Chapter Maceió:
In March of 1973 my parents moved from Kauai, Hawai'i to Maceió, in Alagoas State, Brazil, because my father, who had worked with sugar cane irrigation on the plantations of Hawaii, got a consulting job in the Brazilian northeast, which had much sugar cane in dry plantations needing water. We had to take only the essential family furnishings and books - and my surfboards had to remain back on Kauai.
Upon arriving in Maceió, I found myself living on the seventh floor facing the Pajuçara Beach, seeing the waves breaking on the coral in front, but without being able to surf. When I asked the neighbors and friends of the family who spoke english about surfing, I generally received just curious looks. Nobody had even heard of this business of sliding on the waves. Chat of a crazy gringo kid, they thought. Finally a mill-owner's son said that he had already read about it in a magazine from the south of Brasil, but that for those folks, none of them practised it, and there were no surfboards anywhere in Maceió. They asked me if a jangada, a balsa fishing raft, would do. There were many jangadas and the fishermen built them beneath a tree in front of my house. Well, a jangada is difficult to use as a surfboard, so I just literally watched ships go by on the ocean for almost a month.
Finally, one night we were at a party at the house of a friend of my father, who also came from Hawai'i to work on sugarcane. But this old guy had surfed with a longboard, and on the way to Brazil he had been smart and stopped in Malibu, California where he bought two longboards which he brought in his baggage to Maceió. I didn't know about these boards until one day when the kids were playing hide-and-seek and I hid in his garage. I was hiding behind the car when I looked up and -- there in the rafters, close to the ceiling, I saw the boards. I spun in joy. The hide-and-seek game ended right there. I ran to the living room where the adults were gathered, asking quickly "Mr. Morton, Mr. Morton....there in the garage aren't those surfboards?"
The old guy, with a few whiskeys already under his belt, looked at me and said: "They are. Why? Do you think you know how to surf, kid?" I said yes, and my Dad confirmed it. "Come back by in the daytime and you can borrow one of the boards to go surfing, if your dad lets you." My dad knew that it wouldn't work to try to hold me back on surfing, and right then told us I could.
The next morning at six AM, I knocked on his door and nobody replied. Finally after some shouting, Mr. Morton's window opened and, rubbing his eyes, he asked me half joking (the hangover) "What is it, kid? What do you want at this hour of the morning?" I said I wanted to get one of the boards. "Well, go in there and get it, then!" and he shut the window to continue his sleep. But I couldn't manage to get the board down, since it was way up high. They were traditional long boards, one of them 9´8" and the other 10´6", they had three stringers and those old heavy layers of lamination and rectangular fins. I was really getting frustrated and didn't want to bother the guy again, but I was desperate to surf.
Finally I knew I had to wake him up again. He was somewhat aggravated again, but he went to the garage and got the smaller board down for me. "But I don't have any surfwax. Get a candle from the kitchen." I went running for Jatiuca beach toting that monster on my head - it was nearly impossible to hold it under my arm - but surfing was the only thing I cared about at that moment.
A crowd assembled in the sand real quickly. Everybody stopped to see the little white kid skimming over the waves with the giant plank. They had never seen such a thing, and when I lost the board and had to come pick it up on the beach (there were no surf straps), they tried to talk to me, but I didn't understand one word of portuguese and we had to stick to just gestures. "Surf!" I said "Surf!". And they all smiled. I was happy again.
I took the board back at the end of the afternoon, and the next morning at dawn-five-thirty, there I was at Mr. Morton's door again. This time the board was down, but I had to wake him up to get in and grab it. After a few more days of this routine, he said: "I've known your dad for many years, kid. Just grab the board and carry it to your house, instead of leaving it here. Let me sleep!" Yahooooo!
At four thirty the next morning, I was on the way to the beach of Praia de Avenida, where I had seen that there were much better waves than those close to home. I walked several kilometers alone in the darkness of the pre-dawn, with the longboard held tightly on my head. Quickly, I made friends with the playboys, sons of the rich folks. Soon they would pass by my house early and we'd go to the beach in a car. Much better. There was only this one board in the city, and I taught the gang to surf, in exchange for the car rides.
