"In Trim: Paul Strauch," by Chris Ahrens, ran in the June 1995 issue of Longboard magazine. Strauch was 51.

Half. My mother was three-quarters Hawaiian and one-quarter English, and my father was a one-quarter Hawaiian. My Hawaiian name is Kalakimau, which means “The Lucky One.”

When I was about seven. My dad grew up in Waikiki and was a very good surfer. I think that he had one of the first balsa boards ever made in Hawaii. It was made by Alan Gomes' father, who was a woodworker, in 1919. I still have that board.

My own first board was shaped by Tom Blake, when I was about 12. My dad knew Blake, and they surfed together. One day Tom came to the house and made a board for my dad and a board for me. Mine had a swallowtail, and it worked great. This was around 1954, '55. Blake was a fixture in Waikiki, and very active with hollow boards and balsa boards.

My dad taught me how to get a feel for the ocean. He was a fisherman, not by vocation, but by hobby. I learned about currents and waves from him. I also ended up under the tutelage of George Downing. I still consider George to be one of the wisest men around the sea.

Phil Edwards told me that George was the best of the early big-wave riders.

No doubt. Especially in wall-type surf. Nobody could touch George at big Makaha or Laniakea. I remember once when I was young, George took me to Laniakea when it was just solid whitewater, right through the break. He says to me, “Let’s go," and I’m thinking, “There’s no way we’re going to get out.” It was just massive. But I follow George, and we went right through the break in the rip. It was really spooky out there, whitewater just all over the place. I'm still just following George, then he sits up and says, “Okay, we’re in the lineup." I say, “What the hell are you talking about?" I look outside and see waves crashing, and George says, “No, we're fine here." Sure enough, the whitewater stops maybe 20 yards outside of us, and the waves reformed right where we were sitting. There was this 50-yard space where we could take off. I mean, George was just so cool like that. He knew everything. And he passed so much on to me when I was young, and I've never forgotten any of it.

When did you start getting into bigger surf?

My first big-wave board was made by Bob Shepherd, a beautiful 10' 4" balsa gun. I was 14, around there. I remember going out to Sunset for the first time on that board. We were so limited. It was like riding a plank or a sled. Most of the guys would take off, angle right away, then lose control. I found the most effective way to ride those boards was not to angle immediately but to go straight down first, then turn. If you had a narrow enough tail, you could come off of the bottom and make a long section.

Did you discover that type of turn on your own, or had you seen anyone else do it?

No, I'd never seen anyone at that point of go straight down and then turn. Later on, of course, Barry Kanaiaupuni would do it very well.

Apart from Downing, what surfers did you look up to?

Several guys in Waikiki, although I think the ones that really mattered were Phil Edwards and Dewey Weber, in 1958, when they came to Hawaii with Bud Browne. I was really impressed, particularly with Dewey. I mean, Phil had a tremendous grace, and it was amazing how he could ride the tail of the board, and control it so well, then move forward and use the whole board. Dewey had a lot more hand motion and upper torso motion, more hip-swivel. He’d do these real heavy swivel turns, where the board had a delayed reaction to his upper torso. Dewey's body was always ahead of his board. Really stylish maneuvers. The combination of watching Dewey and Phil worked for me, using those upper-torso moves from Dewey, and the bottom turn stuff from Phil. I learned so much from both of them.

Dewey and Phil both became really famous in the surf world. You were almost a bit more under radar. Did you consciously avoid the spotlight?

I’d have to say yes. I just wasn’t comfortable in the public eye. There were certain surfers who came over to Hawaii who very much wanted to be looked at and seen, and to me it seemed to take a lot away from what great surfers they really were.

Is there any particular day from your surfing life that really stands out.

Oh sure. Lots. One of the finest was December 12, 1960, at Makaha, when the waves were 20 to 25 feet. It was like Number Threes, or Rincon, but huge. Light offshore winds. Just so big and perfect that you couldn’t make a mistake.

Peter Cole (laughs). He was my algebra teacher!

Yes. I had Mr. Cole for algebra, then geometry the next year. We had been out surfing together a few times before that, at Ala Moana and Haleiwa, and once or twice at Sunset. One day I was up at the blackboard doing an algebraic problem. Peter was standing to the side with this look that made me think that I was screwing up. But I kept checking my work, and I knew I was right. Then he looked at me, and said “Do you surf?” And I said “Yeah.” He just nodded and smiled.

Peter is such a great guy. Still surfs a lot, too.

I don’t think that I’ve met anyone so focused on surfing as Peter was. He was an incredibly good teacher, but sometimes the monitor would bring him a note and he’d just fall apart, start pacing, fumbling, stuttering. I remember watching him, thinking there must have been a death in the family or something. Then one day I walked by his desk and saw the note. It was from Ricky Grigg, and it said that Sunset was 10 to 12 and perfect.

Oh God, yeah. I used to shove pepper up my nose, and then walk slowly to the school infirmary. It took about five minutes to get the full effect. By the time I arrived my eyes were all red and swollen up, and it looked like I had some horrible contagious disease. The nurse would say, “We’re calling home,” and I'd have to convince them that I'd be alright getting home on my own. Then I'd hop a bus and go straight to the beach.

