As I prepare for the move next door into my renovated beach bungalow (Project 137), I’ve started getting stuff together, going through the necessary items, and chucking, eBaying or Craigslisting the rest.

As part of the meditation, I came across my version of a time capsule: my wallet from my senior year at Aviation High School, 1979.

30+ years later I carry less plastic than I did as a home-based 18 year old, but I defend my vintage plastic with its connection to my spiritual home on Oahu, and an early understanding that establishing credit was a good thing.  Keep I mind, this was the pre-ATM card era.  I’m not sure what the Buffums card was doing there, but I remember the Liberty House card well.  Long since sold and rebranded as Macy’s, Liberty House was a Christmas-in-Honolulu right of passage.  Last-minute holidays gifts or something locally sourced to woo a hotel hottie kept the Liberty House card as my plan B.

While at first blush the Gucci business card feels wannabe status seeker, I remember trying to convince the local Beverly Hills store manager that a UCLA freshman would be the perfect stock boy with designs on the sales floor.  When I couldn’t close that deal, I headed across Wilshire, I proudly peddled Bottega Veneta and Judith Leiber handbags to Beverly Hills doyennes sporting blue- and apricot-tinged hair, just having it “did” upstairs at the salon.

The 1979 prom picture requires a deeper dive and a little more discussion.  While I’m not sure who the dude on far left of the photo is, front and center was my dear friend since Grand View Elementary, Gino Polizzotto.  Gino and I were thrift shopping, garage sale’ing, and trolling Aarrdvark in Hermosa way before it was fashionable.  We were always looking for vintage surf gear, competition jackets, hang-ten boardies, and rayon Aloha shirts (if we still had these Hawaiian shirts, they’d be bringing big bucks from Japanese collectors at Bailey’s in Kaimuki).  Luckily we were all prescient enough to identify black as the only color choice for a $15 tux, although I did own a bitchin’ shawl-collared off-white dinner jacket.  Unfortunately, you can’t see my shoes, which were thrift-shopped English pumps, which required some explaining to other prom goers, but were damn cool.  Gino’s choice of pre-Luxotica Wayfarers also pre-dated Henley’s “Boys of Summer” homage to the de facto Manhattan Beach shades.  Gino made a career of his personal style, first as a Beverly Hills hairdresser, then as an architect/developer.  I do like our unknown buddy’s Cazal–esque goggles, which, while pre-Run DMC, exhibit great élan with the choice of the brown tint.

I wish I could find the pictures with our dates from that night, not sure who Gino took in our white stretch limo, but I was definitely with high school GF, Tammy Heath.

As you can probably tell, it’s the introduction to the things that I love that are as important as the things themselves.  I love the surf mats, because of the memories that the smell brings, or the feel of my father’s shell cordovan wallet.

The late 60’s IH Scouts have the same appeal, not because we had one—we didn’t, but because of my relentless and unsuccessful pursuit to get my dad to buy one.  The same can be said of the 1968 Mustang California Special that I really thought my mom should drive, and the near breakdown I had a couple of years later in a Santa Monica Ford Dealer, where I felt I was making progress to get my dad to spring for a 1972 DeTomaso Pantera as his daily driver… I was so close…

The Scout infatuation was really about the dealer experience.  Bob Hansen in Hawthorne, CA, just east of Manhattan Beach.  Hansen was a big game hunter, and the dealership was full of his trophies.  The most impressive of which was a giant polar bear, up on his rear legs in full attack mode.  There were many diversions by Bob Hansen’s to see his latest conquests, and we always found some reason to get our moms/dads to stop by and the way to/from a Cub Scout meeting/outing.

The IH Scouts were our favorites on the dealer lot.  Simple and functional, they reminded me of a more civilized army jeep, or the Revell half track models that I used to build.  I like that they were modular—some were hard tops, others were soft tops, or pickups.  The most romantic version was the topless Scout with the windshield folded forward—the perfect surf wagon.

One day we were driving down Rosecrans and my dad stopped without any whining from me.  On the marquee out front was a notice about the new Subarus that had just arrived.  The Subaru wagon was available for just over $1,500, and my dad bought one on the spot.  While not particularly cool, the fact that it came from the home of Polar Bears and Scouts is what made them okay.

In the last 35 years I’ve gone through different IH phases, looking for IH Travelalls, and always keeping an eye out for a Scout project.  For the last few years, I’ve been eying a rust-free, desert project.  I’ve penciled out what needs to be done, and even began the conversation with Hot Rod builder and Chip Foose alum, Rob Phillips on what it would take.  I talked to the owner, a proud lover of Scouts, and maybe we’ll figure something out.  What I don’t need is another impractical ride, but I’ve got to get one.

