"Shaping a Life: The True Saga of a Surfing Bank Robber," by Richard Dowdy, originally ran in the December 2014 issue of Ocean Magazine. It was excerpted from a 

 biography that was never published. The version below has been further edited and shortened. Dowdy and Dotson worked together at Hansen Surfboards in the early '60s; Dowdy—better known as "Slick"—glassed boards, Ryan was a sander. "We hit it off," Dowdy said later. "He was a good surfer, much better than me, though I did my best to keep up, especially in big surf."

Living near the beach in La Jolla in the early 1960s affirmed Ryan’s love of the ocean. His introduction to surfing at age 11 came from hanging around Windansea. Guys like Mike Diffenderfer, Pat Curren and Butch Van Artsdalen were all older than Ryan, but quick to give him advice.

Ryan recalled a day in the Windansea parking lot that shaped his future. The older crew had just returned from a trip to the Islands. Mike, Butch and Pat were hanging out in the lot, holding some Kodachrome slides up to the sun. Ryan heard a lot of oohing and aahing from the group. He began hopping up and down, trying to sneak a peek at what they were looking at. Finally Diffenderfer held up a transparency for Ryan to see. That moment, he said, put him on his life’s path. The slide showed Diff blazing across a huge wave at Waimea Bay. The image haunted Ryan, as he'd never seen such a massive wave. After seeing those photos in the Windansea parking lot, he focused on a single goal: getting to Hawaii.

He made his first trip in October 1963, catching a propeller-drive flight out of Burbank with pals Garth Murphy and Ronnie McCloud, headed for Honolulu. In town, the trio bought an old Plymouth, strapped on their boards on top pointed the car north to Haleiwa. Over the next few weeks they rode Sunset Beach, Pipeline and other famous breaks. For Ryan, his only desire was to live and surf in the Islands.

He returned for another visit in the winter of ’64, and now his aim was to surf Waimea’s thundering winter swells. During my Christmas break from college, I flew to Oahu to surf and shoot photos. I stayed in the Pupukea Highlands, where my friend John Price had rented a house with his wife Niki. Ryan stayed there as well, along with Jim Hovde, a shaper at Hansen’s, and Eric Murphy, Garth's little brother. It was a bit crowded, but we all got along. Filmmaker Greg MacGillivray, who was shooting 

, bunked in the living room for a few days.

My most memorable day of surfing that trip was on Christmas, when we woke to the booming thunder of a new swell. The dawn air was filled with sea mist. I wisely took my camera and left my board at home.

We piled into John’s VW bug, zoomed down the hill to Kam Highway, and stood by the roadside at Waimea, watching the surf. A dozen guys were already in the lineup. The sets were breaking 25 feet. I set up my tripod and camera in Val Valentine’s backyard on the cliff, where I shot Ryan, Eric and Jim riding the biggest waves I’d seen in person. I was stoked! Eric took off on a massive wave and wiped out, breaking his board in half, ending his day. I managed to get a few good shots of Ryan in his distinctive white shorts before he too left the water to rest and recharge.

After spending two weeks on the North Shore, it was hard to leave. College was starting up and I had to get home. I had no regrets, but I knew I'd get back before too long. Ryan and the gang stayed on a few more weeks before returning to the Mainland.

Now hooked on big waves, in 1965 Ryan returned to Hawaii for another four months. He went to work for Dick Brewer at the Surfboards Hawaii shop. Dotson was by this time an excellent sander, but also he was also learning to shape by watching Brewer, the master, at work.

The following year, Ryan at last relocated to Hawaii. Instead of setting up house on Oahu, however, he moved to Lahaina, Maui, where he opened his own retail store named the Maui Surf Shop, on Front Street. He and his Windansea pal Mike Diffenderfer rented a manufacturing shop to build boards in an old sugar-processing factory. Most of the time that year, Ryan and Diff had Honolua Bay to themselves. Life was paradise.

That same year, Ryan married Sheila, an Island girl. He was 21; she was a few years older. His Maui shop offered surfing lessons and board rentals for the tourists who were staying at the Lahaina hotels. But business was slow, and it wasn't long before the shop went under. Sheila and Ryan then moved to the North Shore of Oahu.

In late 1967, the short-board revolution began to spread across the North Shore, and it wasn't long before “backyarders” on the North Shore were making their own boards at home. Dick Brewer, Barry Kanaiaupuni, Ben Aipa, Randy Rarick, and Tiger Espere. Ryan soon joined their ranks. Everybody was experimenting with board design. While working with Joey Cabell, Ryan designed and shaped a 6’10” dropped-rail board that moved through the water at speeds Ryan had never experienced before. Speed mattered in the shaping room, too. Surfboard design was changing so quickly that often a board was practically outdated as soon as it hit the water. For Ryan, and for the sport in general, it was the sport's most creative and stimulating period.

