"Hard Look, Soft Touch: Michael Burness Steps Out of the Shadows," by Matt Warshaw, ran in the May 1988 issue of SURFER Magazine. Burness was 26.

Yeah, I go to the track quite a bit when I’m home, like on the weekends when the surf's crowded and stuff, and I feel like doing something different. It’s fun to go and hang out. I’ve got quite a few friends there.

I read the form, yeah, and I usually take the Pick Six.

Not yet. But I’ve come close, and I’ve hit a few Jackpots.

About $700, something like that. Nothing too outrageous.

No, I know when to stop. The most I’ve lost in one day is probably $100. I don’t look at it as a way to make money or anything, it’s just more of a fun thing. And it’s quite interesting because, in a way, I can relate it to surfing. Like, you can have a really good horse, but things will affect it: tailwind or headwind, or the condition of the track, or how the horse is feeling the morning of the meet, that kind of thing. And in pro surfing, a guy can be an outright favorite and still get beaten. A horse can be a 20-to-1 outsider, run against a favorite, and still win. I think that's good to know.

You are the least-known surfer in the Top 16. Do you prefer having that kind of non-image?

Image doesn’t mean that much to me, really. And as far as competing goes—this gets back to what I was just saying about horses—I’d rather be an underdog in a heat. And quite often the better-known surfer will be a favorite. Like back home [in Durban], sometimes I’ve done badly just under the pressure of people expecting me to do well.

You’re much better-known in South Africa than you are in the rest of the world.

Well, I’ve won a lot of contests there, national contests, and I’ve been pretty successful as far as the local circuit goes. And since, at the moment, South Africans in general aren’t getting much of a chance to participate in international sports, my career has been well-covered back home.

Getting photographs in the magazines has never been a high priority for me. I’ve always been more concerned with trying to get good results; trying to get up in the ratings.

Do your sponsors give you grief about not hustling enough?

They’ve spoken to me about it often, yeah. “Hey, the magazines say you’re the least-known person in the world,” that kind of thing. But for the most part, they’ve been happy with my progress on the circuit. Twice in the Top 16, you know, and I’ve had good results virtually all around the world.

You haven’t put much emphasis on Hawaii, though. For instance, you didn’t surf in the Triple Crown in ’86.

At that point I’d gotten to the stage where I was just really sick of competing. I hadn’t done well in California that year, and I wasn't able to go to Japan because of my passport. Then Australia went badly, and by the time we were ready to leave Sydney and go to Hawaii, I just felt like going home. I felt I wouldn't do well on the North Shore—we only had something like two days to practice before the events. Plus, I missed my girlfriend.

Were you thinking about tossing the whole thing? Pulling a Gary Green?

Part of me was, yeah. And part of me was thinking that by going home and relaxing, maybe I’d get back on track. But looking back, not going to Hawaii was a bad decision. And it cost me a lot of money.

Yeah, you have to let them know two weeks in advance if you're not competing in an event. So it was $500 each for the two contests I missed, and another $500 for surfing in a local contest while I was home. And I knew what was going to happen when I was in Australia thinking it over, but I just made this rash decision, fine or no fine, that I was going home.

I paid it. But as far as I was concerned, the amount was totally out of proportion to what I'd done. I mean, I only made $10,000 that year in prize money.

But you paid the fine and went back to Australia for the final two events.

At that point, I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do, quit the whole thing or carry on, but yeah, I went to Australia, thinking I'd at least try to keep my spot in the 16. I was sitting right on the border, at that point—close enough to where I had to go if I wanted to hold on to a seed. I was worried about it, yeah. So I finished the season getting 3rd in the Coke, which pushed me up to #11 for the year, and that just seemed to renew my interest in the whole thing.

When does a person have to go into the army in South Africa?

You can either go when you finish school—when you’re 18—or you can continue on to University first and then go.

Then you can still get called up for reserve duty, after your two years?

Yeah, you get called up for one month the first year, then three months the next year, back and forth.

Yeah. Well, except sometimes you can get a break. Like last year they called me up during the Gunston 500, and I got it deferred. This year they called me up, and I was supposed to go in on the 30th of July, but I came over to California on the 27th.

I send them a letter, explaining. They know, basically, what I do, so they’re sort of lenient. If you’ve got an honest career commitment, like if you’ve got your own business or something—for instance, if I wasn't in California, competing, I'd drop out of the Top 16. So it’s pretty fair, in that aspect. But if you work in a bank, or you're a teacher, you won't get a deferment, you've gotta go.

You didn’t go into the army right after high school.

When I finished school, like most people, I really didn’t want to go into the army. Like my brother, when he went into the army, his surfing went right out the window.

So you enrolled at University, pretty much as a dodge?

Right, and also because I wanted to go to Hawaii that season. So I ended up dropping out of University near the end of my first year, went to Hawaii for two months, came back home in January, and entered the army in July 1981.

Yeah. Like, suddenly I’m on a train for boot camp, four hours inland, I’m not going to see the ocean for at least six weeks, and guys next to me are saying, "Aw, you can forget about surfing for two years. Just forget about it.” And at that moment on the train, I thought my career was over. I really did. So many good surfers I knew had gone into the army and come out just sort of average surfers.

