Chapter 10 Surfboard Fiasco

Chapter 10

Surfboard Fiasco.

The surfboard stand on the beach was busy and I had to wait in line to rent a board. It had been fifteen years since I had been on a surfboard - at Bondi Beach in Sydney. I figured it was like riding a bicycle: once you learned you never forgot. The surfboard attendant asked me to fill out a form and I queried why I needed to do that. “We need to have a medical history. When our clients get older there is a danger of a heart attack.”

I had never considered myself as ‘old’ at 35. This was a bit of a shock to the system, and it took the wind out of my sails momentarily. I was given a clean bill of health and asked if I wanted a large or small board. In my day, all the boards were the same size: big. “A large one, of course!” It stood to reason; it meant I had more room to stand up when I caught a wave.

That was one gigantic mistake! Straddling the large surfboard was difficult for someone of my small stature; I was getting very chafed on the inside of my thighs. Close by, there were several male beginners, all from the Midwest, who were attending a convention. They admitted they were seeing the ocean for the first time and I concluded it was their first glimpse of a surfboard too. They were having a punishing time like me, trying to get up and stay up on the board.

Forty minutes into my slotted hour I caught a wave and stood up. There were loud voices yelling at me and I thought those fellows were cheering me on, except that it was more a frantic squeal than a cheer. I panicked and dived off the board just as a huge outrigger boat went over my head with a load of tourists on board. That was a close call!

Stretched out on the sand, feeling very tender down the inside of my thighs while the salt water wasn’t helping to heal my injuries, or my pride. I reclined ever so gently with a towel across my eyes and felt my 35 years. I was hoping for sleep to make the pain go away.

“I saw that spectacular near-miss of yours. You were doing very well - how long have you been surfing?” The voice with the lilt came from above me, but I couldn’t see the messenger for the sun behind him. The voice was familiar - it was John, Jeanie’s brother, looking for me on the beach to warn me that it was after noon. Aha! The penny dropped! That is what the hotel attendant meant at the Reef Hotel: it’s siesta time between noon and 2 o’clock, when it is not safe to be in the sun on the beach in the tropics, and he was suggesting to the guests that they retire to the lounge.

“Thank you John, for looking out for me.”

“All the hotels have their staff warn the guests. The hospital treats so many with second and third degree burns and sunstroke. Jeanie sent me down to see if you were still on the beach. She realized that she hadn’t warned you about the dangers of sunbathing between noon and 2.00pm.”

It was most considerate of them to watch out for me like that. We headed back to the hotel very, very slowly. John knew what had happened to my thighs as soon as he saw the size of the surfboard. I bought some soothing cream at the drugstore, took my siesta and slept for three hours.

After finding a postcard with a girl on a surfboard, one that could have been mistaken for me, I sent it to Bill and wrote, “Having a ball, doing all the things you don’t like to do; swimming, dancing, surfing and getting covered in sand. Glad you’re not here.” Never before had it been so obvious how different our lives were: Bill the introvert and me the extrovert; Bill and the children in the snow in Iowa, and me getting a suntan on Waikiki Beach. We were so different, complete opposites, yet our marriage worked very well in our honest and unique partnership.

The ground rules were laid in the beginning of our marriage; we didn’t have time to sort things out in wartime. We only saw each other for a total of thirty-one days in our courtship over a three-year period. We were winging it on love alone! I learned more about Bill from his Mother, to whom I had written for almost three years before we were married.

Bill was the one who took a gamble marrying me; he really had no idea what he was getting into. I had been hospitalised in Sydney with amnesia in 1945, and had no idea to whom I was engaged to marry. Bill was a complete stranger! We fell in love, the only time for Bill but the second time for me to the same fellow. Ten days after our wedding I regained my memory and found nothing in my past to hamper our lives together.

Thinking of Bill and the children, I became very teary-eyed one day after watching a mother with her children down on the beach. I longed to be able to do the same with my family. Needing some diversion, I walked around to the post office, mailed more postcards and visited with Sammy while he worked behind the counter.

