The first issue of SURFER is a strange little creature, a 36-page work of outsider art that—depending on your age and station in 1960, when the magazine hit the stands—might either be venerated or tossed. At some point in the not-too-distant future, I'll take a closer look at how that original SURFER magazine (or "Annual Surf Photo Book" as Severson called it) came together. For the moment, I just want to marvel a bit at the sudden and unexpected turn it takes at the very end of the issue.

While the magazine's palette is a somber black and white with a heavy emphasis on the black, to a point where the pages from a distance look almost funereal, the content is light, easy, playful. Quick pieces on big waves, noseriding, the Makaha contest, and so on. Not many words. A few surf characters doodled into the margins (Severson's throwaway drawings should have their own book).

But on the inside front cover, in what seems to be both an epilogue and a mission statement, Severson goes to a different place altogether.

A single photo, framed in heavy black, shows a surfer kneepaddling out to an empty lineup. Below and to the right are two lines of marble-worthy text that have lost a lot of punch due to over-repetition (the surf-world version of "Be the change you wish to see in the world" or "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change"), but nonetheless remain powerful and timeless.

"In this crowded world the surfer can still seek and find the perfect day, the perfect wave, and be alone with the surf and his thoughts . . . "

A no-caps signature follows: "john severson"

In 1995, I asked John about both the photo and the quote. Here's what he said.

Do you remember how that page came together?

I do, yeah. I was laying out the magazine in Dana Point and came to the last page. I'd saved that picture because it meant so much to me.

No, it's not my picture. I forget who took it. Rennie Yater knows who it is. But the guy didn't want his name on the photo; he wasn't a big-time photographer or anything. He just picked up the camera and shot this great day at Hammonds. So I ran it without a credit.

I don't know his name either; just some local guy.

Another thing I remember is, I was driving to Los Angeles a few days a week around that time. I used to have to go up there a lot, for the films [Seveson was a surf moviemaker before he started SURFER], and then to get the magazine started up. It was harder to get things shipped back then, and I needed stuff all the time, so I was driving up there maybe three days a week—and I hated it! So when I hit the water, it really meant a lot. But back to the story, I was finishing up the magazine, got to the end, found that picture, and it struck me that here was this guy going out to these perfect waves all alone, and . . . [Severson trails off, at a loss for words]. I mean, that's it, you know? That's kinda the whole deal. And you can still do that, even now.

Do you remember actually writing the words?

I don't, no. But I do remember later, Fred Van Dyke saying to me, "You don't even know what you wrote there; the significance of it." And I remember thinking, "No, I understand it perfectly."

"IN THIS CROWDED WORLD" - JOHN SEVERSON RECALLS HIS PERFECT EPITHET

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