ROBERT GARDNER -- The Verdict

During the 1920s, the rocks at the shoreline of the west jetty had

sunk to the waterline. This meant that when the surf was up, waves would

come crashing through this hole in the jetty, resulting in overturned

boats and, in some cases, loss of lives.

And so the City Council told the city engineer to plug up that hole.

He did as ordered, but apparently had some rocks left over.

He then did a most peculiar thing. He built a new jetty at a right

angle to the existing jetty. He ran this new jetty along the shoreline a

couple of blocks. It was absolutely useless.

However, it was there and a couple 10-year-old boys -- Tagg Atwood and

Bob Gardner, neither of whom was blessed with much common sense --

created a new sport at that jetty, although “sport” might not be an

appropriate word it.

The boys would go down to the shoreline and hang on to the rocks on

the ocean side of the jetty as the surf hit them. Their activity was

almost as weird as that of the city engineer who built the jetty.

Well, word got out about the boys’ strange activity and pretty soon

they played to fair-sized crowds. The audience watched the boys get

pounded by waves, waiting for a big enough wave to knock them loose from

the rocks and wash them out to sea. I guess it was the same kind of crowd

that watches men commit suicide by jumping off tall buildings.

Of course, the inevitable happened. A really big wave hit the boys and

ripped them loose from their respective rocks. However, instead of

pulling them out to sea, this wave washed them up and over the jetty.

When the boys landed on the sand behind the jetty, they looked at each

other in horror. They were covered in blood. Their trip over the sharp

rocks had cut them in literally hundreds of places. Some were mere

scratches, others were pretty good gashes.

The big problem for the boys was what to tell their families. Each was

an accomplished liar, but they couldn’t come up with a story that would

account for all those gashes, cuts and abrasions.

Under no circumstances did they intend to tell their families the

truth. Nobody could be as dumb as they had been.

I don’t know what Tagg told his mother, but I will never forget my

confrontation with my older sister, with whom I lived. I had made up a

real cockamamie story, but I never got a chance to tell it.

She was washing dishes in the kitchen. She just looked at me and said,

“Get out of the kitchen. You’re messing up the floor with all that

blood.”

That was it. No questions. No chastisement. Nothing but, “Get out of

the kitchen.”

What a letdown.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge. His

column runs Tuesdays.