In the late winter of 1968, I flew to Hawaii to live with Ryan and Sheila at Sunset, in a house that dead-ended at the Point. The reclusive John Peck was living across from our place, and it was just a short walk to the break at legendary Sunset Beach, where Ryan and I would paddle out in the early afternoon to find just a couple of guys in the water—one of them almost always being Barry K, a friendly guy who would give you waves without hesitation. I was in awe of this amazing Hawaiian surfer.

Ryan had a small shack (Termite Palace, we called it) next to his house where he was making boards at the rate of four or five a week. He enlisted me to do some glassing and glossing, and we managed to turn out some pretty clean-looking boards. We divided our time between casual board-making chores and looking for surf around Oahu, with treks to Makaha, Haleiwa, Laniakea, Rocky Point and Chun’s Reef. It was a great time for us, and if not for my obligation to attend meetings back in California with the National Guard, I would have stayed for a year or more.

This was also when Ryan began competing in surf contests. Though he never had been a fan of contests, the chance of making money was attractive to Ryan and his contemporaries. He could also foresee big changes coming to the sport as a whole, and being a part of it was exciting.

The day before the 1972 Duke contest, Ryan had a bad wipeout at Sunset Beach. He suffered a broken ankle, a broken fibula, multiple tendon tears, and was laid up for eight months. During this period Ryan became addicted to painkillers.

Ryan's surfing was never the same. His boardmaking business, small as it was, never bounced back. Compounding matters greatly was an as-yet-undiagnosed bipolar disorder. Ryan later told me that the next few years of his life were somewhat of a blur, but he became heavily involved in importing cocaine to Hawaii. Eventually, long after his wife Sheila had left, he was on the run. Finally, at a North Shore pineapple stand in 1975, a DEA agent arrested Ryan for conspiracy to import drugs. The game was up, and Ryan was sentenced to three years in a medium-security federal prison at Terminal Island, Long Beach. Much to his surprise, the prison was coed. One good thing came out of his incarceration: he met his future wife Kim when she accompanied a friend who was visiting an inmate.

Upon Ryan’s release, he and Kim married and soon moved to Placerville, near Lake Tahoe. Kim got a job at the local hospital, while Ryan worked as a bartender. It was the first time he’d lived away from the ocean. Ryan wanted to move back to Hawaii, but Kim was pregnant, money was tight, and he’d developed a drinking problem. Still unaware that he was bipolar, Ryan’s emotional ups and downs were baffling to him and his wife. The birth of their daughter Lindsay, and a year later Ryan Jr, buoyed his spirits for a while. On the downside, however, he had burned through all the job opportunities in Placerville. The family moved to Cardiff-by-the-Sea, but even in new surroundings Ryan couldn’t find work. Kim was now pregnant with their third child, and with money running out she called her family in Des Moines, Iowa, who agreed to take them in until they could get on their feet. The family packed their modest belongings into a ’76 Pinto station wagon and drove east, some 1600 miles from the ocean.

In Des Moines, things began to turn around. An upscale department store hired Ryan as food and beverage manager, and Kim found a job with a local property management company. He was working long hours, but the bills were getting paid. Life was good for about five years until the company where Ryan worked was sold. The new owners eliminated the food division, and his job.

The family moved once again, to Kearny, Nebraska where Ryan took a food management job with Holiday Inn. But the hours were long, Ryan's drinking grew worse, and eventually he landed in rehab—where he at least received treatment for his bipolar disorder. Out of rehab, Ryan and his family moved back to Des Moines. Kim was rehired at her old job. Ryan had little prospects for meaningful employment, and ultimately went to work as a landscaper at the apartment complex where they lived. But the money wasn't enough for a family of five, and the bills began to pile up. Exasperated by the pressure and the effect it was having on the family, Ryan sat down and made a list of his options. As he crossed each prospect off the list, for various reasons, he came down to one that he'd written as a joke: ‘BANK ROBBERY.” Ryan laughed as he remembered what bank robber Willie Sutton had said, when asked why he held up banks: “That’s where the money is!” Ryan made up his mind. Desperate to feed the family, he'd try his hand at bank robbery.

December 1997. Ryan's plan, such as it was, was simple. Large bank, hat and sunglasses, written note, no weapon. Park the van close to the bank, but not close enough for surveillance cameras to read the license plate. It was the day before his 52nd birthday. The night before, Ryan was nearly overwhelmed by fear and guilt. But now, parking the van and putting on his hat and sunglasses, he didn't feel especially anxious. He stepped out, walked into the bank, and got in line. When it was his turn, Ryan slid a note across the counter to the teller. She read the note and remained calm. “Do you know you misspelled “robbery?” she asked. He gave her a little smile and shrugged. Handing her the pillowcase he'd brought, she scooped the money out of the top drawer, then the bottom drawer. She slid the bulging pillowcase back across the counter. The robbery took 29 seconds according to the surveillance film.

