Scope and ContentTwo texts written by people who had served as life guards at Oval Beach 1 Early Days of the Saugatuck Oval by Helen Gage DeSoto Incredible as it may seem, there was a time in living memory when Saugatuck had no public access beach. Lake Michigan was there, all right, bordered by a broad strip of the most beautiful golden sand in the world, but it was effectively barred to most inhabitants of both sides of the river. Thickly forested hills, concealing unexpected ravines and ridges, brambles and deadfalls, as well as patches of poison ivy, discouraged all but the most determined and dedicated hikers. Those who wanted to swim in the lake or sunbathe on its shores usually drove to Douglas Beach, parked on its high bluff, descended its long, LONG stairs (which had to be wearily climbed on returning), and tolerated the ubiquitous stones which in those days infested the water's edge. By the middle 1930's the era of sun-worship was well and truly entrenched. Swimsuits had become skimpier and more revealing (though nothing even approaching current models!), and a deep even tan had become a status symbol. A resort without an accessible beach would soon be no resort at all, appealing only to the aged and infirm. Clearly, a prime necessity for Saugatuck was a good road to the only possible section of beach: the stretch between the Old Harbor and Camp Gray. At first, there was some argument about the advantages of utilizing the old Water Tower road through the woods and angling back across the sand. This route was even surveyed, but it was finally decided to cut directly through from the Ferry, in front of what was then the Ferry Inn, later the Beachway. On the low bluff above the beach proper an elongated oval roundabout provided extensive parking and, incidentally, gave the place its name: the OVAL. The slopes lying between the three sets of stairs leading down to the sand were planted with sand cherry and poplar for conservation purposes. A single water faucet, privy-type toilets, and some trash cans completed the amenities that first year, but it soon became evident that some protective measures were also needed. A life guard stand appeared, and a section of the water was marked off with heavy pilings and rope. A life guard way hired to watch swimmers, administer first aid, pick up litter, and generally keep order. I was probably the third person to hold that job, and when I applied for it, I was surprised to find that my bosses were only minimally interested in my hard-earned Red Cross certificates in life saving. They wanted someone to be reliably on the spot and bossy enough to be seen to be in charge. My hours were from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., and my duties were to take care of raising and lowering the flag, to pick up the previous day's trash, to prevent any problem behavior (such as the attempted consumption of alcohol), and, of course, to keep an eye on the water. The Clerk swore me in as a Deputy Marshal, and I wore a badge on my swimsuit to prove it. Fortunately, Harry Newnham, my immediate boss, who in those days was the man to see about EVERYTHING, made regular rounds and always appeared at the beach at least once a day, and sometimes more. I didn't often have any problems to report, but when there were those who defied my "authority," Harry made short work of them. Most of these were people who expected to and were determine to imbibe, but I remember one man who, egged on by his friends, strutted around in the nude and refused to put on his trunks. Harry arrived in time to arrest the whole gang and I never saw any of them again. There was never anything even approaching a close call in the water, thank goodness, mainly because I insisted that swimmers stay inside the ropes at all times and close to the shore when powerful waves were rolling in. Originally there was only a tiny refreshment wagon parked near the flagpole, but later there appeared a cement block structure providing dressing rooms and real toilets, as well as junk food, ice cream, and soft drinks. The first such building, although sturdily constructed, was knocked dawn by a tornado and scattered every which way, like a toddler's toy blocks, but it was soon rebuilt bigger and better. During those first years everything at the Oval seemed to be going better and better, but in the late fifties the city fathers made a mistake. Many townspeople enjoyed driving over to their beach and parking on their Oval to watch the changing glory of sunset over the lake. Unfortunately, the bushes and other plants on the slope supporting the pavement had grown high and now interfered with the view. Much to the shock and displeasure of my conservationist mother (among others, I'm sure), those obstructing growths were removed. Harry Newnham, whose crew was doing the clean-up, said that although he had warned of possible disastrous consequences, his orders were to go ahead. Of course, it was only a matter of time before the denuded slope eroded, the pavement cracked and crumbled and the neat, convenient parking lot became useless. I don't know what the ambience of the Oval is now, but in my times it was a magical place, equal to a romantic South Sea island or Mediterranean glamour spot, but at the same time as friendly as a neighborhood block party. Because it was special visitors returned year after year, often unable to articulate what it was that attracted them. Life guards were mostly residents (either summer or year round), like Baxter Richardson, Johnny Fox, Larry and John East, me; and others known and, familiar. Bennie Mocini, who was just a pre-teen rapscallion with an engaging smile and zinc oxide on his nose grew up to take his turn for several seasons, and later my daughter, Gail DeSoto, put in her time at what I'm sure was a very different job from my $5 a day stint in the sun. Ridiculous pay or not, the secret was that we really loved our work and we were proud of the Oval and the way people felt about it. I haven't been back in a long time, but I like to think that beach-goers traveling the road through the thick, shady woods can still experience a thrill as they top the third hill, when the vast panorama of a many-blued Lake Michigan, a lighter blue sky, and our proudly waving flag opens up suddenly in front of them. At least, that's how it was in the early days of the Saugatuck Oval. - Helen Gage DeSoto *** 2 The Day of the Big Wave (As recorded by another early life guard) [unnamed] In the late summer of 1937 I was guarding at the Oval beach and it was a terribly rough day, and we, had closed swimming that afternoon due to the undertow and the people were sunning themselves and playing beach ball. A little girl (nine years old) arrived with her two aunts and to find a more secluded spot, they walked a little ways north towards the old harbor piers and out of our jurisdiction, where the gals spread their towels and after warning the child to stay out of the water, they proceeded to sunbathe. Being a typical kid with a big wet shining attraction splashing in front of her, she got into her inner tube and was floating between the beach and the fist sand bar when the wave hit. It was immense and soaked a lot of people lying high on the beach, snatched a lot of towels, sun hats, toys and the like and then headed back toward Milwaukee with the child in her inner tube in its undertow. She floated south, quite a ways out and some of the ever-present Lotharios went to her rescue rather than notify the guards who were trained and equipped with a large surf board for just such emergencies. As these guys sped out into the surf, they fueled out and couldn't make it back. Johnny Stears got the kid with the board (her hair didn't even get wet) and I was able to grab one of the guys. While working on him, two more washed in and every time a wave broke, another body came ashore until there were nine in all. Two recovered by themselves, leaving seven for two kid life guards. By the Grace of God there were a couple of RNs vacationing there, and they were on the beach. With their help and knowledge of resuscitation four more were saved. Two young men died that afternoon because one child didn't mind, or her aunts, knowing that she wouldn't, didn't watch her. It was a traumatic experience for me, to help load those bodies in the back of Frank Wicks' 1911 Ford pick-up to be transported to town.