After his stint as a self-described "total drug fiend," but before he became a surf industry titan, Bruce Raymond was one of those hard-charging Free Ride-era Aussies who 

 busy reinventing the surf world in their own charismatic image. Bruce spent two years in the Top 16, then made a hard pivot away from pro surfing to the Quiksilver boardroom where he not only made millions but did so without selling his soul.

Bruce, the surfer, is now kind of the forgotten man of the 1970s. Richards, Cairns, Townend, Warren, Anderson—you'd tick those names off first, pause, then maybe remember Bruce Raymond. And maybe only as the guy who enthusiastically raised his hand to stunt-double the Big Wednesday wipeout scene for some no-doubt ridiculously low sum. But we've sold '70s-era Bruce Raymond short. He was smart and good-looking and one of the premier Aussies at Sunset Beach (above PT and Bugs, below MR and Ian), back when Sunset counted for roughly one-third of both your world tour points and reputation.

But don't take my word for it. Let's kick this up to a higher authority. Phil Jarratt wrote about Bruce in his 1977 book The Wave Game. The excerpt here begins just after Bruce finished runner-up, by a whisker, to Barry Kananipuni in the 1976 Pro Class Trials at Sunset.

From the outset, Raymond was the surfer to watch [at Sunset], not only for his surfing but for his entirely positive approach to the contest. Like quite a few Australian surfers, Raymond has arrived at the conclusion that being loose is as important as being fit. Before the semifinal, Bruce was offered a shot of Southern Comfort to settle his nerves. He was at the bottle before Paul Neilsen (in a remarkable display of hypocrisy) could prise it away from him. Actually, Neilsen’s interest in the competitor went a lot further than keeping his drinking in check. He offered advice, caddied, sweated and when it was all over admitted: “I was more nervous for Bruce than I’ve ever been for myself.” Raymond didn’t win the $1000 first prize but he showed a lot of people that he’s one of the best and gutsiest young surfers on the rise.

I’ve got to confess that the first time I met Bruce Raymond I didn’t like him. He’d just come back from his first trip to Hawaii and had his Hawaiian fleet of boards displayed about the floor of his pad in Bondi and he walked around flexing. I thought, Oh yeah, another hot kid set for the ego launch, ho-hum. But in the years that followed Bruce never really got launched. He won a minor league contest or two and established himself on film and in the Islands, but somehow he didn’t quite crack the big league. Until I met him again on the North Shore this year I was prepared to dismiss him as just another trier. But you haven’t seen Bruce Raymond surf until you’ve seen him in Hawaii. In powerful, overhead waves he opens up, and on a good day he’s every bit as dynamic as the current crop of superstars. His surfing in the Pro Class Trials was a joy to watch. Wave after gnarly wave he’d fade impossibly left then crank the biggest turns known to man, setting up perfectly for the long haul through the inside bowl. In smaller tubes at Off-the-Wall he’d plant a foot on the nose, trail an arm through the wall and disappear. At Pipeline he was smooth and confident, accelerating at just the right moments. And just to make sure I got the full picture I watched him slide with ease down a few 20-footers at Waimea Bay.

It turned out that Raymond, 22, was living in a condominium a block away from my own and we taped an interview between surf sessions. I found him to be an absorbing character with a fully developed sense of humor and a darker side to his personality that comes to the fore when you least expect it. He has that dark-eyed sinister air about him that appeals to women and makes men wonder. And his go-for-it attitude extends far beyond his surfing. Bruce is the sort of guy who’ll gamble his life savings on an outside shot. He comes from a family of battlers and his philosophy is essentially theirs — don’t let 'em grind you down. He would have made a good con man, a hustler, or a gigolo, but he’s chosen surfing. And there’s no doubt in my mind that he has the grit and determination to be a winner.

"HE WOULD HAVE MADE A GOOD CON MAN, OR GIGOLO. HE'S CHOSEN SURFING." PHIL JARRATT ON BRUCE RAYMOND (1977)

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