Ryan was careful not to run as he left the bank. He put the pillowcase on the van's front seat, drove off—and cash began spilling out. Driving toward his duplex, he swept the money onto the floor of the van, so it wasn't as visible. Back home, Ryan spent a few minutes in the dark garage, his heart pounding. He felt relieved. He felt remorseful. There was $6,000 on the floorboards of his van, meaning he had enough to pay the bills, but wasn’t proud of what he had done. Also, for some strange reason, Ryan suddenly felt as if the robbery had driven a wedge between him and any chance he had of returning to Hawaii and surfing again. But it was too late now; he'd crossed the line.

That was the beginning of Ryan's three-year string of robberies across the Midwest, mostly in Illinois. There were a few close calls but none close enough to dissuade him from trying again. He never used a gun. He never made a big haul . . . just enough to keep the family afloat.

Then one day an old Terminal Island prison buddy showed up at the house, needing a place to stay. Against his better judgment, Ryan told him about the robberies. The guy asked to join as a partner, and Ryan reluctantly agreed. Together they robbed one bank, his new partner acting as driver while Ryan did the job. That night, after he left Ryan’s house, the friend went to his girlfriend’s apartment, got high and beat her up. She called the police. Arrested not long afterwards, Ryan’s friend made a deal: he gave up Ryan and the domestic abuse charge was dropped. The only good news that followed was that, because he never used a weapon, Ryan's prison sentence was just seven-and-half years. He started at Leavenworth, in Kansas, but served most of his time at FCI Pekin, in Illinois.

In prison, Ryan became a GED teacher to other inmates, and also took a handful of college-credit courses. Upon release in 2007, however, he was back to square one. No money, no job, and separated from his family. Back in Des Moines, he eventually got work at a restaurant near his apartment. For seven years, Ryan rode his bicycle to and from work, even in the frigid winter, keeping on the straight and narrow as he lived alone. On the plus side, he was drug-free, staying on the right side of the law, and surviving.

When I found Ryan’s address and phone number on the Internet, I gave him a call. He was surprised and pleased. After hearing his incredible story, I told Ryan he should write a book. At first he was resistant to the idea. His days of crime were over, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell the whole story. We talked further, and I learned that he still had the desire to surf again, and maybe shape a few boards . . . and return to Hawaii. We decided to try to write the book together. We did so, on and off, for almost three years. He loved recounting his years in the ‘60s. I sent him a stack of current surf magazines, and it amazed him how much surfing and board design had changed since his heyday. He was proud of the small part he'd played in all of it.

In 2010, Randy Rarick called Ryan with an invitation to Randy’s upcoming biannual Hawaiian Island Vintage Surf Auction. Randy had refurbished a couple of Ryan’s old boards and was selling them at the auction. He also offered to fly Ryan back to the Islands for the event. This was the answer to Ryan’s dreams. He hadn't visited Hawaii in 35 years.

Ryan told me that his flight to Hawaii in 2011 was even more exciting than his first visit. He was going back where he belonged—even if it was just for a short time. He was nervous about meeting some of his old surfing buddies, wondering if they knew what he’d been up to during the intervening years. The night before the auction Randy had a meet and greet at a Honolulu restaurant, and Ryan caught up with old acquaintances like Bob McTavish, Joe Quigg, Paul Strauch, Dick Brewer, Reno Abellira and Bill Barnfield. For the rest of Ryan’s brief time in Hawaii he hung out with old friends he hadn’t seen in decades.

At the auction itself, when Ryan's beautifully restored boards were displayed on stage, Randy called Ryan up to the microphone to describe give some background on his surfing life in Hawaii. It was all a blur as he took the microphone and recalled his days on the North Shore, surfing and building boards.

The rest of Ryan’s visit was spent hanging out with friends. On the day before he had to board a plane back to Iowa, he finally visited the North Shore, noting the enormous changes that had come to Haleiwa and along Kam Highway. It was a nostalgic, bittersweet trip for Ryan, who vowed that one day he would get back to paradise to stay.

Ryan didn't make it back. But he stayed clean. He reconnected with his family. Here is a short postscript. Ryan was in poor health, and I'd sent him some old photos of us to look at. This arrived by my email, in 2015, just a couple of weeks before Ryan died, at age 69. "Damn Slick, it just occurred to me after looking at these photos that I'd forgotten you were a good surfer. An excellent one, actually. Except for that day at Laniakea when I last saw you swimming for the horizon to your board, lost in the riptide. That took some major balls. Can't remember, did you make it? Heh, heh."

[Photos: Richard Dowdy, Jeff Divine, Tex Wilson]

HOLD-UP: THE RYAN DOTSON STORY, BY RICHARD DOWDY

Subscribe or Login

Subscribe or Login

Encyclopedia of Surfing

Interviews

Features

The Sunday Joint

Videos

Contests