I've been fascinated with surf photographer Ron Stoner for decades, I even 

 on him. He is surfing's Brian Wilson, a beautiful, tragic supernova, except with Ron there was no second act, no comeback, no return to form—no return, period. Drugs and schizophrenia took his career, his health, and eventually his life. Stoner's was all but done shooting photos by age 24, after being diagnosed with schizophrenia, and went missing at 33. He was never seen again.

This is Ron's story told from the people he lived, surfed, and worked with. It is detailed in places, but very much incomplete and at times even contrary, which I think fits the subject. Stoner was quiet, not very comfortable in his own skin, and hard to get a read on during the best of times. Mental illness further clouded things. "Ron said everything through his work," John Severson said. "He was Stoner through his camera."

Ron was six-two, medium build. Big shoulders. Lot of muscles from all the surfing.


Quiet and kind of shy. But honest and straightforward too. There weren't any burrs on Ron. No sharp points sticking out. He was a nice, soft guy.


The best moments in a surfer's life, Stoner caught 'em. And considering how spaced he was, the perspective he brought to his photos was really normal. Anybody could pick up on what he was doing. His view of surfing was so generous.




My dad and mom got married just before the war. My dad was a liquor salesman with Bohemian Distributing Company in Hollywood, and he had a huge territory. The ‘50s were absolutely wonderful. Just a wonderful time to be in California. As a kid, Ron was always busy. I don't think I ever saw him sitting around the house doing nothing. He loved building things. Model airplanes, trains, ships; he'd decide to make a birdhouse, and that was it, nothing else mattered but the birdhouse. If Ron got an idea to do something, he'd just do it, and put everything into it. He always knew exactly what he was going after.


They lived in a one-story ranch-style house in Altadena. Ron, his two sisters, and his parents. It was kind of a sheltered upbringing, really strict compared to the rest of us kids at the time, kinda religious.


In high school Ron really got caught up in surfing and photography. I don't really know how surfing got hold of him, we lived in Pasadena, 30 miles from the beach. I guess it was just kind of the new thing.


He rode a Hobie. Ron and I were part of this little semi-outcast group of surfers at John Muir High.


He'd take pictures of everything; he'd practice all the time. He took wonderful pictures of my wedding in 1960, when he was still just learning.


I always figured Ron got into photography because that's how he was able to communicate. He was an awkward person, kind of a misfit, really private. Photography was his form of expression, rather than writing or talking.


Ron was an okay student. He had trouble learning how to read, and always struggled with that. But he was not a dumb person. Ron and my mom got along really well. My dad, not so much. A lot of tension developed between them when Ron was in high school. I remember he had these huge surfing bumps on his feet and knees, and it was really painful for him to wear shoes. He hated wearing shoes. We had to go to church on Sundays, and Ron was always coming out of the house late because he didn't want to put his shoes on. Also around that time, the trend was for surfers to grow their hair longer, and my dad didn't like that at all. These were little things, but they were never resolved.


My dad was really hard on Ronnie. Really hard. Which I partly get. My dad had a difficult time growing up. His mother died when he was 12, during the Depression, and when my dad was still really young he had to work to bring money into the house. So I kind of get where he was coming from. He had to fight, too. But it wasn't right for him to put that on us kids, and especially Ronnie. There were three of us, and we were all supposed to be perfect—except the only one allowed to be perfect was our sister Helen. Ronnie and I tried to be perfect as well, and tried to get the blessing from our parents that we were looking for. But we couldn't, because Helen had already gotten it. So Ronnie went out on his own, to prove that he was somebody, and that he could do something well—that he could, in some way, be perfect.


We met in 1963, at Rincon. Ron was going to school at Santa Barbara City College, I was at UCSB. We surfed, went to parties together. He'd just started getting photos in the magazines, but I didn't know that for six or eight months; he never talked about it. Ron at that time was in a good place. Real loose and easy. Loved surfing. Loved photography.


by Bill Cleary. I was working there at the time. I remember having a conversation with Bill where he said, "You know, this guy [Stoner] isn't quite all there, but he's coming up with some nice stuff."
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John Van Hamersveld, artist and graphic designer

 staff, is one of the best in the surfing photography field. He is a perfectionist, and when he took the job of Staff Photographer, he insisted on constructing his own darkroom. In fact, no one could touch it. He built it entirely alone, down to the last nail. At the 

 offices, he's quite a mystery. Occasionally, he's gone for a week at a time, and no one knows where.