As you can probably tell, it’s the things from my youth that had the greatest impact on me.  From sartorial inspiration, my father was a Brooks Brothers Preppy, to 70’s surf style—David Nuuhiwa at Huntington, to the cars that the local heroes drove—why I have a soft spot for 70’s VW square backs—Aviation High School’s board transporter of choice.  It’s what the crazed watch collectors call “grail” things.  Those Holy Grail items that haunt them; the must haves, the quest.

I have a theory that passion for collecting moves in 25-45 year cycles, we love the things that inspired us, but were unattainable in our youth i.e., in 1972, Bahne skateboards were $29.85 when the Super Surfers were $12.95. And, Cadillac skateboard wheels were $4.95/each—and, hard to come by, while the standard composite wheels were a buck or less.  Hermosa surf star, Mike Purpus, drove a 1978 Black Porsche Turbo, which seemed completely exotic to all of us.  That’s Mike with the Puka shells in a Jeff Devine photo.

As this all pertains to cars, and me.  I became obsessed with the last of the handmade Mercedes and BMW’s.  As a kid, a friend’s mom drove a 1970’s Mercedes 280sel 3.5 sedan, and even then we were all moved by the beauty of the burl wood dash, and the physics of the Becker Europa radio—it wasn’t a stereo.  The 2002 BMW’s were small, sharp, and cool.  In college, the hipsters from Marin County kept the ski racks on year round, always ready for the trip to Tahoe.  I was in a 1975 2002 last night, and the indescribable smell of the interior, brought me right back there.

But, I remember the moment in Santa Barbara when I fell in love with the low-grilled 1970 Mercedes 280se convertible.   I was in junior high, but in Santa Barbara with the family.  I became car obsessed as a 12 year old, and my dad’s passion for all things motorized, cars and Cushman scooters, had me thinking about driving every day from 11 until I turned 16.  This particular 280se was parked in front of the Santa Barbara Biltmore, and embodied all that was old school and wonderful about Montecito.  It was silver, with a navy top and interior, the owner was a rakish mid-30’s prepster with a hot GF.  I was in love, not with the girl, but with the 280se.

Last month I had the opportunity to trade my 20-year project, a 1948 Mercury Woodie, (click for video) for one of the nicest 1970 280se’s that I have ever seen.  Restored by Malibu/Calabasas legend, Scott Melnick–Auto Engineering/Classic Mercedes, it came to me through my dear friend Andy Cohen at Beverly Hills Classic Cars.  I never thought I’d sell the Woodie, but the siren song of nostalgia, in the form of the 280, was too much for me to withstand.  The car came from a great collection, with only a couple of thousand miles since the full restoration.  In the last two weeks, I’ve driven it more than I drove the Woodie in the last 4 years.
This era of Mercedes is truly the last of the breed. Build quality that everyone wishes Mercedes still delivered, a super heavy and solid ride, and little touches like seat backs that won’t fold forward when the engines running—for safety, activated by a vacuum switch.

I took my daughters for their first ride in the car last week; I hadn’t realized that they had never been in a convertible before. As we jammed down Vista Del Mar, sun blazing, wind in our faces, my beaming daughter Daisy said she “felt like she was flying…” I know exactly what she meant.

Growing up on the beach in the pre-boogie board era made for interesting wave riding tools. The L.A. County beaches’ black ball flags meant that surfing was forbidden after 11 am on most summer days, so we got creative.

For some years, Paipo bellyboards were the boards of choice, but these mini-surfboards, complete with fins and hard glassed rails, were as dangerous as the surfboards they were modeled after. Remember, this was also the pre-surf leash era—we lost our boards and had to know how to swim.

At a couple of Manhattan Beach spots—the pier, Rosecrans, and Marine Street— snack stands and rental shops rented inflatable surf mats in navy blue canvas with chrome yellow trim. Inflated to rock hardness, these mats got harder as the sun expanded the air within. We got pretty good at riding these mats and by the end of the summer, we were were standing up on them.

Smells of the summers of my youth included zinc oxide—striped across the nose and on the lower lip—, the dusty smell of beach sand sticking to a wet body—laying on towels were for non-locals—, and the smell of vulcanized canvas and rubber surfmats baking in the sun. I can’t remember which summer it was, but L.A. County lifeguards ultimately banned our surfing the inflatables, so the indestructible blue and yellow mats were lumped in with cheap plastic inflatable pool rings, and poof!—the inflatable mats were gone. By 1972, the first Morey Boogie Boards—sold as kits assembled in Manhattan Beach garages by dads and older brothers—were on the scene, immune to the black ball.

