The short story ‘No Mance Pants’ by Denny Aaberg first appeared in the April 1973 issue of Tracks and later became an inspiration for the movie ‘Big Wednesday’. Aaberg teamed up with John Milius to write ‘Big Wednesday’ but as you read the story below you will definitely see the links with one of the movie’s most famous scenes.
Malibu Beach during the summer of 1962 was an organised madhouse. The place was crawling with party crashers, skateboarders, bottle cap flippers, bleach blonde hair, con artist, exhibitionist, and “Phonies”, who . would ride around in their “woodie wagons” with a sawed off surfboard sticking out the back window. In the midst of this craziness there was a definite surfing hierarchy and everybody knew their place. The “Kings” sat in the “Pit” on the beach and in the water, ripped the waves of the outer point.
The young up-and-comers, sat farther down the beach and surfed farther down the line, their eyes constantly glued to their favorite idol. The kooks and gremies sat even farther down the beach and shoulderhopped the little tubes on the very inside. Outsiders, valley cowboys and ho daddies, were not welcome. It took at least six months of bein1, kicked out on, taken off in front of, ridiculed and tormented before anyone new was accepted.
The “Kings” were arrogant surfers who figured they could get away with murder because they surfed. Malibu was their palace and there they could do as they pleased. Society was some-
Mance drinks all kinds of beer every day … and grown-ups think he’s just a silly drunk. But to the gremmies at the beach, he is a god! No-Pants is the best surfer on the California Coast, and to us grems, that’s all that matters.
I’ve seen Mance ride impossible waves and walk casual to the nose and plough through tons of white water. Everytime he makes it through and his cut-backs are so bitchen you wouldn’t believe it.
Grown-ups don’t understand. Mance does radical things just to crack people up. Like the other night, Mance got drunk on his ass and went to Winchell’s Donut House for some grunts. After he wolfed down his order, he took off all his clothes . . . the next thing we knew … he was a naked hood ornament for his friend’s V-12 Caddy. They drove all around the parking lot like that . . . Mance posing with glazed donut around his “oolie”.
Mance can impersonate anybody. He’s unreal. He can do Soupy Sales, Laurel and Hardy, Elvis Presley … you name it. He does one about Bozo-the-Clown: “Hello Foooooolks. Here we are at the bottom of the ocean floor . . . and here comes Mr Octopus … BLEEP
. . . BLEEP . . . turn the page.H That’s my favorite!
On top of it all, Mance is a good looking dude. He can have all the chicks he wants, but he doesn’t really care about that. He’s too busy surfing and cracking people up.
Mance drives a brand new 1962 Ford station wagon and whenever I thing to screw over. Everyday, Malibu was a sideshow. Some surffreak was bound to do something outrageous: girls were molested, kooks were punched out, tourists were ripped off. One time Surf-guitarist Dick Dale showed up at the beach in a fancy car and expensive gear. He was thought an outsider and a phonie so while Dick was out in the water trying to get bis five, the local grems knocked off his car for everything it was worth.
A good, solid, radical house wrecker party would happen at least once a week. Somedays a stolen keg of beer would be brought down to the beach. Everyone would get rip-roaring drunk.
An occasional “joint” would be passed around but this was very rare and reserved only for the “Heavies”. On these days when every one was either passed out with sand in their teeth or out in the .water trying to sober up, the “King of Malibu” would shine. He actually surfed better when he was stoned drunk! No one could believe it! After drinking at least three or four quarts of keg beer, the King would paddle his big surfboard to the point and Rip -shit: see it parked somewhere, I get the wierdest feeling in my stomach. It’s funny, but that’s how it is. I mean whenever he’s around something is bound to happen that’s classic.
Like the other day, I came home for lunch and there was Mance sitting around the kitchen table with my big brother Clint. God, was I jazzed when he said, “Hello, Chris”. I wanted to be casual, so I made myself a peanut butter and _jelly sandwich and sat down.
“I’m ready for another party … why don’t you throw another bash, Clint?” Mance said. He looked fiendish. He always does when he’s hot on something.
-My brother answered him just like I thought he would.
“I don’t know … that last party turned into a real house-wrecker.”
“Whad’ya mean? That was a tough party … ”
“Yeah, except for the Fly . . . he did a tap dance on my mom’s coffee table, remember?”
“Aw, come on.”
“I don’t know.”
“Aw, come on … we could get
he bouncer from the RF Club.”
“Well … yeah, maybe.”
“Well OK, what the hell I’ll give it a try.”
Mance • was stoked out of his gourd! He grabbed for a pencil and started to work on the party list. Jesus, he was thinking hard! I could tell because of his eyebrows. He had the funniest eyebrows.
They ran all the way across his nose and connected to each other. Really it was just one eyebrow. My brother called it a nose brow. Anyway, when Mance was really thinking, his eyebrows made a V shape so he ;1ooked1 like crazy World War I fighter pilot with goggles on.
“OK. How’s this for a st .. e. Mance read from the list, “The Crusher, The Fly, The Ostrich, you .. me…
Don’t forget the Duke and The Stork ,” my brother added.
