Surfer, Drummer, Boozer, Fighter
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Artist:
Born this week, 1944. 
"Water temperatures varied from a nippy January fifty-five to a tepid sixty-seven off Muscle Beach in August. On a bread-and-butter board day in the depths of summer, the oyster-white morning would begin without any breeze, but the sky's pothered film usually disappeared by noon. The air temperature would rise to a feathery seventy-four, and the ocean-chop would establish a ruffling wind flaw that endured until two hours before sunset when the sea achieved a glazy polish and the waves uncoiled like iced velvet....Staying low, crouching, and then whipping his feet up under him, he would stabilize with his lead foot and shimmy his trail foot into a perpendicular steering stance. Cutting the face of a wave with sufficient angle to feel the bumpy clamp sensation that meant he had cleaved into the safe low line of the waterwall, he would blast out alongside the fluttery spray, slouching tall in the sunlight.If you were young, virile, and accepted like Dennis Wilson, with a cute coed often witnessing every fleeting moment of mobile poise, there was little reason to doubt that surfing was the sport of kings and funky sorcerers."-- Timothy White, The Nearest Faraway Place: Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys, and the Southern California Experience
Drowned three days after Christmas, 1983.
"Water temperatures varied from a nippy January fifty-five to a tepid sixty-seven off Muscle Beach in August. On a bread-and-butter board day in the depths of summer, the oyster-white morning would begin without any breeze, but the sky's pothered film usually disappeared by noon. The air temperature would rise to a feathery seventy-four, and the ocean-chop would establish a ruffling wind flaw that endured until two hours before sunset when the sea achieved a glazy polish and the waves uncoiled like iced velvet....Staying low, crouching, and then whipping his feet up under him, he would stabilize with his lead foot and shimmy his trail foot into a perpendicular steering stance. Cutting the face of a wave with sufficient angle to feel the bumpy clamp sensation that meant he had cleaved into the safe low line of the waterwall, he would blast out alongside the fluttery spray, slouching tall in the sunlight.If you were young, virile, and accepted like Dennis Wilson, with a cute coed often witnessing every fleeting moment of mobile poise, there was little reason to doubt that surfing was the sport of kings and funky sorcerers."-- Timothy White, The Nearest Faraway Place: Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys, and the Southern California ExperienceDrowned three days after Christmas, 1983.
Locating MOG account...
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