This excerpt from "The Brothers," by Kimo Hollinger, ran in the Winter 2004 issue of Surfer's Journal. Photo of Gebauer (left) and Hollinger at Laniakea, in 1960, taken by John Severson.

He had Pat Curren build him a semi-gun board that worked perfectly. It was colored a pale greenish-blue. I think Paul felt he wasn’t getting proper recognition for his efforts. In a stroke of genius, he had the board painted pitch black with a bold yellow stripe across the deck and bottom. Val Valentine gave Paul the moniker Black Knight. Every time Paul caught a wave, there would be a big cheer from Val’s porch, “It’s the Black Knight.” Paul is sneaky smart.

Paul was a year under me at Punahou. When Sammy Lee and Terry Woodall went off to the Mainland to college, I started hanging out with Paul and Butch Hemmings, Fred’s brother. From the Outrigger Canoe Club, we would paddle out to Number Threes and do some damage. The older Outrigger guys, Pat Wyman and Tommy Haines, didn’t appreciate us that much, but they were cool about it. Perfect Threes and five guys out; try getting that now.

Paul and I surfed an epic ’58 swell at Makaha. When Buzzy Trent saw us paddling out, he totally scoffed. We hung out on the shoulder and grabbed a few. After that day, we gradually moved from Makaha to the North Shore. We started at Haleiwa and worked our way up the coast to Laniakea and Sunset. Paul pushed me. When I joined Woodall on the coast, Paul surfed Waimea. He got some beautiful rides; one with Fred Van Dyke was featured in John Severson’s original 

 magazine. At the time, that was a big deal. When I came home, I also surfed Waimea. Paul seemed to have lost interest in the place and began surfing Makaha again and eventually Maui. In my eyes, he left substantial footprints in the North Shore sand.

Paul was ahead of his time. While still in high school, he was lecturing me about Malthus and overpopulation. He tried to get me to read Aldous Huxley, Ayn Rand, and Kurt Vonnegut. I tried but I'm a Portagee star—not too bright.

His father was the head physician at Leahi Hospital near Diamond Head. They lived on the hospital grounds in a house provided by the state. Paul’s room was in a separate addition. It was full of books and featured a big black Persian cat. Paul would stroke the cat while he talked, evoking ecstatic purring from the cat. I’m a dog person. Paul made fun of my love for black jazz. His thing was the flamenco guitar. It didn't swing, and I couldn't get into it. A lot of other surfers did.

Paul was a mimic. He made fun of all the other surfers. Peter Cole, who had recently moved from California to Hawaii, lived up in Manoa near the university The big-wave guys would congregate at Peter’s house, and Paul would provide the entertainment. If he was making fun of somebody else, you couldn't stop laughing. If you were the target, 

 (sore). A few times it got him into trouble. I always tried to smooth it over.

At Punahou, Paul was on the swim team. If the surf was flat, he would take me diving. He was an excellent diver. He said that while rig diving for abalone in California, a killer whale swam over him. He said he could not describe to me the feeling of fear that overcame him.

When the California surfers came to Hawaii, they introduced knee paddling. Paul took it up. His bumps got infected. It was very painful. The doctors who operated on him pumped him with Demerol. Things were never the same. Once, he stopped at the fire station and gave me a jazz album. That was the only time we've connected in the last 30 years. I hear stories. I live in a glass house. He will always be my Mr. Sunset.

KIMO HOLLINGER'S ODE TO PAUL GEBAUER: "HE WILL ALWAYS BE MY MR. SUNSET"

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