A few years ago, I was cleaning out an old garage, and found a dead stock surf mat. I opened a box, and before I saw it, I smelled it: that same summer smell that took me back 30 years. I’ve shown it to old friends, and they all put it to their nose before they unroll it.

In London five years ago, I was shopping at Duffer of St. George in Covent Garden, and while it was completely out of context, I smelled that summer smell. It wasn’t a surfmat, but a Mackintosh raincoat, made in the same impermeable canvas-rubber-canvas sandwich as the old mats were.

Because of their rubberized canvas, Mackintosh coats are as hot to wear as they are dry—especially in a Los Angeles beach town. But Macks have that summer smell, so I had to buy one. In SoCal, I rarely get to wear the Mack, and it’s usually on San Francisco and New York  trips that I relive those summer days between third and sixth grade.

My art-collecting friends have been consistent in the one thing they tell me: “Buy what you love.”

As a collector of many things, as detailed here, I’ve acquired art that has specific meaning to me: a Glen E. Friedman Dog Town-era Tony Alva photo from 1977, a 1960s Laguna Beach oil painting by George Michaud that hung in my house as a kid, and some amazing “found” surf photos and paintings I always discovered while looking for other stuff, mostly vintage furniture and car parts.

So buying what I love came naturally, because I only picked up and kept stuff along the way that I really like.

You may have gotten from earlier posts that I am a bit nostalgic, especially around things surf and South Bay. Growing up in Manhattan Beach in the ’70s was a different time. Manhattan had yet to become the “disco” beach suburb that, I regret to say, it has become. People lived here because they loved the beach, surf, and volleyball. A small-town vibe where teachers, lifeguards and firemen could afford to live in the town where the worked and served their neighbors. Those days are gone.

During the late 1970s and early ‘80s, L.A. boasted a well documented punk music scene, and I was lucky enough to see many great shows at various venue: The Police, 1979, at both the Whisky and Hollywood Park racetrack, all the major ska bands at the Whisky and, a week of Clash shows at the Hollywood Palladium.

The South Bay had its own scene, defined by local bands Black Flag and the Circle Jerks. The Black Flag ethos was defined a relentless beat, Henry Rollins’s vocals and Raymond Pettibon concert flyers and album art. As the brother of Black Flag founder, Mike Ginn, Pettibon’s monochromatic, anti-authoritarian style became synonymous with the band. This recognition allowed Pettibon, who still lives in Hermosa Beach, to begin an art career in earnest–to amazing success. While some of his images and subject matter are provocative, his surf imagery is truly without equal.

While Surfer Magazine founder and artist, John Severson, defined the “wave” aesthetic in the 1960s, Pettibon’s perfect barrels, and use of subtle and not so subtle coloring, has earned him an international following of surfers, museums and serious art collectors. This lead not only to amazing accolades, but a Whitney Biennial exhibition in 2004, along with a Bucksbaum award.

Not all of these are surf images, in fact, most aren’t. But these are the paintings and drawings that I have lusted after. I follow the major auction houses (Phillips, Christies, Sotheby’s) closely, and am always on the hunt for a surf picture that I can afford. There are a couple of non-surf monochromatic pieces in next week’s Phillips contemporary art sale. There are also some great Pettibon books, Plots Laid Thick, is a favorite. Although it sounds weird, there is also a very cool Pettibon beach towel, part of an amazing artists series.

I’ve gotten lucky over the years, and picked up some good examples, at prices I could afford.

With too many interests, and too little time, I’ve had to edit my collections, staying focused, and after years of searching, Pettibon’s have made it into the collection. Buying what I love has been the filter.

My beach life has been pretty blessed. I surf and body surf with many of the local guys I grew up with. I’ve been lucky enough to surf on multiple continents, and had a lot of fun. But, at it’s core Manhattan Beach is a volleyball town….The garbage cans say it’s “the home of beach volleyball,“ so it must be true. Volleyball is a big part of living in the South Bay and I enjoy it even now more than I did as a kid. I play with the same group of guys that I’ve been playing with for years, and we still play two’s on the old school larger court, with the new ball—don’t ask why or how we have concocted this Franken-version of the game, but it’s something we all look forward to from March through November, weather depending.

