"Great sense of humor to go along with those big
sad Buster Keaton eyes."
News just in that the Californian shaper Pat Curren, a
big-wave pioneer on the North Shore, and daddy to three-time world
champ Tom, has died after a long illness.
A couple of years back, Pat was living in the carpark at Swamis
with his wife and special needs kid, drowning in poverty as Paul
Schmidt, a shaper from Rockaway Beach in New York, described
it.
Schmidt’s story of meeting Pat post-surf will jerk a few tears
out of anyone who knows the legend of Curren.
This past January, I hopped on a flight for a quick trip to
California. A few friends and I rented a Westfalia and spent two
weeks surfing and camping in San Diego. Luckily, a swell had
arrived on the last morning of the trip; I paddled out at Swami’s,
caught a few fun ones, and then ascended the long flight of stairs
back to the parking lot.
As I made my way to the top, a woman approached me and asked
if I had built the board I was holding. She said she could tell
just by the way I was holding it. The enthusiasm with which she
addressed the work far surpassed what I would call the ‘usual
intrigue’ of a passerby. We chatted for a bit and, as she walked
away, I thought I heard her say, “You should bring the board over
to our car. My husband, Pat Curren, is in it and he would love to
take a look…”
I must have mistaken her, I thought. I actually began to
walk back to the van as I reheard what she had said in my head.
Then I stopped, turned around and looked across the lot.
There, in the front seat of a Tahoe, was an old man, with a white
beard and a matted, thick head of hair.
I made my way over to the car slowly and in, I’ll admit, a
certain degree of disbelief. Of course I was well aware of Pat
Curren’s name, his beautiful gun shapes and legendary first-day-out
at Waimea story, but otherwise, I knew nothing of what he had been
up to in his later years.
An 87-year-old Pat Curren stepped from the car, and we shook
hands. He was characteristically quiet, and carried himself with an
utterly distinct and captivating blend of dignity and
humility.
For the next three hours, we looked over the boards I had
brought with me, talked tools, travel stories, and his early years
of board building with Velzy. I realized at some point that I was
dehydrated and a bit dizzy, standing there baking in the sun, still
wearing my wetsuit. That’s what happens when you get caught up in
the magic joy of chance encounters with people you look up
to.
Pat’s wife, Mary, and I exchanged numbers and have stayed in
touch over the past 7 months. Over long and frequent phone
conversations, I’ve learned about their lives and struggles. As
I’ve grown to better understand the depth of Pat’s indomitable
spirit and determination to continue building boards, regardless of
age, multiple near death experiences over the past year, a
pandemic, lack of proper space and materials and finances, the
effect has been both inspiring and difficult to accept.
Most days, weather and health permitting, he works on a
template outside their small trailer, in the open air. I even
caught wind that he may have been doing a bit of shaping out there
too, despite having no shaping bay to work in. When I learned of
this, I instantly called some friends in the SoCal area to try to
find him some space. That’s what you call youthful optimism and
maybe even a naive eagerness to fix a problem without fully
grasping the intricacies of a unique situation. It just isn’t that
easy.
There isn’t enough room for Mary to sleep in the trailer
with their special needs daughter and Pat, so she’s been making her
bed in the back of the Tahoe for the past year. They have no
private bathroom. Mary receives food from local food banks when
possible. Pat has been in urgent need of dental surgery for the
past 6 months, which they cannot afford. They are at risk of losing
what little they have left, including their trailer.
There may be a tendency to think someone else is sure to
help out, so I don’t need to. While avoiding the uncomfortable
realities standing before us in plain sight, a family slowly drowns
in poverty, just down the street from multimillion dollar,
beachfront homes and organic supermarkets.
I am well aware of how hard it is for Pat and Mary to allow
me to share some of their current situation – she’s been stoically
resistant to offers of help for over 7 months now. Most of my ideas
were small fixes; another potential customer for Pat, an extra set
of hands for an afternoon, thoughts and prayers. I’ve seen and
heard how Mary and the family have supported him as best they can,
but this family is weary.
Pride can be a beautiful thing. The pride Pat has taken in
his work which bears his name is evident to even those far outside
the surf world. But when we are in moments of dire need, when we’ve
exhausted all viable options on our own, it is through simple acts
of honest vulnerability that we can open ourselves to the inherent
kindness in each human being’s heart.
Today, August 9th, Pat turns 88 years old. We have an
opportunity to lift up and support someone who has devoted his
entire life to being the very thing others have commodified, and
packaged, and sold, and made millions feeding to the surf-hungry
masses.
While most of the surf world went the way of carbon copy
machine cuts and overseas production outsourcing, Pat chose to do
it his way. He has stood as a guiding light for the younger
generation of by-hand board builders, of which I find myself a
part, for 70 years. 70 years and hardly a penny to show for
it.
Mary told me once, “What people don’t understand about Pat
is that he would give somebody the shirt right off his back with no
idea if he’d get another one.”
Paul set up a GoFundMe with a hundred k goal and even created a
limited edition tee for donors.
“You can help raise funds to get a more permanent roof over
their heads, room for them to breathe and get some much needed
rest, health care, food, and space for Pat to work,” wrote
Schmidt.
A common theme among comments on IG was, why aren’t his kids Tom and Joe
helping the old man out, which launched an online battleground
drawing in various family members of the Curren family, including
Joe and Pat’s grandson Nathan.
Anyway, Pat got some cash and for this he was eternally
grateful.
“Just beyond what I expected,” said Pat.
A few years back, historian Matt Warshaw wrote,
“The camera loves Pat in a way that it loves few
others in the sport, and he was good enough to occasionally play
along with the filmmakers. Great sense of humor to go along with
those big sad Buster Keaton eyes. Tom’s the same. I have a thing
for beautiful damaged surfers, and the Currens to me have always
felt like a two-for-one deal.”
RIP.