Really he was just this 18-year-old kid who would go where he was told to go. 

 was not a good experience for Ron. There was this little gang who worked there, and they just pestered him constantly. He'd get kidded, hazed, poked, pinched, all that, just because he was quiet and not very articulate. I mean, those guys just beat him down. He didn't stay long.
- 

Ron walked in one afternoon and said he wanted to shoot pictures for us. He was working at 

 at the time. He was very direct. Kind of naive and direct at the same time. I didn't want to hire a full-time photographer, though; we didn't really have that kind of money. Also, honestly, I wasn't sure if he was bright enough. That's how Ron struck people, that maybe he wasn't such a bright guy. Then he showed me his portfolio, and it was pretty good. Nothing like what he did later, but there were signs. So we came up with some kind of compromise deal, where it wasn't quite a full-time arrangement, and off he went. Not a big deal. It was just, "Well, let’s see what happens." Then all of a sudden he just started coming in with these wonderful, amazing photos.


One thing I remember about Stoner at that time is he'd spend a lot of time watching and studying surfers in the water, even when he wasn’t shooting. You could almost see him thinking about what he was going to do next; about how he was going to improve.


Ron carried SURFER. He did line-up shots, people shots, action, water, mood stuff, everything. He was the first well-rounded surf photographer. Before Ron, most guys just sat on the beach with whatever equipment they could afford, and did their best. Stoner was the first real professional. He did it all, and he did it really, really well.


The magazine paid Ron $500 a month, plus a gas credit card and food allowance. That was unbelievable for the time. Nobody else was even close.


We called him Clark Kent. Not to his face. But he had that chiseled look, the button-down collars, nice slacks, loafers, all of that. He was always presentable.


Ron loved being at SURFER at first. Just loved that job. He loved being in the driver's seat. He could pick whoever he wanted to surf with, to shoot with, to travel with. He'd zero in on a swell, figure out where it was going to be good, and everybody was just drooling to go wherever he went. Ron had a lot of style, and he ran with the style guys. That was his trip.


Ron said something real nice to me one. "It doesn't really matter what I do, I just point the camera in your general direction, hit the shutter and get something good." He thought I was easy work. I had my own car so I was pretty mobile. He always knew when the waves were going to be good, he knew where I liked to surf, where I hung out, so we’d just get together spontaneously.


The Ranch trip for SURFER. Everybody asks about that. Yes, it was as good as it looks. That was my first time up there. Hyson was kinda the main guy on that trip. We were all on Hyson’s red-fin boards, even Stoner. He was kind of an honorary member of out little red-fin team. Mike and I were each riding a 10’ 6” because we were getting ready for Hawaii, for the Duke contest. We drove in just for the day, and the waves were so good. It must have been a west swell, because every break was working. We surfed Cojo, Auggies, Lefts and Rights; we surfed four or five different breaks that day. Didn’t see another surfer the whole time. It was a dream.


I lived with Ron and a guy named Bill Andrews, I think it was 1965. We had a house in Capo Beach, on Beach Road, down by Walter Hoffman's place. Bill and Ron were older. I was house grom, so they made me do the dishes and all the other nasty stuff. We had huge parties, and all the guys from Huntington would come down. David Nuuhiwa, Herbie Fletcher, Chuck Linnen, all those guys would come.


At that time, Ron didn’t drink, didn’t do drugs, nothing. Zero.


Poor Ron. He was the butt of all the jokes. Everybody picked on him.


You couldn’t pick on him too much, or else he wouldn’t take your photo.


We had this huge party, and Ron was really shy around chicks—I don't think he'd ever even had a girlfriend. We hooked him up with this local chick named Slinky. She was dynamite, and had a less-than-wonderful reputation. Ron was ecstatic. I went in his room during the party, and he had this Hugh Hefner robe on, and he's brushing his teeth in the bathroom, humming and singing, while Salina's there, sitting on his bed. I was stoked for Ron; I closed the door and left. Then while Ron's still in the bathroom, Chuck Linnen opens the window to his room and says, "Hey, who are you?" Slinky introduces herself, and Chuck basically picks her up and steals her out the window. Stoner comes out of his room a couple minutes later, almost crying.


