Laguna's Iconic Legend, Waterman Corky Smith Died On January 21, 2024

Homage To "The Dude" Of Oak and Brooks Street Beaches In Laguna

An old man died.

A very old man at 88.

A man whose name isn't probably known to the zoomers of Generation Z.

"Here he lies where he longed to be; home is the sailor, home from sea...and the hunter home from the hill." Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Judging by statistics and surveys, 90% of our Laguna residents don't even get their feet wet in our soothing ocean. They just like our zip code. How sad is that? Briggs thought so, but always added "Well, it's actually a good thing. They'd just get in the way."

He was not only a fixture at Oak and Brooks Streets, but arguably our Laguna waterman community's version of "The Dude," from the movie "The Big Lebowski."

He was an iconic and legendary almagamation of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. A quiet and stoic man, he of few words, yet who had hundreds of people who called him their friend.

I called him Briggs the last 10 years or so. It just sounded more sophisticated, and he definitely was royalty in the truest sense. The Man. He had a muted dignity, a nobleness about his eco-activism and his love of Nature.

Fastidious and methodical as a local painting contractor, he and BFF Spider Wills only did custom work for clients who weren't in a hurry. Spider was his trusted assistant, was equally orderly, I think they only worked by referral?

When Briggs stood on the rocky outcroppings between Oak and Brooks, he did look like a Max Ernst painting: As if he was an organic extension, was surrealistically emerging from the sandstone itself, always facing the ocean worshipfully, mesmerized, in reverence.

"Makai" means facing seaward, and our tribe tends to be most comfortable facing that way. The opposite, "Mauka," facing away, towards the land or mountains, seems counter-intuitive.

Not sure where he is today as I write (1/26), probably already cremated per his wish, yet I know that "The Dude Abides." Sorry if that's insulting, irreligious or blasphemous, but it works for me as I write this, the most difficult journalism assignment I've ever taken on. [1]

Many aren't aware btw, that phrase was lifted from Ecclesiastes 1:5: "One generation passeth away, another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever.....The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down...All rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come thither they return once again."

Yes, one of his names was Christian but I think that he was spiritual in a Native American sense----not a regular churchgoer per se. We both had German fathers (apparently his father Anglicized it from Schmidt to Smith?), I know mine instilled in me a love of immersion in Nature, what we call pantheism.

All creatures, plants, mountains and seas are sacred, holy. It's where I believe Briggs and I both found communion and solace, sanctuary from an increasingly frantic, complicated world. Old school, the world today somewhat has a "stranger-in-a-strange land" feel, uncertain, obscure and murky, experienced through a glass darkly.

We discovered early on in our journey as friends that we'd both achieved black belts in Shotokan karate-do, me from a master who brought it here from Japan (Sensei Tsutomo Oshima) with his Okinawa master's blessing (Gichin Funakoshi---the father of modern karate). "Do" means path or way, like "tao" in Chinese.

Briggs got his belt studying under Hidetaka Nishiyama, another Funakoshi pupil émigré, up in the dojo on old Newport Blvd. Many consider it to be somewhat a brutal, simplistic power system. Which it was, but the word "karate" means "empty hand(s)" as the Okinawans (under Japanese rule) weren't allowed weapons.

Sensei Oshima pounded it into us in pidgin English, he eventually became fluent in English:"You lose mind, you lose fight." Briggs was a lot more cool, calm and collected, me the proverbial hot head. Shotokan discouraged sparing (kumite) just for fun, goofing around, and so we never tested each other's abilities.

Called "Shinken-Shobu," one only practices earnestly or actually fights in utter seriousness (Shinkengata). Like a gunfighter, who only drew his pistol for deadly encounters.

Reading this, perhaps you think that I'm exaggerating, but being trained for years in this disciplined system by Japanese masters gave us both a common ground, a core building block of our respective psyches, how we inter-faced with the world. [2]

Briggs and I both felt that Shotokan had formed us, matched our inclinations, plus reflected our physical and mental attitudes about life its own self. Riding powerful waves as bodysurfers (think the Wedge, Sandy Beach on Oahu or the Waimea Oahu shore break) was like facing off against public officials, to survive at times only brute force prevailed!

Then too we'd both served in the military, learned a higher level of self-control before Shotokan training, he in the Navy and me in the Marines. As we often joked, his branch was our "water taxi,"and we were his branch's "permanent latrine orderlies."