It got to the point where we would go in caravans of playboys following me and my surfboard to wherever the surf was best. When the sea really came up, those playboys, almost all older than me, stayed on the sand just watching while I developed my longboard style alone on the waves. They were crazy to learn, but they mostly got thrown around if the sea was even a little bit up. I gained much respect and many friends.
Finally, the son of a rich sugar-mill owner, who went to Sao Paulo to visit his family, bought and brought a small white surfboard, white, six feet long, and brand new. Since he did not know how to surf, he came right away to find me, and we again made up a caravan, with his small rocket in the quiver.
It was beautiful that day. The sea was running one meter, with perfect series entering in the Praia da Avenida with an excellent form. There was an offshore breeze. I rubbed candlewax (he didn't buy surfwax because he didn't know it was needed) on the rocket and went out.
On the first wave I took a dive, as I had lost my touch for the little board after so much time on the dinosaur. On the second, I dropped a series just right and sent myself up to the lip. POW! Right there, I radicalized all that cumbersome style from the longboard in just one spectacular hit and came back in almost vertical. On cue, the wall lifted itself up, I lowered myself a bit and yahooooo!... my first tube in Brazilian waters. A cut-back and one more inside full of little twists and the crowd on the sandy beach was yelling and jumping and whistling like a band of locos.
Then there was a discussion on the beach, as everybody wanted to surf right then. The owner of the new board won the argument -- he grabbed the longboard and went out too, since he now wanted more than ever to learn to surf. He trained with the longboard and I tagged along on his little board, giving him guidance. When he got tired, another guy got on the longboard, thus each got a turn. We stayed on the beach all day long. It's been many years, but I still remember some of their names, among them Sotero and Mosquito.
Well, one lovely day at school, I was told that there were some surfboards in the window of a mens' shop in the center of Macieó. I shinnied over the wall of the schoolgrounds and went running downtown to check. There was a fat Argentine guy who obviously knew nothing about surfing. I spent a few hours courting those boards (there were about fifteen), and finally a light dawned in my brain.
I asked the oldster if the boards had been properly tested. He looked at me and said: "No. Why?" I told him that he had to guarantee the quality and functionality of the boards before selling them, so as to not be subject to complaints. He swallowed the line. It was glorious. He asked me if I knew how to surf and if I could test the boards he had in his shop. "Sure!" I answered without blinking. Then he also asked if I could make up a banner to announce the boards and his shop on the beach. I said yeah, for sure you can!
On the next Saturday there I was on the beach with three nice little brand new boards and a box of surfwax, my caravan of playboys with the old longboard and the little white rocket-board. The banner was enormous and said: "Come See to Believe, Surfing Is Easy - Men's Shop". That day I approved all three of the boards, which were sold right there on the beach. On Sunday three more boards went out for testing, and I gave one a failing grade, which was then sent back to the factory - the now extinct Gledson. Since he had already put in an order there for fifteen more boards, Gledson took it back without fussing. The other two were sold right then and there on the beach.
Every weekend I tested and rated the boards and the playboys only bought after I had tested and approved a board. Today, remembering this, it seems surreal, but it was really that way. I personally tested the first 50 or 60 boards sold in Maceió until the crowd began to buy so many that there wasn't time any more to test them all. I simply inspected them and gave my evaluation. "This one is good, you can buy it."
There was one which I adored, and I set it aside, saying that I was in doubt if it was good or not. I spoke to my dad, who went down to the shop with me, and the old owner agreed to his purchase price, spread over six checks. At that time, there was always a crowd in the water every weekend. At least close to me.
If I went to surf on another beach, the caravan went with me. It was hilarious. How nice it is to be happy! Obviously, I won all the championships which started to be held over the next years. Then in 1976 my parents moved to the city of Campos in Rio de Janeiro State.
But that story is another chapter.
