I feel like me and the OC don't know each other very well; if anything, one could safely say we're merely acquaintances, on speaking terms but by no means walking with our arms wrapped around each other.

Of course, living on the coast means that the beach is always within sight. A lot of beach-goers that I know find themselves drawn to it: playing, lounging, drinking in the salt air through pure, unfaltering lungs. I spend most of my time in my house: playing, lounging, breathing in through the same secondhand smoke that I've inhaled since I was born.

We don't go to the beach that much. Maybe we're too lazy, or maybe it makes those moments with our feet buried in sand and salt more special, but my family and I only find ourselves at the beach maybe once or twice a year.

So when we finally go, I'm never sure what I should be doing. Everybody treats those visits like mere excursions (after all, there's only five minutes of driving, or a ten minute walk, between us and the shoreline), and for the most part, I'm the same. In that way, I'm just like my parents. We all take Southern California for granted.

But simultaneously, I'm captivated by a setting sun's red reflection on the water, which I see daily by train but never experience; ocean foam in ripples across my feet as the water recedes; footprints fading to memories in the sand. In those moments, me and Orange County are lovers, cold ocean arms wrapped around the summer warmth of my skin. For just an instant, a fleeting time which almost immediately vanishes in to monotony, I understand why all those surfers and volleyball players are so optimistically cheerful: no matter the disappointments of the previous day or the day to come or even the distant future, they have something to return to. The ocean is a constant.

With that, I look forward to next year's visit.”

And next from the younger years of Matt Zamora:

I remember looking out the window of our car from my booster seat when my parents came out of the house and looking frightened. We had come back from mass in which I was asleep. We had stopped in the front of our house and my parents had gotten inside, leaving me and my sisters inside. Then seconds later I heard my mom scream. They came back out and got into the car and started driving. I sat there and stared at my parents. They were talking to each other and to another on the phone. I wasn't paying too much attention to what they were saying. Something about: moving to a new home, getting away from our house, and rats.
It wasn't until later that I learned that my parents had seen a large rat, or maybe it was a possum. But I do remember coming back home and watching my parents talking to a man about moving. He had a lot of papers. I found it a bit boring so I went to sleep. The next day we went out and started a search for new homes. We stopped by many homes and considered many of them. My parents asked me what I wanted. I just said I wanted my own room and didn't want to share with my two sisters. We found one that looked nice. It was two stories and had a play attic. I thought it was amazing. Not because of the bean bags or the large window looking out to the neighborhood. No, I just thought that the small, shiny jukebox was cool. We left it though.
It took a while but we found one in the same neighborhood that looked just as nice. It was 2 stories and I got my own room. My parents asked me I really liked it. I said yes and when they asked why I said, "they have a slide at the playground."

Look forward to more from the young writers of the OC in coming weeks and don’t forget to send me your very own GUOC stories.

THE SUMMER OF LOVE
~ The Wave ~ 4-30-08
By Corky Carroll

The other day I was sitting in the lineup at my favorite surf spot basking in a beautiful morning and some nice overhead waves coming in. All was peaceful and calm and I was sorta lost in the flora and fauna and waiting for the next set of waves to come along and give me one more ride that was probably going to be just like a lot of others over the past half century of surfing. And this old song from the 1960’s was going through my head which I conveniently changed the words of to fit my circumstance. “Ride another one……. Just like the other one…”

The next thing I new I was drowning in a cloud of patchouli oil aroma that was strong enough to singe my nose hairs right outta my nose. Whew….what the heck was this? Was my nirvanic state and propensity to drift off into old songs from the 60’s starting to come with smell effects too? I cleared my head and looked around to see if I could identify the source of this ultra pungent pheeeeeeeeewness. I understood in an instant. Way off in the distance, maybe 300 yards away from me, I spotted it. Or I should say him. Just leaving the beach was this dude who is a total look-alike of the comedian George Carlin. His name is Bob and he is from Huntington Beach. He is known as “Huntington Bob.” And he bathes in patchouli oil. You always know when he is, or has been, around. It lingers in the air, sometimes for weeks unless a strong wind comes up.

I could feel my eyes start to sting and was having this vivid flashback of paisley stuff and purple Nero shirts with love beads around my neck and my golden locks hanging halfway down my back. I could hear Country Joe and the Fish in my ears singing …”and it’s one, two, three…what are we fightin’ for? Don’t ask me I don’t give a dam…next stop is Viet Nam….and it’s five, six, seven…open up them pearly gates….there ain’t no need to wonder why…whoopee we’re all gonna die.”

So I’m sittin’ there with my eyes bleeding and nose hairs burning from the set wave of smell that was engulfing me and thinkin’ that Huntington Bob is way too lost in the 60’s. After all it’s been like…..then it hit me…..forty years. Yes, for that matter exactly forty-one years since the infamous summer of 1967, historically known as “the Summer of Love.” Geeze, time sure can fly when it’s left unchecked. Like always.

What were YOU doing during the summer of ’67? Back then Main Street in Huntington Beach was sort of like a small version of Haight-Ashbury south. There was a lot of paisley stuff and guys with purple Nero shirts with love beads around their necks and really long hair and Country Joe and the Fish was blasting out of many 8 track tape decks which tended to eat more tapes than play back then. The popular brand was Muntz, or something like that. We used to call them “Munch.” That is because they would munch on all your tapes.

What was I doing back then? I think that was one of my best years on the surf competition scene. I had come out with what was the first “shortboard” on the market and was riding them in all the contests while everyone else was still on longboards. This gave me a huge edge and I won just about everything that year. But it took the whole year to get people convinced that shortboards were the way to go. The next year everybody was riding them and selling them and the whole scene changed dramatically. But ’67 was the year of experimentation and change. ’68 was implementation. During the winter of ‘66/’67 on the north shore a very famous surfboard shaper looked at my boards and told me “they will never ride shortboards in Hawaii.” A year later he claimed to have invented the “mini-gun.” I don’t say this to go “naa naa naa” or anything like that. It’s just the way things were changing back then. Well….. ok maybe just a little “naa naa naa.” The point is that this was a period of evolution in the surfing world as well as in our culture in general. Ozzie and Harriet were in shock. When Ozzie went out for “tootie fruity” we was likely to come back with a bunch of dudes from San Francisco with flowers in their hair. And reeking of patchouli oil.