When we first met back in September of 1972, we were very similar in height, build and weight. A few locals asked me if I was his younger brother, asked right there in front of him. Though he was 11 years older, that kinda rankled him. So of course I said "Oh? No, he's my father" to irritate him further.

Once when comparing our Voit flippers, we realized that we both owned a pair of the old school black gum rubber swim fins, but he was much more meticulous, kept better care of his. I tore mine apart trying to keep myself afloat and stable, standing on the barnacle-laden 3rd reef one gnarly day while bodysurfing. Which out there just wasn't done.

I don't remember anyone but he and I trying that. When big, if you kept kicking and stroking, you could get to the inside break, where the wave reformed and you rode into shore. Not recommended for the amateur or faint of heart btw!

I came in that particular day to his laughter, and I'd "shredded" alright: Shredded the tips into useless stubby scrap. He thought that was pretty funny, brought it up now and then to taunt me. In retort, I called him "Quirky" instead of Corky early on---because he was.

Or "Chief" because he wore those goddamned headbands all of the time. Beach tribe members can be merciless, but it's just so typical of the male half of our oceanic species.

I think his interview with Matt Coker of OC Weekly way back in 1999 expresses his love and appreciation for "all things great and small," Laguna Beach being most dear to his heart. [3]

Matt became our NGO (Clean Water Now) personal Boswell. Google® his name, my name or CWN and you can read the historical stuff yourself. Briggs led his life so well, as Charles Bukowski once uttered, that a metaphorical Devil undoubtably would have trembled to take him. [4]

Speaking of which, while I await the procuring of a self-written epitaph from his son Kurt, I do remember showing Briggs a George Carlin short story book. In it, GC said that what he wanted written on his tombstone epitaph was "Geez, he was just here a minute ago!"

Which is how I feel right now, I just saw and talked to him outside the Laguna Post Office a few weeks ago. I'm having trouble fathoming that we won't be bumping into each other again, at least not on this plane of existence.

So I guess that was another thing we had in common, though I hadn't thought about it until now: Our disdain, our refusal to cower or wimp out about our own mortality, find laughter in some warped way?

To me, I think Briggs passed through the "Gateless Gate" of Taoism, from whence he emerged, he's transitioned back into, his energy returned to the Universe...which is what it does, the Universe wastes nothing, here on Mother Earth it's Nature whose our ultimate recycler.

With the help of the next generation (we're talking about the 40---55 aged gang), a paddle out is being coordinated. Probably not until Spring when the weather is better, when we're in between the Niño Winter and the Southern Hemi/Mexican Chibasco (hurricane) swells.

He asked that his ashes be spread at 3rd Reef off Brooks Street, and hopefully no one will question or interfere in that part of the paddle out. If they do, they do so at their own risk. Should be a lot of "talk story," sharing our unique relationships with him when we gather casually per Hawaiian custom.

He was a complex man, and if you asked 100 who knew him well you'd get 101 impressions. Some knew him primarily as a surfer, some as a Native American archivist/paleontologist/fossil finder/archeologist/anthropologist and Laguna Canyon trail docent, some through his environmental activism, and some through his contracting.

I guess that I'm the writer and journalist in our local beach tribe, I'm assisting Linda with announcements in general, his obituary and also trying to find the right memorial venue in proximity to that classic paddle out. I'll keep everyone apprised via postings here in PATCH and in the Laguna Beach Independent.

I'm the Luddite regarding social media, am relying on Briggs' huge family of friends to spread the word. Speaking of Luddites, around 2003 I went to his house up on Alta Vista and he acted proud about only having a rotary phone. I hadn't seen one in 20 years.

I don't think he ever used a computer or went online with someone else's, but I could be wrong. I think that it was Linda who literally dragged him into the 21st Century by cajoling him into buying a simple cell phone? And if what he said was true, he either couldn't or wouldn't text message.

For those uninitiated, paddle-outs are really only "recent" traditional Hawaiian tributes, ocean-floating rituals to honor the lives and legacies of the cherished deceased. Many historians note that it was the Waikiki beach boys who performed the first one about 100 years ago, hence my use of "recent." [4]

So "The Dude" is like the Earth itself: Resolved and unfazed by the seeming chaos about it. He sat in the midst of CWN's innumerable confrontations of governance. He'd just smile that Buddha-like smile, accepting and highly amused.

