The defining feature of the beavertail jacket was of course the beavertail itself. That piece of rubber dangling so actively, so rudely, from the jacket's back hem was a signature surfer look in the 1960s and early '70s. It was an active choice, that is, to let to dangle. And hang me for fool, but I have no idea why. Part of me looks back and thinks, Button that thing up! Cold water is flushing through your thin nylon trunks every time you push through a wave, or kick out, or turn and paddle. Warm it up down there! Take all the cozy you can get!

But I also remember how awful the snapped-up beavertail looked. The cut and pattern of your trunks cleaved in two, the material ballooning out from either side of that tight rubber codpiece. Everything good about surfer fashion back then (now too, in my book, although I skew Old School) was loose. Loose pants, loose T-shirt, loose trunks. The beavertail, properly engaged, was tight as a sausage casing. Can you imagine the Duke all strapped into a beavertail jacket? Of course not. So no. And no again. You must not snap the beavertail.

Now comes the mystery. We would purchase the beavertail jacket, appreciate the warmth it gives our chest and arms, thereby extending each session by an hour, two hours, four hours. But we would not compromise our style by buttoning the beavertail. By what pirouette of logic do you go from rejecting that basic design function, to leaving the thing undone so as to whip and snap around your ass, nuts, and waist? How is not perfectly obvious that you simply cut the appendage off? Scissors, razor blade, kitchen knife, anything sharp, and that fool-long flap of rubber is in the trash, foreskin-like, and everybody's looking better, feeling better, maybe even surfing better. Just from the pride of doing something that makes sense.

The beavertail flew from my pristine adolescent netherregion for three or four years, early Fall to late Spring. I am baffled at my tribe's choice in this matter, and ashamed at my own lack of courage for not actinr independently. I could have made that small but worthwhile fashion decision at age 10. I have so few regrets, but this is one of them.

BEAVERTAIL . . . THE UNSOLVABLE MYSTERY

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