Other than at the venerable courts at 19th/20th, the rest of Manhattan and Hermosa have adopted four man as the game of choice. You certainly get to get more guys playing, with less down time. I played my first four man tourney, the Greg Ack Memorial, over Memorial Day at 17th in Hermosa and I was stoked to get great partners in what is always a blind draw. After that, I played 4th Street in Manhattan, and again got lucky with nice guys and a great team.

Photo courtesy of Kevin Cody, EasyReaderNews.com

The holy grail of all South Bay summer tourneys is the annual four man at 17th in Hermosa over two days, every Labor Day. An invitational, limited to 120 players, I’ve always wanted to be part of this tradition. Started by 17th Street local Lee Campbell 52 years ago, the tradition is kept alive by local good guy, and Field Deputy to L.A .County Supervisor Don Knabe, Steve Napolitano and my dear friend, son of Lee, Kevin Campbell. Kevin and Steve made it happen for me this year, and through their good graces, it was an amazing weekend. Aside from the four man format, This is old school volleyball. Beach chairs three rows deep around center court, a cool official T-shirt and so many of the great guys I grew up with, played with and admired. The pros turn out as well, and there were two Medal owning Olympians, Eric Fonoimoana (Gold) and Bob Samuleson (Bronze), playing this year. Pro Mark Paaluhui’s team made it to the finals to be defeated by Gray Garrett and second year in a row winner, Dan “Action Dan” Jensen. Action Dan also got the tourney MVP award (right on, Dan).

Our A player Jeff Urton, and setter Dave Wagner, were gracious to me and my fellow back-row specialist Carlo, with the greatest moment being a loss: in a game that ends after a team earns two points more than the other, after 15 points, we played more than an hour, the final score 21-23.

I feel so lucky to be able to do what I love, share the beach with loved ones, old friends, and local legends. Share the court with some of the finest beach volleyball players in the world, and, like a kid, stay on the beach till it’s dark. Then, ride my bike back to Manhattan, with an umbrella, ukulele, salty eyelashes and special images and memories from a great event.

I was lucky to have parents who cared about good design. Early toys included the smooth wooden blocks and trucks from Creative Playthings. In fact, inspiration for the Creative Plaything pieces were the Froeble blocks, that caught the attention of a young Frank Lloyd Wright.

Manhattan Beach in the mid-60’s wasn’t a mecca of modern design, but Southern California was becoming one. The Arts and Architecture magazine sponsored Case Study houses had people thinking about how they were going to live in different ways, and new materials, building techniques and the cultural zeitgeist had people thinking about life in a more modern way. As an architectural history student at UCLA, I came to appreciate how cultural and political thinking was manifested in architecture, from the craftsman movement through post-modernism. The modern movement reflected the time, and new rules for design replaced the old playbook.

What Manhattan Beach did have was a legacy of pottery. Metlox Pottery on the corner of Manhattan beach Blvd and Valley Drive, cranked out plates, cups and saucers, in the colorful California tradition best ascribed to Bauer. But, farther East, on the corner of Aviation Blvd and Rosecrans, stood the home of Architectural Pottery (AP.) While mostly a factory, the Architectural Pottery factory included a store, and the highly sought after factory seconds that could literally be had for under a dollar. I have vivid memories of exploring there, after my elementary school at Grandview School—based on a Richard Neutra design, so we did have some architectural inspiration in Manhattan Beach.

Founded in 1950 by Max and Rita Lawrence, the company’s unique take on large and small scale planters and accessories, received immediate attention from design cognoscenti, and was included in the 1951 Good Design Exhibition and included most of the young company’s pieces form their initial catalog. AP designers were many of the same thought leaders making the most influential art, and designing the cutting edge products and homes that were defining mid-century modernism. Good design attracts good design and the most influential architects of the period, Rudolph Schindler, John Lautner, Richard Neutra, Raphael Soriano, Gregory Ain, Pierre Koenig, and Richard Dorman included AP design in many of their projects. AP designers like ceramicist LaGardo Tackett, and furniture designers like Paul McCobb and Malcolm Leland became synonymous with the AP brand. Replacing terra cotta flower pots with the smooth design, matte glazes and the cool colors of AP helped blur the lines between indoor and outdoor living. Shapes like the Peanut, defined the brand.