Paulette Martinson. Boy, she was really young. I think 15 or 16, something ridiculous like that. And Ron just went head over heels for her.


I met Ron when I was 14 and we dated until I was 16 or 17. He was my first love. He was very attentive. He was into great music, loved jazz, Hugh Masekela. For my birthday, he bought me a beautiful yellow dress and took me to Hollywood to see Buffalo Springfield.


By 1967, a vast majority of surfers, particularly the hot guys, were doing drugs. We'd been told as kids that all drugs were terrible. Then we tried marijuana, and it was kind of neat. So you'd go "Gosh, that's not so bad, what about this?" And you're onto LSD, and it goes from there. It's difficult to put this in the right way, but positive things did come out of all that drug use. Pot and LSD really got people into a different space. Frankly, I think it was the most energetic time surfing ever went through. Everybody was experimenting with new boards, new ways to ride, people weren't so critical of new ideas, and it was all happening under the influence of drugs. All this creative surfing took place because of the mood of the times, and the mood of the times was largely determined by drug use.


Drug-wise, all of us in Dana Point guys were a bad influence on Ron. He always felt like he was the outsider. He never thought he was part of the crew, and felt that we were all working him somehow. That was his hang-up. What he didn't realize was that we all loved him. He had his own style, and it was okay with us. But 

Everybody else was doing it, so Ron did it too.


We'd be up at the Ranch, and each of us would take a quarter-hit of acid, and Ron would take three tabs.


Then it got real heavy, real quick. I went to Hawaii at the end of the year, and it was just intense. People weren't ready for it. Stoner wasn't, for sure. The Hawaii scene that year was mind-boggling. I got out as fast as I could.


Ron asked me to go to Mexico, to a surf contest at San Miguel. So I lied to my mother, and off we went, and on the way Ron was telling me about marijuana. I didn’t know anything about drugs at that point. I was really apprehensive as he was talking. Then we were in Mexico, watching the sun go down, sitting on the tailgate of Ron’s wagon, and I tried some. So that went on for a while. Pot was in our lives. Then a few months later Ron and I went to Hawaii. Lied to my mom again. On New Year's Eve, 1967, we went into a valley with John Peck and dropped acid. At first it was just the most incredible experience, but as the day wore on it became a nightmare. I remember being in somebody’s house, just staring at the ceiling because it was draped with all this orange fabric. Billy Hamilton was there, Jock Sutherland was there, and by that point I’d become just totally paranoid and terrified


To make a long story short, I got through that episode in Hawaii, flew home, was sort of in and out of the drug scene for a while, then decided it wasn't for me. I also decided I didn't want to date Ron anymore. So I wrote him the Dear John letter. He was taking a lot of acid at that time. He was a bit crazy. He challenged me to . . . I don't know what it was. He wrote me this letter, something about Man against Woman, and that he wanted me to meet him at the Dana Point bluff at sunset. I was terrified. I thought he was going to drive off the cliff with me, or something. So I didn't go.


Paulette was the best person in the world for my brother. She loved him so much, and he loved her. And when she broke it off—and believe me, I don't hold anything against Paulette, she's my dearest friend—that's when my brother totally deteriorated.


I'd been gone for a few days, shaping up in Santa Monica, and I come for the weekend, walk in at 2:00 in the morning, and Stoner's sitting in the corner, and he's taken six tabs of acid. Just sitting in the corner by himself giggling.


He got religious. I mean, obsessed. Completely. He was never that way before. He was obsessed with the Bible, reading it and quoting it, but he'd twist it all around.


Ron came in one morning for a meeting, and he'd memorized a few Biblical quotes, and that was all he could say. Same few quotes, over and over. I knew he was hurting. He'd talked to me a few days earlier about his girlfriend Paulette, and their problems, and how he was really broken up about it. But now here he was in the office, and for hours all we could from him was "The Lord is my Shepard," and "Jesus will deliver me." Basically he just cracked up. Ron had always looked as if he was teetering on the edge, but now he was over it. We spent hours together that day in the office, and I was really worried. I asked him what he was going to do, and all I could get out of him was that he was going to drive somewhere. No way I was going to let him get behind the wheel. So I ducked into another office and called up a hospital in Santa Ana, I can't remember which one, and they said bring him in. I'd had no experience with anyone who had lost it, and I remember thinking to myself "Well, maybe they can give Ron a shot or something and fix him." I got him into the car, drove to the hospital, we get out, walk inside, and all of a sudden he figures it out, and I could see he was really worried. One of the doctors said, "We're keeping him," and I was asked to leave. So I gave them his parents' address and phone number, and drove off.


