...and I wish I could just go fishing.

The ominous  charred ruins of the short-lived Pacific Ocean Park Amusement park and pier that served as the border between Santa Monica and Venice beaches when I was a kid looked like a movie set, and as I later came to find out, it actually was. POP (Pee-oh-pee as it was affectionately called by the locals) opened in 1958, and was envisioned at the time that it would compete with Disneyland. The nautical theme park in the Ocean Park section of Santa Monica, California drew 20,000 visitors the day it opened, and though it saw early success, a host of factors contributed to plummeting attendance and it eventually closed down in October of 1967.

My mom took me to POP several times when I was a little chap, but my most vivid memories of the old amusement park are tied to the period between its 1967 closure and its eventual demolition in 1974.  Though I’m not sure when the practice actually started, I went to the beach every single summer day from the time I was in about 5^th grade until the beloved wave-riding ritual was rudely interrupted in the summer of 1977 by the need to begin my planned path to the National Football League (likely with the Los Angeles Rams…via an underwhelming career at Hamilton high school and an even more disastrous stint at UCLA).

 

Every day, regardless of weather, a couple of buddies and I schlepped down to the beach via the No. 28 Blue Ocean Park Santa Monica bus and spent the day frolicking in the Pacific where Ocean Park Boulevard met the sand at lifeguard station 26.  As we bobbed in the salty water waiting for the next set of rideable waves, the burned out skeletal remnants of the abandon amusement park’s pier framed the view to the south...and seemed to beckon us to visit the seemingly haunted ruins which served as the setting for the final scene of the famed TV series “The Fugitive.”  

 Some mornings, probably about twice a month, my friends Michael Cooper, Keith Sylber and I would get up early and head down to the shore before 6am to spend a couple hours fishing before starting the more taxing surfing routine. On those days we’d often have to catch the Blue Pico No.7 bus (which ran earlier…it was a 3-mile trip), and walk the mile on the boardwalk in the dark down to Ocean Park. The jagged pilings of the abandon pier were menacing, and we had to ignore some threatening “danger” and “no trespassing” signs before negotiating a couple of formidable chain-linked fences (with barbed wire on top) to gain entry to the abandoned amusement park area. Once in there, there was a rickety ladder (made from burned out 2x4 wood) you had to climb to get up to what was left of the pier, and it was always a challenge to get all of our gear up to that level. Once up to the pier, it seemed like a war zone. Everything was battered and broken and seemed to be covered with soot. What was left of the decaying buildings and former thrill rides were covered with graffiti and danger signs.

There were two sections where the pier was completely washed out or burned away, and someone had constructed two planks to bridge the two 15’ or so spans (it seemed like the Grand Canyon) over the 30’ drop to the rolling ocean and broken pilings below. It always took a few minutes to get the nerve to cross, and we usually had to flip a coin to see who ventured across first to test sturdiness. The plank, which was no more than 12 inches wide, looked like a toothpick above the churning sea…and it always bowed a bit as you made your way to the other side. Thankfully nobody ever fell, or even really stumbled as I recall, but once we made it out to the end of what was left of the pier to where an old roller coaster once stood, we were usually rewarded by a morning’s catch of some pretty nice butter-mouthed perch.

One time, as we were heading back to shore, there were a couple of older kids just on the other side of the last span and as we approached they picked up their end of the plank and acted as though they were going to toss the “bridge” into the sea. I remember the smile on the guy’s face as he motioned as though he was going to throw our only safe way of passage into the water. I looked into the guy’s eyes and essentially pleaded with him not to do it. My buddy Michael’s older brother Scott was with us that day, and as I tried to negotiate with the cat on the other side Michael’s brother Scott said something like the following…

“Listen motherfu#ker$, go ahead and throw it in. When you do, I’m going to jump into the water and swim to shore. I’m going get there before you do, and I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom of that ladder and when you climb down, I’m going to beat the living shit out of you with a two-by-four.” Not sure if he could of pulled it off, but at least to me, he didn’t appear to be bluffing. The kid on the other side who was unmoved by my more diplomatic passive approach seemed to do some math in his head and decided to buy it too. Not long after Scott’s promise, the kid gingerly replaced the plank so we too could cross. As we started, they ran…and though we gave chase for a while…we ultimately decided to let it go.  I think Scott’s plan was to beat them to a pulp anyway…we just needed to get across the span first.

What’s the point? I’m lost too. Just trying to fill some space on a Friday morning…and maybe take your mind off the east coast storm damage and looming election for just five minutes. Hope it helped.

It’s Friday, and whether you’re relaxing or working to elect folks committed to freedom, justice, fairness and equality, start the day with a little music. If you do, you will have a better day, and a better weekend.

BTW...sorry for all the mistakes...I know this is a disaster

Another sunny honeymoon