A few times, but I never liked it. The surf was always better somewhere else. Everyone used to roar out to Waimea when Sunset closed out. I always liked Makaha better. The big thrill was to take off as far toward the point as possible and make it all the way through to the Bowl. I loved the challenge of it. I don’t think I rode Waimea more than a dozen times.

When I graduated from high school in 1961, my graduation present was a plane ticket to California. I had a good friend from high school whose father had bought the Santa Barbara Polo Club. My friend and I both played polo in school, so we went to the club. There I met Mr. Hollister. I told him, “I’ve heard so much about your ranch, Mr. Hollister, and the wonderful surf that you have, but I know that it’s not open to the public." He said, “That’s right, but let me give you something." He reaches into his wallet, pulls out his business card, writes my name on it, along with something like, “Free access to beach at all times." And he signed it. My friend and I went up a couple of times that summer, and it was pretty good.

I stayed part of that summer in Santa Barbara, and then went down and stayed in Hermosa Beach with Chubby Mitchell and some of the Hawaiian guys. That was great, too. I met Lance Carson and all the guys.

He was just an unbelievable guy. Tremendous ability in the water, for such a big man. He was like 375 pounds. Incredibly strong. The nicely, gentlest guy you could meet, but the one time I saw him get angry, he grabbed onto a parking meter and bent it right over. I’ve never seen anybody do that.

Once we were driving back from surfing Leo Carillo. I'm driving, Chubby is next to me. All of a sudden another car of Hawaiians passed us and one of the guys dropped his pants and mooned us. Chubby had a stutter, and he says, “ P-P-P Paul, c-c-catch up and p-pass them!” I knew what he was thinking. So I hit the gas, look over, and sure enough Chubby's taking his pants off and next thing he's got his rear end out the window. “P-p-pass ‘em Paul!” so I pass ‘em. Then I had to pull over into the slower lane, because we were coming up on Malibu. I said, “Get in,” but he doesn’t move. "Come on, get in, Chubby!” He says, “P-Paul, pull over.” I said, “Why?” and he says, “B-Because I’m stuck!” I had to stop, and push him back into the car. (Hard, extended laughter.)

You lived in New York for a few years. Did you surf on the East Coast?

Quite a bit. It was great when it turned on. But the weather got awfully cold, 30 degrees, snow on the ground. I surfed once in those conditions. I’ll never do it again.

You were on the Duke Kahanamoku Surf Team. What do you remember best about him?

We were both at Huntington one year for the US Championships. At the end of the contest, they're having the awards ceremony, and they bring up the six finalists and begin calling off names, starting with sixth place. I’m not going to mention names, but when they got to third place, the guy walked up, took his trophy, didn't shake hands with anybody. There must have been 5,000 people there watching. He took his trophy, walked off the stage, threw it into the garbage can, and left. I said, “Hey Duke, did you see that?” He nodded, and said, “These guys really want to win, don’t they?" I looked at him and said, “What do you mean?” He said, “They take it so seriously; that’s wonderful, isn’t it? There's nothing like winning.” And that just took all the wind out of my sails. I thought what the guy had done was really childish, but Duke gave me a whole new perspective. He taught me that it’s relative; that you can’t really forget where that person is at the time. It really stopped me, and I never have forgotten it.

Didn't you use to travel a bit with Duke?

A little, yes. Me and Fred Hemmings, Butch Van Artsdalen, and Joey Cabell. That was the Duke Surf Team. Duke would always have me sit to his side, particularly when we went out to dinner. He'd wear these oversized sunglasses, even at night. He loved taking naps, and he could fall asleep anywhere. So he'd fall asleep at dinner, and when somebody would ask him a question, my job was to hit him in the knee and repeat the question to him.

I hear that Duke had a great sense of humor.

Absolutely. Hmmmm. I’m trying to think of something we could print. (Laughter) Okay, once we were in Las Vegas, and we had front row seats at The Sands to see Sammy Davis, Jr. We were like six feet away from the stage, it was great. At the end of the show, Kimo McVay, who was Duke’s manager, comes up and says, “Hey Duke, great news, we’ve all been invited backstage.” Duke says, “What are we going to go there for?” And Kimo replies, “We’re going to see Sammy Davis, Jr!” Duke says, “Why? I just saw him for an hour; he was standing right in front of me.”

I left in 1985. I had a job opportunity, to head up the marketing for a company. It was a challenge, going to New York City. I used to walk along with a headset, listening to Hawaiian music, and I’d see people who were in a rush constantly. I remember one day, walking to work, I stopped at a comer where a semi-truck was stalled. There was no way to get around it until it moved. There was a guy in a suit standing next to me, jogging in place, really irritated that he had to wait. I looked at him and said, “So, you’re really in a rush.” He looks back at me and he says, “You’re obviously from out of town.” (Laughter). Then he goes, “Let me give it to you short and sweet. Time is money. You’re here to make as much money as you can and then get out.’’ I said, “Get out where?” He said, “Go to some idyllic spot.” I said, “Like where?” He said, “Hawaii.” Right then the semi truck cleared out, and I said, “It's clear, you better hurry," and he disappeared into the crowd. I wonder if he’s still there. I hope not. I'm not!


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