I had already found a couple of grass skirts, some sun tops and a replica of a fishing boat for my daughters, but I hadn’t found the bongo drums for our son, Billy. Sammy just happened to have a cousin who was an importer-exporter and he took me to his warehouse after the post office closed - on his motorcycle. Straddling the pillion, I let out a yell of pain – I’d forgotten what happened to me earlier that day on a surfboard! That was an excruciating ride!

We found just the bongo drums I had in mind - two drums joined together, a big one and a small one. I planned to tell our son that the big bongo drum was mine and the small one was his, and he and I could only play them outdoors. That will make sure that he takes very good care of both of them.

Sammy stopped me from getting the packing done for my midnight flight to Los Angeles, by asking to hear more about the method I used to rid our son Billy of a lot of pent up energy when he had ‘cabin fever’ – something I suffered from after being snowed in for days at a time in Iowa.

“I would get a large cardboard box and a short stick, turn the box upside down over Billy’s head and let him fight his way out. I called it organized vandalism. Billy thought it was great fun and it helped him burn up some excess energy. The noise was often a bit unnerving, but I knew the whole family would benefit once he fought his way out of the box down in the basement.”

Blizzard of ‘59

Sammy was intrigued with the whole concept, and thought it would be great to pass that idea on to his sister who had a very ‘hyper’ eight-year-old. He wanted me to go and meet his family so they could hear my stories. Sammy was only 20 years old and already showed signs of wanting to settle down and raise a family of his own. He spoke lovingly of his own family.

“Tell me more about the snow in Iowa. I feel so cool listening to the story.”

I told him of the blizzard we had in ’59, when I was working as a nurse on night shift at the Elderly Folks’ Home in Manson. “The wind had dropped and it had stopped snowing about eight o’clock that evening. It was impossible for Bill to drive me to work at 10.00pm, or even for me to attempt to walk the five blocks, because of the huge snowdrifts. I called Don Hartig, the sheriff, and told him of my predicament. He had canvassed the streets and knew where it was clear, and suggested I get to the top of the rise on 10th Avenue, west of our house. He would pick me up and drive me to the nursing home in the police car at 9.45pm.”

“How do you survive in such freezing conditions?” asked Sammy, bewildered. “Sorry I interrupted, please go on.”

“I had on my white uniform, a heavy coat and my gum boots, and was carrying two bags, one with a snack and one with my indoor shoes. Bill stood at the front porch to make sure I made it to the top of the rise and didn’t get buried in the deep snowdrifts. He could hear me laughing but he couldn’t understand what I thought was so funny. Naturally, he had to wait till I finished my shift the next morning at 7.00am before he found out why I was laughing.

“Every step I took, I lost my boot deep in the snow; then, balancing on one foot to retrieve the boot in the hole. I went through the same process with the next step. It just tickled my funny bone! It was a comedy scene they could use in the movies - I thought of Laurel and Hardy. One has to see the humour in this to appreciate the scene.

“By the time I reached the police car I felt as if I had already done a night’s work. The Sheriff said he could hear me laughing but couldn’t see the funny side of the situation at all. I was wet up to the waist by then and my bags were full of snow too.”

Sammy was looking at me and shaking his head, his eyes bugging out and his mouth hanging open. He waved his hand for me to go on.

“Surprisingly, the rest of our street and the main street were clear. I asked the sheriff to wait for the nurse going off duty so he could drive her home. When Don entered her street the snow had drifted in badly, and he spent the rest of the night digging the police car out. The Sheriff was mad at me for a week.”

“How can you live in conditions like that?” Sammy asked. “I know I would not like to live in snow country. I like being warm and I love to swim.”

I asked Sammy to tell me something of his family’s experiences during the war, after the bombing of Pearl Harbour in ’41. Sammy was honoured that I showed such interest, and was keen to tell me what happened to his family.

“I was not quite one year old when my family was rounded up and interned. My grandparents and my parents migrated with their families from Japan in the ’20’s - to California first. There they met up with other members of their family who had migrated earlier, and they decided to all come to Hawaii to live. My three brothers, one sister, and I were all born here.”

“So, Sammy, there are five in your family, right?” Sammy nodded his head.

