Time Doesn’t Diminish the Spirit of County’s Legendary Lifeguards

The five retired longtime Los Angeles County lifeguards stood on the Hermosa Beach Pier Saturday afternoon looking out over the Pacific Ocean shoreline crowded with bathers.

“What would you guys do if someone suddenly yelled ‘Help!’ and you knew his or her life was in danger?” asked Dwight Crum, 67, a lifeguard for 34 years.

Don (The Saint) St. Hill, 82, whose name is still uttered with reverence by young lifeguards, laughed and replied: “Dive in and save him. Once a lifeguard, always a lifeguard. Even as old as we are, we’d give it our best shot.”

Leonard Chapin, 82, Bud Stevenson, 77, and Larry McNulty, 78, the other old-time lifeguards on the pier, nodded in agreement as they eyed the beach with nostalgia.

St. Hill, who has a bird tattooed on his chest, started lifeguarding in 1928. He retired at the mandatory age of 60 in 1967. He started the county’s Underwater Diving Team and, for years, was its chief.

“If there were no lifeguards on Los Angeles County beaches, at least 1,000 people would drown each year,” said St. Hill, who lives in Union, Wash.

On Saturday, 150 retired county lifeguards, most in their 60s, 70s and 80s, who rescued thousands of men, women and children, got together over barbecued halibut for a reunion at the Hermosa Beach Kiwanis Youth Center.

They came from as far away as Washington, Oregon and Northern California. Many hadn’t seen each other in years.

It was the first time Jack Baker, 66, a lifeguard from 1939 to 1943 and Leonard Kasari, 65, a lifeguard in 1943, had seen each other in 47 years.

“We worked together on Avenue C in Redondo Beach,” Baker said. “We were really close friends, then we never saw each other again.”

Crum talked about the special bond between lifeguards. “Their sole purpose is saving lives,” he said. “It’s a bond that never fades away.”

While chief lifeguard, Crum wrote an article for Reader’s Digest about the unique esprit de corps that exists among Los Angeles County lifeguards. Over the years, people from around the world have come to Southern California to learn lifesaving methods practiced here and to train with local lifeguards.

Each year, upwards of 1,000 of the nation’s top swimmers come here to compete for the 30 to 40 seasonal slots that open. Currently, there are 130 full-time lifeguards--three of whom are women--and 620 summer lifeguards, 70 of whom are women.

On Saturday, Chuck Botsch, 78, a retired seasonal guard and retired American Airlines pilot, paid tribute to his lifesaving mentor, full-time lifeguard Robert Moore, 80, by reading a poem, “The Legend of Knob Hill,” he had written in his honor. Knob Hill is the name of a stretch of Redondo Beach. Two lines went as follows:

Slip on that wet suit and grab your fins.

You are the senior Top Gun of all these has-beens.

John McFarlane, 62, who retired as a lifeguard captain in 1983 after 30 years of service, noted how a bond develops between many who have been rescued and the lifeguard who saves their lives.

“One time I rescued a man and his son,” he said. “The man owns a restaurant. This happened several years ago, but he still keeps in touch. He insists as long as he owns the restaurant, the dinner is on him.”

Don Anderson, 62, an American Airlines pilot and seasonal lifeguard for 35 years, last year was awarded the lifeguards’ Medal of Valor, for rescuing a man in his 20s trapped underwater beneath the Hermosa Beach Pier.

Anderson made his rescue after he retired from lifeguard service. “The young man keeps phoning me all the time. I get Christmas cards from several I’ve rescued. Some of these people are really grateful and become lifelong friends.”

Dale Velzy, 63, lifeguard from 1946 to 1949 and known to surfers around the world as the manufacturer of Velzy Surfboards, drove to the reunion from his San Clemente home in his bright yellow 1932, three-window ford coupe.

For Walt Hetz, 59, a seasonal lifeguard for 40 years, the reunion was “typical of any athletic pro team getting together years later.”

A large board listed the names of nearly 150 deceased “Red Knights who have gone down to Davey Jones’ Locker.” Lifeguards call each other Red Knights because of their red swim trunks.

Jerry Cunningham, 61, who rose from lifeguard to director of the Los Angeles County Department of Beaches, led the lifeguards in a silent moment of prayer.