Celebrating the Birth of Surfing in California

It is just past 8:30 on Monday morning, a time of day and week that typically offers a reckoning of some sort. The phone rings once. Twice.

I start considering the absurdity of my task: cold-calling a man in his 90th year on the planet on his “work phone” before 9 a.m. on a Monday. There is no way he is answering.

But, before the third ring is done, the line clicks and a voice picks up, strong and clear with a touch of gravel: “Morning. Yater Surfboards.” There is no feigned pleasantry in the greeting. Zero bullshit.