the dooley
Here’s a fourteen year old boy glued up to the window overlooking the street, watching cars, waiting for Gordon Woods with about six new balsa boards tied to the roof, his one of them, and dear old dad, thinking he’s doing me a favour has instead just sown the seeds of my ruin both educationally, financially and socially. Because from this day on the only imperative was to catch waves. A habit that lasted over sixty years.
Mick Dooley and I go back even longer and after accumulating about $700 in change later in life I ordered one of his boards out of his Avalon garage but not at the standard 9’6” – I wanted one the same length as he made for Kevin Brennan, 8’6”.
Then I inflicted both of us on the tight-knit Avalon crew. All of them on shortboards and none of them a hope in beating us in the paddling races for sets. Mick’s boards were all made to go faster, paddle quicker and look better. Plus we looked good standing upright. Stately.
Now a bloke is too old to use the board but is fortunate enough to have a couple of desperates in the family, both of whom hope they don’t have to wait too long to own it. I’m talking son-in-law and grandson.
Yesterday the son-law got his hands on it and took it home to the Central Coast where rumours abound about a certain bank currently loaded up with sand and linked from point to beach break. Maximum weekday crowd about a dozen.
Dooley territory.
The only tragedy is that now my daughter is learning to sleep alone, three don’t fit in the one bed.
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