“Oh yeah . . . and how about Tubesteak and Panhead and Breathman and Hot Curl, Bla Bla!”
“OK, and maybe Robbie and Stu.”
“Yeah Yeah . . . and all the crew from the South Bay!”
“Stop!” My brother yelled. “We can’t have a houseawrecker!”
Mance grabbed for the phone and started to dial.
“Boy’ Is Panhead going to be stoked when he hears about this one!”
“Listen, Peabrain,” Clint yelled. “I haven’t talked to my mom yet.” Mance slammed down the phone and headed for the beach. I followed Clint down the hall to eavesdrop. There is a great place for this behind the closet door. When I got there, I could hear Clint beginning to whine… and Mom… she was trying to be strict. Clint was saying all the stuff about only having a few friends over and telling him about how she couldn’t stand another party after the last one. But she finally gave in like I knew she would.
Well, all right, but you’ll have to keep the music down” she said “And tell Mance Granda’l not to feed Chris any beer”,.
I almost dropped my load when she said that! I didn’t know Mom knew I drank. Anyway, it was true. At the last big: party, Mance got me so dizzy with beer I nearly puked. That as enough eavesdropping for me! So I tip toed away and made myself another peanut butter and jelly. I had just started to eat when Clint came in and tore off half my sandwich. Damn it, he’s always doing that!
By the afternoon the party was already famous. Guys I’d never seen before started arriving at our house by the car-load. They were all saying what a “hooter” the party was going to be. ..ounch of surfers dripping wet sand, walked right into our house without asking.
“Hey Solberg” one of them yelled. “I heard Mance is having a big hash here tonight.
Some other kook started storing beer in our refrigerator and his friend began to grab off part of the turkey that was roasting in the oven.
Clint flew off the handle! I’ve never seen him so pissed off. “look, shit for brains” he screamed. “This is going to be a closed party and I don’t want any of you ass holes showing up.”
Then Clint grabbed one guy and . threw him right out the front door onto his ass. It would have been a fight but a bunch of the guy’s friends dragged him off. Just as they were all leaving one jerk yelled out real loud, “You gotta be kidding, Solberg, the whole South Bay is coming to this one!” Clint flipped the bone and walked b·ack into the house.
My mom wasn’t home now, but if she was, she would have a hysterectomy. (My dad’s a surgeon and he’s always talking about people having hysterectomies.) Anyhow, since my folks got divorced, Mom’s been the one who’s had to break up these “hooters “. And gosh! She’s only five feet high!
After dinner Mike and I were sitting on the couch waiting for the action. Mike is 14 and a bitchen guy. He really rips the little waves at State Beach.
For about an hour nothing happened and Clint looked_ worried.
“I hope those idiots don’t come back,” he said.
Just then Duke Hoffman came crashing through the front door. He was wearing his famous beaver coat and had a mouth full of corny things to say.
“I’m ready to cut a rug and shake a tail feather,” the Duke bellowed. Where’s all the indecent skirt? … I’m going to need some young leg tonight.”
“Don’t worry,” Clint told him, “Mance is bringing a whole six-pack of extra chicks.”
Mike nudged me. “This guy is making me sick,” he said. We went outside to sit on the fence and watch for Mance.
“Sure is a tough night.”
“Yeah … look at all those stars.” After a couple of minutes a station wagon pulled up in the driveway and guys began to unload amps and drums and big kegs of beer.
“Who’s woodie is that?” Mike asked. “Must be Dewey’s.” I said.
“Sure is cherry … look at that tuck-an- roll job.
“How do they get the beer?” Mike asked. •.
.,.. “The Granny buys.’ I told him. No one was old enough to buy booze, so Dewey had this thing going with his 84 year old grand mother.
By the time the band had set up, both sides of the street were lined with cars.
Mick the Masochist made his entrance wearing nothing but a pair of dripping wet surf trunks It was a cold night, but Mick likes to suffer. Mick is a short, stocky surfer with lots of scars. Hes famous for getting hurt. At Malibu, Mick will be riding along on a wave, then suddenly give a jerk and catch a rail of his board right between the legs. Mance named him “Mick :the Masochist ” because he swears he does this on purpose.
Next, a big gnarly looking guy came shadow boxing up the drive way. “That’s the Crusher” I told Mike. “ Jesus, what a thick!”
Me and Mike were beginning to get restless waiting for Mance… but then all of a sudden his black ’62 Ford came hissing up the street back-wards!!
His car was stuffed with squealing bleach blonde girls. Mike hooted and we both ran down the drive to Mance.
“Hi, Grems,” he said. Then he hopped out of his car and powered into the house alone.
“Is that guy casual!”
“Yeah,”I agreed, “ He’s causal all right”
Inside the house the band was already pumping out some heavy throb. The living room was jammed with people doing the sufer’s stomp. Bits of the Duke’s fur coat were lying on the floor and the Fly was tapping the second keg of beer.
Mom was beginning to get irritated. Girls kept coming into her room thinking it was the head. They would take one look at her and squeal. She always hated that.
Throw up patties were already forming in the backyard. Every once in a while someone suffering from the whirlies would fall down and splash. The Ostrich was standing with his arm around a chick as he pissed on the grass.
