And the Winners Get Bronzed : Safety: Yes, getting a great tan <i> is</i> one benefit. But as 42 hopefuls learned at Sunday’s rigorous tryouts, becoming a Long Beach lifeguard is not an easy task.

“They think they’ll be sitting in a tower and checking out girls all day.” --Long Beach lifeguard Shawn Parker

Anticipating a pleasurable summer, 42 young people in brief nylon swimsuits were getting ready to hurl themselves into the cold sea and prove that they have what it takes to be a Long Beach lifeguard.

Wearing sweat shirts and parkas bearing the names of high school and college swimming and water polo teams, they lined up in the sand Sunday morning to register for the tryouts at the Dutch Miller Lifeguard Headquarters below the Ocean Boulevard bluffs at Cherry Avenue.

On this same beach, the city’s first paid lifeguard worked in 1908.

“It’s like a big honor to be one here,” said Maher Syada, a Cal State Long Beach student who was near the front of the line, eager to compete in the 1,000-yard swim.

That test would be followed by a run-swim-run event, and the 25 candidates with the best combined times would be invited to go through a weeklong training program next month.

Farther back in line, Mike Wells, a student at Long Beach City College who looks a little like Tom Cruise, waited with his former swimming teammates at Poly High School.

Asked why he wanted the job, Wells smiled and said, “You get paid to get a tan.”

He seemed to fit the macho image of a lifeguard, but he said he also would bring a sensitivity to the job if hired.

“Whatever gets the chicks,” he said, and his friends laughed.

The late Roy (Dutch) Miller wouldn’t have thought that line was so funny. Captain of the Long Beach lifeguards from 1922-66, Miller pioneered modern lifeguarding techniques and, with a voice like a lion, demanded total commitment.

Mindy Wiblemo, 18, of Seal Beach, whose blond hair shined in the 8 a.m. sun, hadn’t heard of Miller, but she said she was a serious swimmer with experience as a pool lifeguard.

“It was pretty easy,” she said.

But being on the beach--with a higher-paying, $10-an-hour job--appealed to her.

Across the water, the Queen Mary had yet to materialize from the blue mist as the candidates, carrying goggles and caps, walked a few hundred yards up the beach to start the race.

They ran into the water, swam out to a buoy, turned and swam to another buoy in front of the headquarters building, then swam toward the beach.

Many were strong swimmers. But that fact did not mean that they also have the heart and work ethic the job requires, or the ability to scan the water for three or four hours without a break, said the veteran year-round lifeguards who conducted the tests. These serious men, in their pressed blue shirts with silver badges, are marine safety officers.

“We will make clear to them the responsibility they will be undertaking,” said Jim Birdsell, who, even fully clothed, looked like a classic lifeguard--tall, blond, wide-shouldered and authoritative.

And heroic. On a stormy night in February, Birdsell rescued five people from a boat with a dead engine and shredded sail. He dived into the ocean from a lifeguard rescue boat and swam to the sailboat. Using an inflatable dinghy, he loaded two passengers on it and swam the dinghy to the rescue boat. He came back for two more, then rescued the captain.

“The job is so rewarding,” said Birdsell, a guard for 12 years. “The services we provide, the rescues, assisting in medical aid.”

The lifeguards, who make up the city’s Marine Safety Division, rescued 942 swimmers last year and, as Emergency Medical Technicians, assisted with 960 first aid cases. Operating out of 30-foot powerboats, they also came to the aid of more than 2,000 vessels in trouble.

On a recent afternoon, for example, they were called out to help a disabled 19-foot powerboat with three people aboard. The boat was 50 yards offshore at 61st Place, and the wind was pushing it toward the beach. Rescue boats were dispatched and lifeguard Dave Tedesco drove his red truck over the sand to the scene.

He got out, attached a rescue buoy--a 2 1/2-foot oblong red plastic can--around his shoulder, and swam out to the boat. He connected a line from the buoy to the boat and “swam” the boat out to deeper water, where the rescue boat arrived to tow it.

This type of rescue duty is performed by 32 permanent lifeguards and about 110 seasonal guards--many of whom return each summer. They are stationed at 16 towers along the four miles of oceanfront, and also at Alamitos Bay, Mother’s Beach (Marine Park) and the Colorado Lagoon.

Back at the beach, in the coughing, shivering aftermath of the swimming race, the candidates talked excitedly through chattering teeth.

“It was long,” said Wells, trying to catch his breath after finishing 22nd. “Even if I make it, I don’t know if I’ll go through training. I’ll get killed.”

His friend, Barrett Evans, had a cut near his hairline. “I ran into the buoy,” he explained.

Greg Jensen, formerly of Poly and now a swimmer at Cuesta College in San Luis Obispo, had finished first and was getting his neck rubbed by his father.

Jensen then won the second event, in which the competitors ran up the beach, swam out to a buoy and back, then ran back to the headquarters building.

When the last candidate had finished, all of them were told to be back in about an hour, at 11:30, for the announcement of the 25 qualifiers.

While the other lifeguards tallied the times, Shawn Parker, a guard since 1980, was showing a visitor the dispatch room, which is just below the clock tower of the gray headquarters building,

“The Dutchman,” he said, pointing up to a black-and-white photo of the revered Miller.