He once called me "Commander Chaos," the circus ringleader, and as a co-founder and a featured speaker in our lineup, he had a front row seat. Maybe he felt like a gleeful child, entertained?

Nonetheless when coalesced CWN as a coalition tried to build upon what the LB Chapter of Surfrider had started, hold public officials accountable for contaminating our habitat, call them out. Briggs, Tex Haines, Bob Foes, Taylor Greene plus Rose & Chuck McClelland were the Board if memory serves.

I never looked at CWN being anything other than the next leg in a marathon relay. Which continues as long a I breathe. I'm kinda warrior caste, like him, passionate, protective-oriented.

About 2003-4 I found myself facing the humiliation of bankruptcy. I was nearly $100,000 in credit card debt. I told him and he basically asked "WTF, how did that happen?"

In my zealotry, I had severely lightened my general contracting workload hence little income, I kept thinking that Surfrider Corporate or OC CoastKeepers or the Sierra Club, some prominent non-profit, was going to drop in and help us litigate.

I'd recover the $$$ I was out of, but that calvary never came over the hill. He offered and drove me to my federal Santa Ana courtroom BK hearing. We barely exchanged a word until he turned the key off, looked at me and said "I'm glad I lived long enough to see you scared."

That broke the tension, and he was right, I was very anxious plus embarrassed. Unfortunately, to his and my chagrin, nothing's really changed 26 years after CWN was founded: The pollution of urban runoff and chronic sewage spills in Laguna ongoing, unabated.

BTW, in case you're curious? Linda said that they met at The Dirty Bird (aka Sandpiper Bar) back around '97 or '98? I do know that he usually found a table for them up front early, then pounded down about 2-3 Absolute Vodka with cranberry juice cocktails, and when the music started?

Off they went whooooooosh and held both the floor and observers in awe. Unlike yours truly, who has always been more free form gonzo, they were like Arthur Murray Dance Studio instructors. Precision personified, dancing as a fused, syncopated, harmonious one. Seamless. Effortless.

I think Briggs told me that his mom encouraged him, taught him or gave him lessons? I forget, but while the rest of us flailed and stomped around half-baked (on pot and/or alcohol, ok?), they glided in their own blissful world, as if in a sealed bubble.

Speaking of which, as I told Briggs a few months ago, as long as one person has one memory of us, we live. When there's no one who remembers, our names no longer spoken, then maybe we're dead. Maybe kahunas like him are immortal, who knows?

Hopefully those who have read this far understand that I'm just trying to honor him, as a fellow eco-altruist, in my own way. I think, therefore I write. I'm not presuming anything nor speak for others.

There have been many rumors circulating among our tribe. Best I can tell from interviewing both Linda and Kurt is this: He knew the exit door was near. He brought the same meticulousness and precision to his imminent demise.

I've seen the photo of his organized file folders, bearing his inimitable printing style. He was in poor health then fell and injured his head. After being released from the hospital, he was very weak and bedridden the following week after his accident.

His son Kurt was by his side, reading from a collection of Native American Great Spirit prayers. Kurt heard his father's final sigh and exhalation, and he was gone.

I'm trying to stay positive, I've always found funeral rituals and practices as opportunities in disguise, to experience some closure, so I'm just tossing in my 2 cents worth, still in shock, still grieving myself.

I'm not telling any of his other friends or family how to feel either, I'd never be that presumptuous. If you're unfamiliar with paddle outs, want to show props, this link might help:[5]

I do have one regret though: I'm sorry that I never told "The Dude" how much I appreciated sharing the road with him for over half of a century.....that while he was still alive, in my own macho way, how much I loved him.

Aloha my friend, and much mahalos for inspiring me, passing the eco-samurai torch.....I'll try to do the same until my time expires, until I draw my last breath.

Meanwhile, Briggs?

If you can hear me, I hope that you are in a pow wow with the Wakan Tanka, some entity like the Great Spirit of the Lakota.

Hágoónee' (See you later in Navajo)

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Lebowski

[2] https://www.nitojuku.com/articles/shinken-shobu.html

[3]https://www.ocweekly.com/beach-blanket-stinko-6395769/

[4] https://www.ocweekly.com/whose-poop-is-it-anyway-6393755/

[5] https://www.surfertoday.com/su...