, Doughnut, the hourglass and candleholders I had all but forgotten about AP, but when I began to become a serious and passionate collector of mid century modern furniture, I rediscovered these iconic design pieces I had loved as a kid. My parents still had a few pieces that I was able to take over, and while searching for mid century furniture around the country, I found amazing examples of AP places as far from Manhattan Beach as St. Louis and Honolulu; from serious collectors to flea markets. There was still plenty of AP around Manhattan Beach, and I knocked on doors and looked over back fences and amassed a very cool collection. Pottery collectors are an interesting lot, and border on compulsive. Moving to a new house four years ago, I chose to really edit much of my collection and keep only the favorites. These include an ultra obscure stylized Polar Bear design, candleholder, an orange hour glass, Peanut and various diamond planters. My good friend Louie Kallas is particularly fond of the more organic David Cressey pieces, defined by their volcanic glazes.

While original pieces are tougher to find, they’re still around, and as prices of most collectibles have dropped, there are some good values still on eBay and at the domestic auction houses. San Diego based Vessel Pottery has done an amazing job of painstakingly recreating many of the AP designs, and authentically reproduced the glazes and finishes that are unique to AP. Started by a fellow collector, and reproduced with the attention to detail that only a collector can provide, Vessel pieces happily live side by side with my originals.

Southern California’s amazing monster South Swell two weeks ago brought epic surf to most south facing beaches, but left west facing beach breaks like my home break, Manhattan Beach, with massive close outs if the tide wasn’t perfect. I was lucky enough to catch the tide right for surfing–the Stretch Quad detailed before, on one of the mornings, but the low tide boomers brought me back to my bodysurfing roots.

My dad was first and foremost a bodysurfer. He was old school all the way…Never, ever wore fins, and rode in the straight down, one foot up technique pioneered on Venice beach in the ‘40’s. He brought that technique to the South Bay, and I always ride my last wave in, one foot up.

Back to the last swell. As you may have read, conditions were heavy and a bodysurfer met his demise at Newport’s Wedge during the swell. I was sitting on the beach checking the surf, when a lone Churchill fin, like the ones we cherished as teens, washed up. It was a left foot large, and while I normally would wear a single right fin, I did what we used to do as a kid, snatched it, put it upside down on my right foot and swam out. It was an amazing session, and I forgot how great it is when it’s just you, a fin and big surf. 10 years ago, my buddy Dave Madden and I caught a similar amazing Manhattan Beach swell, where lifeguards were plucking people out of the water at a rate of 10 per hour….This past swell was right there. Except, this time the lifeguards needed jet skis to keep up. There was just that much water moving. Later that afternoon, knowing the single fin left me undergunned, I made sure I had my seven-year-old pair of yellow Neo Fins. I’ve been through Churchills, Duck Feet—including the really cool natural rubber color, and Vipers, which should be branded Cripplers. What makes the Neo Fins so great is that the foot is actually neoprene attached to a flexible fin blade. They’re super comfortable and work great. I cant seem to find neo Fins online anywhere, but it looks like the Meistrell’s at Body Glove have taken over the brand and are having them made under the Body Glove label. I got some of the best bodysurfing waves in warm South Swell waters that I’ve seen in my life in Manhattan. Another great session, made longer by comfortable equipment.

We used to take bodysurfing pretty seriously. As a water polo player at Aviation High School, my team mate Carl Pech, was so committed to Churchiil fins, that he was selling mini aluminum Churchill replicas that we all wore as necklaces—we thought we were pretty badass. We also wore water polo caps on the big days, favoring the orange Beverly Hills High school caps we stole during Pioneer League play in a pool that was under a basketball court that slid off to one end. The BHHS Normans still use that pool.

Aside from the mayhem created by last week’s Manhattan open Six Man Volleyball tournament, the Surf Festival always hosts a lifeguard competition, pier to pier (Hermosa to Manhattan) swim and paddle board race (Manhattan to Hermosa pier.) There is also a Saturday morning bodysurfing contest, that brings out the best locals and old timers who travel to one of the sport’s few events. I played in the 6 man this year with my really early childhood chum Derek Levy who reminded me that he had won the bodysurfing contest 10 years ago, with his brother Mark taking second. The Six Man brings out all of the Manhattan old timers and I saw Aviation High star athlete, and wave charger, Steve Lastrappes walking up the beach from the bodysurfing contest.  He’s a terrific waterman and has the collection of competitor T-shirts to show for it.

The last two weeks, from the swell to the Six Man, to the Surf Festival have made me nostalgic for bodysurfing and living a summer committed to the beach. Bodysurfing and volleyball was just what we did, after we surfed the dawn patrol. We always had some other diversions thrown in, and in 1973, I won the inaugural Surf Festival Skimboard contest, with a handful of 360’s and a handstand…Viva South Bay!