“Cap” Miller was a tall, muscular man, the first to make use of rescue boats and lifeguard stations. Before the Federal Breakwater was constructed off Long Beach in the 1930s, the surf would often be so rough that pulling a victim to shore was strenuous, dangerous work.

So Miller devised the buoy can for bathers to cling to. The device will support three “non-hysterical” people, the lifeguards say.

The training a lifeguard candidate undergoes today is much more extensive than it was during Miller’s era.

“In those days, guys trying out would swim around the (Belmont) pier,” Parker said. “Then they’d get a rescue buoy, see Sgt. So-and-So and get hired. They’d get their training on the job.”

Today, the training consists of classroom work, swims and runs, written tests, oral interviews and practical training. The prospective guards are shown, for example, how to jump correctly off a pier to make a rescue.

Parker looked down through the windows at the long expanse of beach, which was becoming dotted with bathers, and recalled his first big rescue:

“A guy swam out to the buoy and started back. His arms were going up and down and he wasn’t going anywhere. I paddled out, put him on board and brought him in. He was drunk.

“Drugs and alcohol cause the most problems,” Parker said.

The job is often hectic, especially before the summer season begins when some lifeguard stations are not staffed.

On a recent afternoon, a gang fight broke out in the parking lot near the headquarters building. Parker was called to assist--at the same time he was rescuing two 10-year-old boys from an area near the downtown marina where the ocean bottom suddenly drops off.

After making sure the boys were OK, he responded to the gang fight, which by then had dispersed.

“We’re dispatched to those (fight) calls, but obviously we don’t have the resources the police have, like weapons,” said George Gjersvold, a marine safety officer.

The sun itself also can be a lifeguard’s enemy.

“A lot of the young guys don’t put umbrellas up,” Parker said. “You can’t believe how cooked they get. They think the sun’s pretty neat, but they learn in a hurry.” Sunscreen is handed out to all the lifeguards.

At 11:30, veteran lifeguard Paul Wawrzynski, 36, read off the top 25 finishers. Jensen topped the list with a time of 18 minutes and 11 seconds. Wells made it, as did Syada, Wiblemo and Evans.

Megan Dunn, a star swimmer at Wilson High, finished third and was one of four women to qualify. Another was Kerry Wetteland, the wife of Don Wetteland, who was an hourly guard for six years and is a now a marine safety officer.

As their names were called, the finalists walked into a dark garage attached to the headquarters building. They sat on folding chairs, looking--except for their clogs--like raw Army recruits. They were told that they may have the opportunity to work with the “finest lifeguard agency in the United States.”

About 11:40, Daniel Fink came to the door and asked where he had finished. He had been 17th, but was told by lifeguard Louis Martinet that because he was late his spot had gone to someone else.

“I got stuck in traffic,” the youngster said.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do,” Martinet said.

A few moments later, after the disconsolate Fink had left, Martinet said stepped out into the sunlight. “We stress punctuality in training,” he said.

A graduate of Downey High School, Martinet, 29, has been a lifeguard for 11 years. And for 11 years he’s been trying to dispel the popular notion that all the lifeguards do is sit in a tower in their red trunks. It’s a notion that he says many firefighters and police officers even hold.

“They have no idea,” he said. “It’s really intense. On a busy Sunday there are a couple of thousand people you are watching. You study the people. This job is not for the timid. You have to be aggressive by nature to do well.”

There usually comes a time when every lifeguard will wonder how long he wants to continue.

“And then that one rescue will come along to reaffirm your values,” Martinet said. “You save a life; there’s nothing quite like it.”

Inside the garage, the chosen candidates were being told that they must have neatly trimmed haircuts, navy blue shorts, white T-shirts, gray sweat shirts and running shoes when they start training.

“I’m a stickler for looking sharp,” Birdsell told the recruits. “I have a lot of pride in this uniform. If you don’t have pride, I will find a way to eliminate you.

“We will put you under as much stress as we can, but we won’t ask you to do anything we didn’t do, and we all started right where you are.

“You’re not kids anymore. You’re undertaking a very serious job here. If you’re not interested, let us know. It has potential to be one of most rewarding things you’ve ever done.”

When these words had sunk in, and all the paperwork had been completed, the candidates filed out.

“I’m looking forward to it (the training),” Wells said, having quickly changed his mind.

He had come to realize, though, that what lies ahead would be no day at the beach.

LIFEGUARDING IN LONG BEACH

Lifeguarding originated in Long Beach in 1906, and has been a summer tradition ever since. Here is a look at some statistics and historical details.

Type of rescue 1989 1990 Swimming 1,100 942 Medical aid 1,174 960 Boating 2,803 2,605

* First lifeguard: The practice of lifeguarding began in 1906, and the city hired its first guard in 1908. He was stationed at the foot of Golden Avenue.

* Lifeguard corps: In 1909, a group of 10 to 12 men was first hired and trained under the auspices of the Police Department.

* Innovations: Under the direction of Roy (Dutch) Miller, captain of the lifeguards from 1922 until 1966, Long Beach lifeguards pioneered the use of power rescue boats, rescue paddle boards, rescue buoys, portable lifeguard towers and two-way telephones.

* Value of boats rescued in 1989: $66.7 million.

* The program today: The Marine Safety Division of the Marine Bureau operates under the city’s Department of Parks and Recreation. It maintains a 24-hour emergency rescue service.

Source: City of Long Beach, Marine Bureau