From the layoff, or from the mental stress?

The layoff, sure. But some guys, like Gavin Spowart, after basic training he ended up spending 18 months fighting on the border of South West Africa [Namibia]. He was a section leader. And that has to have an effect on you.

You managed to get transferred back to Durban, shortly after boot camp.

I had my springbok colors [denoting membership on the South African national amateur team], and that helped. But it was still a hassle. You have to put in a statement, and it has to get reviewed and signed by your lieutenant, then by your company commander, then it goes to your commanding officer, and he makes the final decision. My lieutenant said there was no way he was going to put my request through because he was a sailboarder, and the army didn't send him where 

 wanted to go. So if he couldn’t be where he wanted to be, then I couldn't be where I wanted to be. The company commander meanwhile was a full hardliner—just hated me, he'd say things like, “How can you want to go play in the ocean while we’re up here working?''

The commanding officer, the guy on top, knew I was a South African amateur champion, and he got it done. I got transferred to Durban—this was three months into my service—and was stationed five minutes from where I live. So it was like having a normal 8-to-5 job. I got to surf after work and before work.

But it wasn’t like living at home, being in the army.

No, no. It's still the army. Military haircut, bad food, barracks, all that. But you know, I think all that stuff sort of helped me, in a way. Because at that age you tend to be sort of undisciplined, you know; you think you’re a big deal. And the army will wake you up from that, quickly. It makes you grow up a lot. It makes you realize that maybe you're not such a big deal. So it was good in that aspect. I mean, I can think of a few guys on the circuit who would definitely benefit from two years spent in the army.

Can the government still call you up for active duty at any time?

They can call you up on 24-hours' notice.

Well, it does. But I mean—it's like, I was brought up in there, and my family is there and my friends are there, and I suppose to a certain extent I do owe something to the country. If I were to get called up, I’d have to go. [Pause] I hope I don't.

What if you end up fighting for something you don’t believe in? Defending apartheid?

Yeah, well [sighs]. I suppose you could quickly leave. [Pause] I don’t want you to think I'm supporting South Africa in that sense. But I also don’t want you to think [trails off]. Okay, if I were to say that what’s going on there is not as bad as people make out, then people will think I’m a racist. Then if I were to say that it’s screwed, what’s going on there, I don’t want to go in the army—then I get it from all sides when I go home.

Are you okay with the world tour having events in South Africa?

Yes. Definitely. South Africa was one of the main countries that got the Tour started. Before there was the IPS or the ASP, the South African events were inviting three or four overseas surfers over each year, paying their airfare, setting them up, the whole thing. South Africa’s been a major factor in getting the circuit where it is today. I think it’s unfair to stop the contests because of what's happening politically. I’m sure that things are going to sort themselves out, except once the contests are off, they may never get put back on again.

I think a majority of people outside of South Africa would argue the point—saying that by going there to compete, you’re automatically condoning apartheid.

I think that instead of trying to isolate the place and pretend that it's not even on the map, it’s better for us to go there—top surfers, top sportsmen, those that others look up to—and try to tell people there: “Listen, what’s going on here is not right.” Try to help that way.

That’s a longshot, don’t you think? Has any surfer over the past 10 years ever done that? Tom Carroll and a few other made a lot of headlines for boycotting the events and speaking out against apartheid. The surfers who do go never say a word.

But that’s the sort of thing they should do, instead of staying away and trying to make a big political statement and getting tons of coverage for saying they don’t believe in the system. The ASP schedule is so congested now, and guys are looking for contests to miss, so they figure they’ll miss South Africa and get some coverage at the same time.

Shaun Tomson and Martin Potter have both moved from South Africa, for political or other reasons.

Well, I think Shaun’s taken a very neutral stand on the whole thing, and I think Martin Potter’s main reasoning was that he was due for his two years in the army. I don’t really think he left because of how he felt politically.

I thought about it last year, about moving to America. But to come here [California], with the crowds and the cost of living, would be difficult. Plus I grew up in South Africa. I don’t agree with a lot of what the government is doing, but it is a good country.

Burness filled out a questionnaire a few weeks prior to doing the above interview.

 [Peter Burness] is managing director of Eastern Timbers Limited, president of ASP, and director of the Gunston 500.

 Durban, all my life. Lived with my mother after my parents separated when I was 13.

RELIGIOUS BACKGROUND. DO YOU ATTEND CHURCH?

 Anglican. Attended church regularly when younger.

 Studied for a Bachelor of Commerce degree at university for a year. Dropped out toward the end of the year to travel to Hawaii. Main reason for attending uni was to delay army commitment in South Africa.

 $60,000. Income from contests, sponsors, and I'm also the owner of Burn Enterprises. We make surfing-related products.

 Muhammed Ali, Ernie Tomson, Madonna, Burnie—my dog.

Miami Vice, MTV, Knight Rider, Masterpiece Theater

Midnight Express, all James Bond movies, 48 Hours, First Blood.

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