______________
Steve Redditt
In March of 1973 my parents moved from Kauai, Hawai'i to Maceió, in Alagoas State, Brazil, because my father, who had worked with sugar cane irrigation on the plantations of Hawaii, got a consulting job in the Brazilian northeast, which had much sugar cane in dry plantations needing water. We had to take only the essential family furnishings and books - and my surfboards had to remain back on Kauai.
Upon arriving in Maceió, I found myself living on the seventh floor facing the Pajuçara Beach, seeing the waves breaking on the coral in front, but without being able to surf. When I asked the neighbors and friends of the family who spoke english about surfing, I generally received just curious looks. Nobody had even heard of this business of sliding on the waves. Chat of a crazy gringo kid, they thought. Finally a mill-owner's son said that he had already read about it in a magazine from the south of Brasil, but that for those folks, none of them practised it, and there were no surfboards anywhere in Maceió. They asked me if a jangada, a balsa fishing raft, would do. There were many jangadas and the fishermen built them beneath a tree in front of my house. Well, a jangada is difficult to use as a surfboard, so I just literally watched ships go by on the ocean for almost a month.
Finally, one night we were at a party at the house of a friend of my father, who also came from Hawai'i to work on sugarcane. But this old guy had surfed with a longboard, and on the way to Brazil he had been smart and stopped in Malibu, California where he bought two longboards which he brought in his baggage to Maceió. I didn't know about these boards until one day when the kids were playing hide-and-seek and I hid in his garage. I was hiding behind the car when I looked up and -- there in the rafters, close to the ceiling, I saw the boards. I spun in joy. The hide-and-seek game ended right there. I ran to the living room where the adults were gathered, asking quickly "Mr. Morton, Mr. Morton....there in the garage aren't those surfboards?"
The old guy, with a few whiskeys already under his belt, looked at me and said: "They are. Why? Do you think you know how to surf, kid?" I said yes, and my Dad confirmed it. "Come back by in the daytime and you can borrow one of the boards to go surfing, if your dad lets you." My dad knew that it wouldn't work to try to hold me back on surfing, and right then told us I could.
The next morning at six AM, I knocked on his door and nobody replied. Finally after some shouting, Mr. Morton's window opened and, rubbing his eyes, he asked me half joking (the hangover) "What is it, kid? What do you want at this hour of the morning?" I said I wanted to get one of the boards. "Well, go in there and get it, then!" and he shut the window to continue his sleep. But I couldn't manage to get the board down, since it was way up high. They were traditional long boards, one of them 9´8" and the other 10´6", they had three stringers and those old heavy layers of lamination and rectangular fins. I was really getting frustrated and didn't want to bother the guy again, but I was desperate to surf.
Finally I knew I had to wake him up again. He was somewhat aggravated again, but he went to the garage and got the smaller board down for me. "But I don't have any surfwax. Get a candle from the kitchen." I went running for Jatiuca beach toting that monster on my head - it was nearly impossible to hold it under my arm - but surfing was the only thing I cared about at that moment.
A crowd assembled in the sand real quickly. Everybody stopped to see the little white kid skimming over the waves with the giant plank. They had never seen such a thing, and when I lost the board and had to come pick it up on the beach (there were no surf straps), they tried to talk to me, but I didn't understand one word of portuguese and we had to stick to just gestures. "Surf!" I said "Surf!". And they all smiled. I was happy again.
I took the board back at the end of the afternoon, and the next morning at dawn-five-thirty, there I was at Mr. Morton's door again. This time the board was down, but I had to wake him up to get in and grab it. After a few more days of this routine, he said: "I've known your dad for many years, kid. Just grab the board and carry it to your house, instead of leaving it here. Let me sleep!" Yahooooo!
At four thirty the next morning, I was on the way to the beach of Praia de Avenida, where I had seen that there were much better waves than those close to home. I walked several kilometers alone in the darkness of the pre-dawn, with the longboard held tightly on my head. Quickly, I made friends with the playboys, sons of the rich folks. Soon they would pass by my house early and we'd go to the beach in a car. Much better. There was only this one board in the city, and I taught the gang to surf, in exchange for the car rides.
