It was summer again, god we loved summer, but with it came the crowds. Especially on the weekends. Not only the crowds of "summer" surfers (Guy's that only surfed in the warm summer water), but crowds of tourists, crowds of inlanders invading the beaches, crowds of cars descending up our beach community blocking access to the beach or anywhere else we were headed for.
We would inch west along Pico Blvd. past the high school and by the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, where for years the Oscars were staged and the latest surf movies were shown. The measly four blocks to Bay Street would take, sometimes, forty five minutes. A lifetime to the teenage mind.
See, the worst thing you could do to a teenage surfer was to bore them. A bored young surfer's mind starts to hatch ideas to alleviate the boredom, of course, the ideas are ill thought out and liable to be trouble.
On this particular Sunday (the worst crowd day, bar none) four of us were piled into Morales' fifty seven ford fairlane five hundred. Morales was driving, I was sitting shotgun and Ray Cole behind the driver with Andy Larkin behind me. It was hot. We had all the windows down and we were stopped dead in traffic. Of course, we always had the windows down, we always had the windows down. Even in winter we had the windows down and the heater on full blast.
Back in the very early sixties,before Vietnam, cops were more or less revered. Your mom and dad told you, when you were a little kid, "If you were ever in trouble or lost find a cop and they were the good guys," they would help you out.
We were just starting to find out that our parents and teachers were bullshitting us most of the time and we were really starting to question authority. Long before the tee shirt and bumper sticker came out.
One of the big things we were finding out was that a lot of cops were assholes who felt they could literally get way with murder. At that time they were probably right. So, of course, we set out to fuck with them.
To my right, just out the window, next to the curb, a young cop had a 1950 MG TF Roadster pulled over. Naturally there was a good looking blond driving the MG. The cop had his back to me and his foot on the running board, ticket book in his hand. Morales says to me,
"Why don't you flip that cop off?" I tried to think of a reason not to but nothing came to me. So I said, "If I do, can you get us out of here?"
Morales says, "You flip him offÖ were gone."
That was all I needed. I reached out the window and tapped the cop on the shoulder. When he turned his head around I stuck my fist with the middle finger sticking straight up about three inches from his face. The cops jaw dropped, nobody flipped a cop off in those days. He was so surprised that he just stared at me, dumbfounded.
Morales snaked in front of the MG and with two wheels on the curb turned right on Main street (not as crowded as Pico) and wove through traffic like a madman before the cop knew what had happened.
So it began we flipped off a lot of Santa Monica and West L.A. cops that summer. Most of the time the cops reacted with disbelief and stood there with stupid looks on their faces, with two memorable exceptions.
One day about noon Gil and I were driving west on Pico Blvd. with Santa Monica City College on the left. Just before seventeenth street there was a kind of open air hamburger stand. It had a counter open to the outside and stools so you could sit with your back to Pico Blvd. and eat your food outside.
As we were coming up on the stand I saw a cop motorcycle parked on the street and a cop sitting on a stool with his back to us eating.
I said to Gil, "Hey look a cop."
Without a moments hesitation Morales hit the horn beeping twice. The cop turned around, I flipped him off and we continued on. We got the same bewildered look from the cop. We were so used to doing it we didn't even laugh about it.
Around about fourteenth street we heard a siren blast from behind us.
"Fuck," Morales said, "That cop you flipped off is pulling us over."
"Oh, I flipped off?" I said, "Ok I get itÖ you one way mother fucker." Morales just laughed and I did too.
So the cop comes up to the drivers side window and Morales says, "What did I do wrong officer?" The cop says,
"No traffic laws, but I was wondering what I ever did to you guys? I was just sitting there trying to eat my lunch and you two guys give me the finger. What did I ever do to you?"
Morales said, "Well you are a cop, we always flip off cops. It was just force of habit."
He got this puzzled look on his face, shook his head and walked back to his motorcycle, started it up and drove away, never looking back. Morales and I cracked up.
Another time we were in Ray Cole's fifty one ford. It was covered in brown primer paint. Ray was driving, I was sitting shotgun and Morales was behind me.
We were heading east on Pico Blvd. just past Lincoln blvd. the road is pretty flat there until Eleventh street where it abruptly goes up hill.
As we passed through the intersection, on my right, I saw a cop car heading north on Eleventh street slow to a stop at the light.
I said, "Cop."
And flipped the one finger salute up against the side window and Morales did the same behind me and Ray continued up the hill. We get to fourteenth street and Ray looks in his rearview mirror and says,
"Hey, that cop is on our tail."
Morales says, "Fuck him."
"Yeah," I agreed, "Fuck em."
About a block further, across the street from the Santa Monica Cemetery (where Morales now rests) The cop hit his lights and bopped his siren.
Cole said. "Shit, we gotta pull over."
And he did. The cop, a big black guy walks up to Rays window and says,
"Are you responsible for the actions of your passengers?"
Ray, of course says, "No fucking way, man"
The cop says, "Good."
He then walks over to my window and says, "Step out of the car please."
I look back at Morales and said
"Why me, you flipped him off too?"
Gil just shrugged his shoulders and said,
"Maybe you look like the criminal type."
"Maybe I do," I laughed. And got out of the car.
The cop said, "I want to see some ID please."
I reached into the back pocket of my levis, took out my wallet and handed him my California drivers license.
He took it, looked at it and asked, "why did you give me the finger as you drove passed me back at Eleventh street?"
I said, "force of habit."
He looked back down at my license and said,
"This is July, a few weeks from now in August you'll turn eighteen and I could site you for flipping me off."
"On what charge," I asked, "Thou shelt not flippith off a cop?"
"No," he said, "for making an obscene gesture."
"Yeah, Right!" I said.
"As it is, because you are a juvenile I can't do anything to you. But believe me I'll be on the look out for you, from now on."
"Ooo," I said, "I am soo frightened."
He gave me a dirty look and handed me back my license. I got back in the car and we drove away, as we did Morales flipped him off through the rear window. I don't know if he saw it or not I really didn't give a shit nor did Ray or Gil.
Most of the cops just ignored us and since we weren't getting any response we just quit doing it. I suppose if they flipped us the bird back or ignored us completely in the beginning we would have probably stopped sooner. Shows the mindset of cops and teenage surfers doesn't it?