“We were treated much better here, in Hawaii, than the Japanese Americans were treated in the United States. Most of the people of the Islands knew us to be upright and good citizens, but those Japanese who had infiltrated in the late ’30’s became our enemies, too. We did not like them in our business dealings, and they did not help the image of our family. We never suspected them of espionage.” He paused to take pictures of his family from his wallet to show me. I showed him my family, too.

I had never considered before what it must have been like for Japanese migrant families who were innocent victims because of their heritage, or how they suffered the indignities of internment camps, losing everything they owned. “Don’t be sad,” Sammy was looking at my face, “we are respected citizens once again.”

I was touched by the generosity of the Hawaiian people. Sammy told me that Jeanie’s family had shown the same regard for other women travelling alone, like me, and staying at the Islander. They had made sure that those women felt safe during their stay - everyone in the family looked out for them.

“We deal with a great cross-section of people from all over the world, and there are many unsavoury characters coming to Hawaii and using it as a safe haven.” Out of curiosity, I asked if the other lone women travellers had been included in so many of Jeanie’s family activities.

“Are you kidding?” Sammy said, smiling. “Most of the other women have been rather conservative and stayed close to the hotel at night after spending the day shopping or sunbathing on the beach. You are so different to those other women, so outgoing and full of fun.”

My eight days had flown by so fast. I knew the memories that I would take with me would last for the rest of my life. My still-tender inner thighs from my surfing fiasco would probably last till I got home. As I approached the lobby I saw a young nephew of Jeanie’s loading my suitcase into the bus. I couldn’t help smiling - there was bound to be another one of Jeanie’s family driving me to the airport for my midnight flight!

After a teary farewell with several of her family in the lobby, I stepped on to the bus to find it filled with more relatives who had the night off. I was astounded at the number of people I’d met who showed up to farewell me. They placed four magnificent leis of frangipani and hibiscus around my neck and presented me with a gift, making me promise that I would not open it until I could no longer see the lights of Hawaii. I promised!

I was teary-eyed with mixed feelings as the plane headed skywards over the islands – of sadness at leaving those kind people in Hawaii, and a yearning to see my own family. I was in an emotional mess!

The stewards handed out large plastic bags to all the passengers with leis. We placed the flowers in the bags, which were then sealed and stored in the overhead compartments. The perfume was overpowering in the confined cabin of the plane.

When I arrived at the Hollywood Wiltshire Boulevard Hotel, where I was to meet my Iowa friends, Al and Ethel Tillman, I regretted having made the arrangements for a one-night stopover. I called Bill the moment I arrived in the hotel lobby, and by the time Ethel had arrived I was blubbering into my handkerchief. Hearing Bill’s voice on the phone had brought on the tears - he would meet my train in Omaha, Nebraska, in three days.

I lost a friend in Ethel Tillman because I couldn’t stay awake to view about 50,000 slides of her one and only grandson. Or was it her granddaughter? Ethel was so upset with me, she had her husband take me to the train alone the following morning, and didn’t bother to say goodbye. She couldn’t face me! Al apologized for his wife’s behaviour, but I just laughed it off. “Al, we can’t take responsibility for the way someone else sees a situation. Ethel was very hurt because I wouldn’t look at her slides, and for that I am sorry. But I have already been bombarded with so many people wanting to show me slides of their children that I gave in to sleep hoping, no one would notice. I have had such a fabulous time in Hawaii, I now have a lot of sleep to catch up on.” Al understood.

I catnapped, sitting up, on the way home on the train from San Francisco, taking little interest in acquainting myself with other travellers, happy to be alone with my thoughts and feeling the excitement mounting at seeing my family again.

I never seemed to have time to catch up in my diary after the whirlwind affair with Hawaii. Finding a seat in the corner of the lounge-car, I spent hours sorting out notebooks and scribbled notes on scraps of paper, notations and addresses pencilled on dockets inside the covers of novels, and even a faded telephone number on the inside of my left arm. A few people I did speak to, but I wasn’t interested in making new acquaintances, and none found me interesting enough to linger and find out more about me, either.