That was really hard for John, that whole episode. He had to do that on his own. Ron’s own family didn't know anything until Ron was already in the hospital.


I remember going to a hospital in Santa Ana when I was 14 or 15 , and seeing my brother in a padded cell, wearing a straitjacket.


Ron was institutionalized. Drugs had a lot to do with it, but he was diagnosed with schizophrenia.


My parents took custody of him had him transferred to another hospital, I think either in Temple City of El Monte. He had 18 electroshock treatments.


He was institutionalized twice. He came back to Dana Point after the first deal; after Severson did his trip. We were roommates still. I was working mostly in Santa Monica. Ron was pretty spaced out, not doing much of anything. One afternoon, after I'd been gone a couple days up north, I come home and see all the neighbors lined up on both sides of our street. I look up and here comes Ron out of our place carrying this huge wooden cross that he'd built. He had on a white robe, and was dragging this thing down the street. The guys in the white coats took him away. That was the second time he went in.


The "new" Stoner was even quieter than he'd been before. Just a full mysto-man. He’d visit my house now and then, walk in the door, sit down in a chair and not say a word. This was late 1968 or early '69, and he was still on the SURFER masthead, but pretty much non-functional.


I was the hot young kid coming up all motivated and stoked, just as Stoner was fading out. Salt Creek would be firing, and [SURFER photo editor] Brad Barrett would be freaking out on the phone, going "It was perfect this morning, where were you, Ron?" One day I drove up to the magazine and Brad said to me, "We're making you the new Ron Stoner." They decided to send me to the Islands, and next thing I know Brad and I were driving over to Ron's house to get all his camera equipment, which SURFER still owned. I was just thinking "Oh God,I don't want to go do this." We got there and I stayed in the car. Brad went in. I saw Stoner, and he just looked so bummed. Brad walked out with the stuff and we drove back to the magazine, and we didn't say a word.


He moved to Hawaii. He wasn't a well person. Every few months he'd come with pneumonia, bronchitis, flu, something like that. He'd come home, get well, and leave again.


Friends of mine in Maui told me they'd drive out to Honolua Bay in the morning and see Ron sitting on the breakwater at Lahaina. Then they'd drive back late in the afternoon, and Ron would still be sitting there on the breakwater, like he hadn't moved all day.


I would see Ron periodically. He'd come back to California sometimes and stay with his parents. I remember driving to their place to visit, and Ron was pretty fried. He would sort of drift. His mom and dad would be watching 

 on TV, and Ron would be on the sofa with a blanket, very quiet, not too coherent. He'd talk a little then just space out. In the back of my mind I always hoped someday he'd come back around. But he didn't.


* * * 
Ron went missing. He'd gone back to Hawaii, and my mother was in contact with him on practically a weekly basis, sending him money and just keeping in touch, and all of a sudden the letters started coming back. That was in 1977. We don't know what happened to him.


I'd always had this idea that Ron walked into the ocean one day, and kept going, and thought he could start breathing.


He might have ended up as one of the lost souls down here off the Napali Coast. More than a few people, especially after the hippie years, would get really high, go for a hike or something, wander off the trail and never return.


After Ron disappeared, his parents always felt that I would be the link, that I would be the one to find him.


Things never got better with my parents. Before, as long as Ronnie had his name in the magazine, in my parents' eyes he was fine. But the minute things went wrong, my parents didn’t want to know about it, or talk about it. It was like that right up until they died. I once asked my father, this was after my brother disappeared, "Dad, if Ronnie were to walk in here right now, what would you do?" And he said, "I don't know if I could talk to him. I don't know if I could face him."


When my mother and father died in 1992, their belongings went into probate court. [Having Ron declared dead in 1994] was for the purposes of closing probate. There is no death certificate because there is no proof he died.


Ron might have been alright if he could have stayed in 1966.


He wasn't strong enough. He was a beautiful person, but he wasn't a strong person. That was Ronnie's only real flaw. I think about him every day.


RON STONER'S VANISHING POINT: AN ORAL HISTORY

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