Murphy Life In The Tower

1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-6678-7104-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 294 Seiten

An anthology of autobiographical and biographical lifeguard short stories from the perspective of a career beach lifeguard.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Murphy, Steve

Leseproben

Heidi Monday, April 3, 1989 The breaking surf and whitewater looked extremely agitated; a chaotic soapy washing machine cycle. It wasn’t because the 2 to 5 foot breakers were so big. It had more to do with the action of the 20 to 25 knot northwesterly wind helping to push strong underwater currents along the sandy bottom pitted with deep inshore holes. These holes were formed by heavy westerly winter surf, tidal changes and storm drain runoff. Today’s receding tide and northwesterly currents had kicked up multiple lines of short three-second interval breaks stretching more than a hundred yards out to sea. The cold, green water constantly charged the beach, racing up the steeply cut berm; then receding, seeking equilibrium, moving along the holes and creating powerful seaward currents called riptides. Today, a change in tide from high to low only pumped more juice into these rips. A clueless person wading in knee-deep water can suddenly step into a hole, becoming buoyant and getting swept seaward; every lifeguard’s nightmare. A poor swimmer becomes one of two things: a rescue or a drowning statistic. A trained beach lifeguard always checks these trouble spots along the shoreline. That’s his or her responsibiliy. Today, Torrance Beach was a churning mess south from Malaga Cove on the Palos Verdes Peninsula and north to Hollywood Riviera or “Burn Out,” (nicknamed for a beach club that burned down in the mid-sixties). The rips were everywhere! Each lifeguard has our own bias, our own story and slant about wicked storm-surf conditions. But combine all elements here for this day and you have the nastiest “non-storm-surf” that I’ve seen in twenty years of guarding. The only thing that could have made it worse was a bigger swell. Thank the surf gods for not considering it. It was a little after three in the afternoon. I sat comfortably in my tower where the early April sunshine provided pleasant radiant heat. Outside there was still a chill in the air and the numbing 57 degree water could easily cause a severe case of hypothermia. Except for a few joggers and early morning surfers, there had been very little water activity all day. The only way the time-clock could have been slower was to move in reverse. Only my binoculars and the radio sports talk broke the monotony. Each day at about 2 p.m. an older beach patron and friend of mine named Al would usually show up for a short chit-chat session before taking off on his afternoon walk along the shoreline. He loved to beachcomb for moonstone rocks. Al was a short guy in his early seventies with a crown of white hair. He was an ex-collegiate wrestler who later spent his military time as a decoder in the South Pacific during World War Two. On warm summer days, he would slip on fins, grab a boogie board, hit the water and catch some waves. Al was cool. He had a lot to say about life and I always felt comfortable talking to him about anything. A few years later, he would succumb to a long fight with prostate cancer. To this day, I miss him a lot. Al opened my tower door smiling broadly. “Hey, Steve, how’s it cook’n?” I shut down a yawn and stood with a smile, “Not bad, Al.” He stepped inside from the cool air. “Boy, that’s some bad water out there. Had any rescues?” “Nope. I’ve been advising ‘em to stay out.” “Good call,” he said. Then like every other day he asked the same question with a vicarious twinkle in his eye. “By the way, Steve-a-reno, how’s the love life?” I routinely picked up my binoculars. “Uneventful, buddy,” I responded taking another survey of the beach and surf. I lowered the binos and instinctively glanced south over the confused water. In the distance against the glaring sun, I noticed a female teen in cut-offs and a bikini top standing in knee deep water. She was staring out to sea. I didn’t like what I saw. A sixth sense kicked in and a mild adrenaline rush hit me! I brought the binoculars up and scanned the water in the direction this girl was looking. “No, no, no, no!” I repeated under my breath. Suddenly, nightmare became reality! Silhouetted against the blinding sunshine atop the face of a green wave was an arm and hand grasping for that last rung on a ladder that didn’t exist! The wave passed and the arm disappeared! I was now drowning in my own adrenaline rush! I slammed the