It was the summer of 1958. I was a 20-year-old life guard in San Clemente, California, which to date is the only real job I’ve ever held. At nights I worked as a glorified janitor at Dale Velzy’s surf shop. Occasionally, while I swept up, Dale would show an 8mm surf film I’d made while stationed on a submarine in Hawaii. He charged 25 cents, and on a big night we’d rack in as much as six dollars. Dale, however, being one of surfing’s great characters, envisioned bigger and better things for me. We spent the summer negotiating about making a “real” (16mm) surf film. He’d pay for it and I would make it.
Aktuelle Angebote oder ähnliche Artikel, die Sie interessieren könnten