Some wierd sounds started to come from the kitchen, so Mike and I went to see what was going on. Mance was doing his “Long John Silver ” act. He sounded just like a Treasure Island pirate.
“Arr maties, we be cooking Mick the Masochist tonight,” he was saying.
Mick was sitting on top of the stove and he looked stoked. Mance and some others were basting Mick with ketchup and mustard and peanut butter and anything else they could find in Mom’s cup- boards.
“More spicies, maties.” Mance roared.
Everyone spilled their beer and laughed like pirates.
Me and Mike couldn’t believe it! They picked up Mick the Masochist and started shoving him in the oven. Just when they had him about halfway in, the oven door snapped and everybody yelled.
Back in the living room a fight broke out. It was the Crusher spattering some party crashers against the wall. There were three of them and by the time me and Mike got there, the Crusher had· two knocked out. The third guy was a thick like the Crusher. Everybody crowded around wanting blood.
“Kick his ass!” they cried.
. The Crusher got into his Karate stance and stalked his prey. Then he let out with a “Arrrrrriiiiiieeeeee ” and went flying in the air with legs going like crazy. The party crasher was knocked cold and everybody hooted for the Crusher.
Mance was into a new act now. He came waddling into the living room with his pants around his ankles. And he was swinging this beersoaked tee-shirt over his head, so everybody sort of backed up against the wall not knowing what to think.
Then Mance wet tee shirt connected with on of our lamps it made a horrible crash. Mance went off balance and when he hit the ground he was passed out drunk.
This set the part into a frenzy, the band started playing really loud and people were jumping up and down like the Watuis. Broken glass was everywhere, but no one seemed to mind. Right in the middle of the hairiest song.. the power blew and the chicks started to scream.
In no time the cops were hammering at the front door. “ who owns this house?” they demanded. Someone got my mom and she promised the cops that the party would be ended. The cops left and Mom started waving her arms over her head saying “Everyone out! The party is over!”
Just then the Crusher waltzed up and tried to put his gnarly arm around her waist. “Wanna dance, baby?” he said to Mom. Clint came over and told the Crusher to cool it.
The band started to pack someone gathered up Mance and his beach bunnies… everyone went home.
The next morning I was wondering what Mom would say about the party and Mance, but she didn’t say anything. In fact she was ina good mood… at least until she plugged in her steam iron.
Mom was standing in the kitchen waiting for the thing to warm up, when all of a sudden the whole house stunk and her steam iron was billowing with clouds of yellow smoke. It was a smell that only could have been one thing.
“Mance did it,” she said to me. Clint came rushing in. He wanted to know what the hell stunk. Mom pointed to the smelly steam iron and Clint shook his head and said, “It had to be Mance … come on Chris . .. we’ll go up to Malibu and find out what the hell his story is.”
‘ All the way to Malibu I felt sick. My stomach was churning. It was really the pits having everyone down on Mance.
At the beach all the surfers were talking about the party and some were exaggerating like crazy. These valley kooks were saying that the Malibu Grunter was parked in a hearse in front of our house and that she pulled a train of guys two-blocks long! Bull shit, those kooks never. even went to our party anyway.
Clint was the first to spot Mance dragging his 10 foot surfboard out of the ocean. He looked like he had a savage hangover. Clint went up to meet him and I followed.
“Heeeeeelloooooo Foooooolks . .. that was a heliba pardy,” Mance said in his Bozo-the-Clown voice.
When Clint told him about the steam iron, Mance denied it. He sat down with his head in his hands, trying to figure it out.
“Hmmmm Hmmmm, who else woulda done it?” he muttered.
Then Mance started counting on his fingers. “Let’s see 110w … who else? … there’s me … and there’s me … ” But he could never get past number one. “I just don’t know, Clint, but I … ”
“Oh, piss off,” Clint said, then he turned his back and walked away. I followed, but I felt really squelched leaving Mance like that. When we got home, Mom had all the doors and windows open and was out in the front yard watering.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“I dunno … that guy is so full of it,” Clint answered.
“Now what the hell was supposed to do,” I thought, “I can’t really stick up for Mance. Maybe he is a dead-shit.” I was really beginning to wonder.
I went in and sat down on the couch and started thumbing through some old surf mags. Jesus! About every other page there was a photo of Mance, ripping! . . . I jumped up and threw my whole mag collection into the fireplace.
And then, wow!! There was Mance himself walking up our drive! He said hello to Mom, but she didn’t answer. Then he tried again.
“I bet you didn’t know it was me that laid that big patch on your front lawn.” Mom still didn’t answer …
“I’ve done a lot of rank things around here … remember when I grabbed that baked potato off your plate at your Mother’s Day dinner?”
Mom nodded. “Why do you do those things?” she asked.
Mance was thinking hard. I could tell by his eyebrows.
“I like to see people laugh,” he answered. Then Mance got the funniest look on his face.
Sure, I’ve been radical,” he said
“but I have never… I REPEAT .. I HAVE NEVER WHIZZED IN YOUR STEAM IRON!!
Mom was smiling… and then she began to laugh..
GOD, WAS I STOKED!