binoculars down and screamed, “FUCK!” at the top of my lungs. My “responsibility” was drowning and I was already beginning to think: body recovery! I scrambled down the tower ramp to the rescue unit, a new yellow four-wheel-drive Nissan pickup, parked next to my tower, turned the key in a panic and stomped down hard on the accelerator. This can’t be happening! This just can’t be happening! I’ve been watching the beach like a hawk! How is this happening?! No rationale could erase the reality of this situation. Just GO! Gotta GO! I stressed, realizing at this point of time a millisecond could make a huge difference. I was so focused on the victim I didn’t notice two young sunbathers lying down in the path of my vehicle. I veered away at the last possible moment, missing them by a foot! Careful, you idiot! Get a grip! I lectured myself as the unit’s tires sprayed sand in the air behind me. The beach ahead was nearly deserted except for the young girl looking out to sea. This allowed me to refocus on the victim. But the swimmer was nowhere to be seen! I remembered two other exemplary lifeguards who had lost swimmers years prior in this very same area. A range of negative thoughts raced through my mind. I’ve lost her! I’ve never lost anyone! How could I allow this to happen! This is my beach! My responsibility! And this person is going to die on my shift! Yeah … maybe. No! Body recovery! There will be a search and recovery! All of these thoughts were merging like small explosions in my head! I slammed on the brakes. The chassis of the yellow truck came to rest on the apex of the sharply cut berm. I grabbed the unit microphone and radioed to headquarters in Hermosa Beach, “219, 219 FROM 119, BACKUP BLUFF!” Bluff was a lifeguard tower south of the main station. I couldn’t wait for a response and I didn’t have the luxury of time to slip on fins. Every second was precious. I quickly grabbed my rescue can and heard Greg Allen’s reply from headquarters. “TEN- FOUR, 19!” Greg knew me and sensed the urgency in my voice. I sprinted to the water while slipping the rescue can harness over my shoulder. This was a swim from the beginning because the bottom dropped off deep in all directions. I don’t remember feeling the frigid water. I don’t remember punching through the relentless surf on my way out. I was on a head-down sprint, using the rip current like a slingshot. I do remember thinking at one point that it was time to take a first look around. It was dumb luck but I spotted the victim just below the surface about five yards away. At least I found the body was my initial thought. But I gained little comfort for that. The young woman attempted to raise her arm, elbow barely breaking the surface! She’s still conscious! I realized. I sprinted over and grabbed her tangled hair, lifting her head to the surface. She tried to say something. But her moan was gargled, lungs filled with saltwater. I positioned her into a cross-chest carry with my left arm while gripping the rescue can with my right. It was difficult keeping her drooping head above the surface. Got to pump some confidence into her! I reasoned. “HEY, HEY, TAKE IT EASY NOW! I’M A LIFEGUARD AND YOU’RE GONNA TO BE OKAY!” I shouted with as much confidence as possible before our first submersion. She attempted to raise her head to say something. It was almost inaudible but she gurgled, “I … can’t … breathe … ” She was very close to losing the battle. I’ve got to talk her into living! Gotta make her believe it’s going to be okay! I reasoned. “COME ON NOW, BABE! GET YOUR HEAD UP! KEEP IT UP! COUGH FOR ME! COME ON! COUGH FOR ME!” I insisted in the trough between waves. Then the first of the endless series of waves hit us! It submerged us and we tumbled helplessly in the soup. I lost my grip on her. I scratched for the surface and a much needed lung-full of air. I gasped for breaths while looking for her. There was a slight tug on my rescue line. Somehow, the line had wrapped around her wrist between the shoulder harness and buoy. I grabbed her and placed her back into a cross-chest carry. “IT’S OKAY! JUST A LITTLE WAVE! WHEN I TELL YOU TO HOLD YOUR BREATH, YOU HOLD IT, OKAY? NOW COUGH FOR ME!” I urged. I took a quick glance seaward. “HOLD YOUR …” Before I could finish warning her, the next wave submerged us. I could hardly get a breath! How could she? I wondered. I covered her nose and mouth with my hand as we tumbled out of control below the surface. Was the sea intentionally trying to take her? Things were becoming intensely personal. The fight was on, and I didn’t want to lose. We surfaced. I took in a deep breath and instructed, “COUGH. YOU COUGH FOR ME!” Her...