It got to the point where we would go in caravans of playboys following me and my surfboard to wherever the surf was best. When the sea really came up, those playboys, almost all older than me, stayed on the sand just watching while I developed my longboard style alone on the waves. They were crazy to learn, but they mostly got thrown around if the sea was even a little bit up. I gained much respect and many friends.
Finally, the son of a rich sugar-mill owner, who went to Sao Paulo to visit his family, bought and brought a small white surfboard, white, six feet long, and brand new. Since he did not know how to surf, he came right away to find me, and we again made up a caravan, with his small rocket in the quiver.
It was beautiful that day. The sea was running one meter, with perfect series entering in the Praia da Avenida with an excellent form. There was an offshore breeze. I rubbed candlewax (he didn't buy surfwax because he didn't know it was needed) on the rocket and went out.
On the first wave I took a dive, as I had lost my touch for the little board after so much time on the dinosaur. On the second, I dropped a series just right and sent myself up to the lip. POW! Right there, I radicalized all that cumbersome style from the longboard in just one spectacular hit and came back in almost vertical. On cue, the wall lifted itself up, I lowered myself a bit and yahooooo!... my first tube in Brazilian waters. A cut-back and one more inside full of little twists and the crowd on the sandy beach was yelling and jumping and whistling like a band of locos.
Then there was a discussion on the beach, as everybody wanted to surf right then. The owner of the new board won the argument -- he grabbed the longboard and went out too, since he now wanted more than ever to learn to surf. He trained with the longboard and I tagged along on his little board, giving him guidance. When he got tired, another guy got on the longboard, thus each got a turn. We stayed on the beach all day long. It's been many years, but I still remember some of their names, among them Sotero and Mosquito.
Well, one lovely day at school, I was told that there were some surfboards in the window of a mens' shop in the center of Macieó. I shinnied over the wall of the schoolgrounds and went running downtown to check. There was a fat Argentine guy who obviously knew nothing about surfing. I spent a few hours courting those boards (there were about fifteen), and finally a light dawned in my brain.
I asked the oldster if the boards had been properly tested. He looked at me and said: "No. Why?" I told him that he had to guarantee the quality and functionality of the boards before selling them, so as to not be subject to complaints. He swallowed the line. It was glorious. He asked me if I knew how to surf and if I could test the boards he had in his shop. "Sure!" I answered without blinking. Then he also asked if I could make up a banner to announce the boards and his shop on the beach. I said yeah, for sure you can!
On the next Saturday there I was on the beach with three nice little brand new boards and a box of surfwax, my caravan of playboys with the old longboard and the little white rocket-board. The banner was enormous and said: "Come See to Believe, Surfing Is Easy - Men's Shop". That day I approved all three of the boards, which were sold right there on the beach. On Sunday three more boards went out for testing, and I gave one a failing grade, which was then sent back to the factory - the now extinct Gledson. Since he had already put in an order there for fifteen more boards, Gledson took it back without fussing. The other two were sold right then and there on the beach.
Every weekend I tested and rated the boards and the playboys only bought after I had tested and approved a board. Today, remembering this, it seems surreal, but it was really that way. I personally tested the first 50 or 60 boards sold in Maceió until the crowd began to buy so many that there wasn't time any more to test them all. I simply inspected them and gave my evaluation. "This one is good, you can buy it."
There was one which I adored, and I set it aside, saying that I was in doubt if it was good or not. I spoke to my dad, who went down to the shop with me, and the old owner agreed to his purchase price, spread over six checks. At that time, there was always a crowd in the water every weekend. At least close to me.
If I went to surf on another beach, the caravan went with me. It was hilarious. How nice it is to be happy! Obviously, I won all the championships which started to be held over the next years. Then in 1976 my parents moved to the city of Campos in Rio de Janeiro State.
But that story is another chapter.
______________
Steve Redditt
bravenet.com