THE BARRYMORE BOARD STORY
6-25-08
By Corky Carroll

This is the story of the dude who made my very first surfboard. And my very second surfboard too. His name is Dick Barrymore and most of you probably never knew he was a surfboard builder in Seal Beach back in the 1950’s. Those of you that do recognize his name are probably long time ski enthusiasts who remember his legendary 16mm ski movies back in the 1960’s and 1970’s when both ski and surf films were hot items. These films were ones that were shown in High School auditoriums and other venues along the surf and ski film lecture circuits. Along with Warren Miller the name Dick Barrymore was synonymous with the best of the ski films of that period. Warren became more famous but for pure quality of work there was none better than Barrymore. In surf films it was Bud Browne. Bruce Brown became more famous and light years more prosperous than Bud, but nobody held a candle to the quality of a Bud Browne surf movie. Only Greg MacGillivary in later years.

Anyway, this story is about Dick Barrymore the surfer and surfboard builder. Dick was a fireman in Los Angeles and lived off Electric Ave. in Seal Beach back in the mid to late 1950’s. He loved to surf and ski. I can relate to that, so did I.

At first, while he was still working for the fire department, Dick used to make boards in his garage. This was in the day when you not only shaped the board but also fiberglassed it, made the fin, sanded it, glossed it and polished it all in the same room. And sold it. Later on each one of these stages took place in a different room and by different “specialists.” But Dick was a one-man surfboard company back then. And it should be noted that this was in the age of balsawood surfboards.

In 1957 I wanted a surfboard for Christmas. I wanted one really, really, far really, bad. And my dad knew it. I had hammered the point home and punctuated it with thousands of “please, please, pleases.” He had assured me that there was no way I was getting one. So I was surprised and in utter surf boy ecstasy on that Christmas morning when I came downstairs and saw my brand new 8’7” balsawood Dick Barrymore pintail sitting on our living room floor in front of the tree. You could say that day changed my life for good.

My dad had gone to Dick on the recommendation of our local hot surfer, Larry Conroy. Larry rode Barrymore boards. He also had an old green pickup truck that had “Barrymore Surfboards” painted in big white letters on the doors. I guess Larry was the team rider. He was also glad that I finally got my own board as I was famous for sneaking Larry’s board out of his backyard and putting dings in it.

Soon after that Dick gave up the fire department and opened up his own surf shop across from the pier in Seal Beach. Many of the local hot surf guys such as the Haley Brothers were at first cold to him. But Dick was such a good guy and had such a great personality that soon everyone in town was his friend. There was one guy in particular that was so enamored with Barrymore boards that they were all he ever talked about. Barrymore this and Barrymore that all day long. His name was Eddie Howard. After awhile everyone just started calling him “Barrymore.” To this day there are those who think that Eddie is actually the real Barrymore. And after awhile nobody ever called him by his real name and most didn’t even know it. Everyone knew him simply as “Barrymore.”

I had that first balsawood Barrymore for almost two years. At first it weighed more than I did. Finally it was so beaten up and full of water that I sold it and got my second Barrymore. This one was an 8-foot candy apple red tinted foam board. It was beautiful to behold when it was new. But back then the use of tints, as surfboard coloring, was very new. Most colors were done with heavy pigments. But Dick figured that putting tints in the finish coat was much lighter than pigments and also transparent. The problem was that they faded in the sun. Faded fast. And my board was in the sun a lot. So soon it was a yellow 8-foot Barrymore. But it still rode fantastic.

By the early 1960’s Dick had made his mark as a ski movie mogul and the rest is history. He, along with James Arness and Hevs McClellend, is one of the best storytellers I have ever met. At the time of this writing he is living in his longtime hometown of Ketchum (Sun Valley), Idaho.

GRAD NIGHT TERRORS
The Wave ~ 6-25-08
By Corky Carroll

It is that wonderful time of year that many of our fresh young rugrats are at the point of graduating from High School. At this moment they are extremely happy too. Many are just relieved that they made it. Others are looking forward to the next step…. College or jobs or whatever their plans may be
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And then there are those who just wanna get outta there and have more time to go surfing. That was me. By the time of my graduation from the sacred halls of Huntington Beach High School my destiny and career was already determined. I was a professional surfer already and the sport was growing by the minute. The timing was really good.

It was 1965 and the country was a great place to live in. It was just slightly pre-hippie love child generation time, but that was at the door. The Beatles were big. R&B was still on the radio and surf music was still Dick Dale. The Beach Boys were chiming in with “surfin’ bop dip dip dipty dip” and poetic lines like that. And folk music was still alive in the forms of Bob Dylan and Donovan.

I had a 1957 Chevy Bel Air station wagon that I had rigged up with curtains in the back, a mattress and a vibrasonic radio with rear speakers. Ideal surf and date mobile for the time. I had a girlfriend from Laguna Beach named Banzai Betty. Banzai was not only a total babe but also surfed. She surfed well too. We used to drive up and down the coast in my Chevy Bel Air and surf all the spots and go to all the contests together. And there were those incredibly memorable nights parked in various hidden little nooks in the hills about Laguna and Dana Point discussing the meaning of life in the back with the vibrasonic radio playing the hits and the stars above shining through the back window.

You could still see stars in Orange County back then, it was really cool. When we weren’t surfing we used to skateboard down the hills in Laguna together, her on my shoulders. She would be in her bikini and me barefoot with just surf trunks on. The only thing that saved us from getting totally creamed many times was ice plant and a few lawns. I could say that we didn’t know any better but that would be a lie. We did know better. But it didn’t matter at all. Life was dam good.

And that is the point of my little story today. Life. It is really good. No matter how bad it gets, it is still better than being dead. I mean look, who wants to be dead? All cold and limp, of stiff I guess, and wormy and stuff, not good. It’s dark all the time. And that is really an important thing to drill into the hard heads of all of these little graduators that will be going out doing some heavy party action on grad night.

The reason I bring this up is that I very nearly did not survive my grad night. I was extremely stupid. Extremely extremely stupid. I overdid it. Far overdid it. My dad had loaned me his new El Camino for the night, a very cool ride. I don’t remember too much of the evening. I do remember going off the highway on my way home along Bolsa Chica. I was going very fast and all of a sudden I was in the sand off to the side of Pacific Coast Highway fishtailing around. How I got back on the pavement and made it home is anybody’s guess. I do not remember anything after the freight of that moment. The next morning my dads El Camino was parked so close to the front of our house that it was touching it. But no scratches. And there was a lot of barf on the inside all over the dashboard and front window. I didn’t wake up until late that afternoon. I am lucky. I woke up.

I can tell that story and make it sound funny. But it’s NOT. It’s not cool at all. Every year kids get into horrible car crashes on grad night because they think it’s the thing to do to get wasted. So please talk to your kids before they go out and tell ‘em that LIFE IS TOO GOOD to blow it.