MEMOIR

Memories From a Ghetto of a Different Kind

An origin story from a working-class beach town

Natural beauty and ugly scenes were both part of life in my hometown (photo by on ).

I grew up in a surf ghetto.

If that sounds like a contradiction in terms, it wasn’t in 1970s Southern California. Long before gentrification became a mainstream topic and beach towns morphed into fertile ground for the second, third, or fourth homes of the rich, working-class communities dotted the coastline far removed from luxury.

The specific town I’m from is located almost exactly halfway between Malibu and Santa Barbara and is not nearly as desirable as either. Fifty years ago, it was a relatively small agricultural community that was blessed with about ten miles of beaches.

If children in the area weren’t much into school activities or sports, there wasn’t a lot to do back then. Which meant my small group of friends and I had to create our own fun.

We were a diverse group of lower middle-class kids that spent a lot of time outdoors, first on BMX bikes, then migrating to skateboarding when urethane wheels revolutionized the sport, and finally using skating as a convenient on-ramp to surfing.

I clearly remember riding my first-ever wave at a very young age. I waded into shallow waters next to a jetty with a Styrofoam body…