By PHIL JARRATT
LAUNCHING AT THE LIBRARY
What a pleasant afternoon we had at the library last Sunday! As the thunder cracked and the rain tumbled down outside, it felt good to be able to present our Noosa National Surfing Reserve (NNSR) book and video, A Cup of Tea with God, to a large and appreciative audience in such a serene setting.
Since I’m in the business of creating, buying and selling books, you’d think I’d have a better appreciation of our local library, but the truth is that I’ve overlooked the leafy Wallace Estate precinct for far too long, while spending hundreds of productive hours in the Queensland and NSW State Libraries, and in the wonderfully musty bowels of Sydney’s Mitchell Collections. In the latter stages of producing the NNSR book, I was helped out in my photo archive search by the library’s historian, Jane Harding, but I never paid much attention to what the place was like for the punter until we were setting up for the show last Sunday.
Outside it was sticky and still ahead of the deluge. Inside the library it was cool and quiet, with pockets of people intent at their work on laptops, or else sprawled on lounges or bean bags flipping through books and magazines. All around this pleasant place there was a sense of peace and productivity. My grandsons go there all the time with their dad and love it. I think I might start joining them.
As far as the book and video presentation was concerned, both seemed to be a hit with an audience that was certainly not primarily surf or beach oriented. If tourists are as interested in it as the locals seem to be, we might have a little hit on our hands, raising money for our tilt at becoming a World Surfing Reserve.
A Cup of Tea with God will be available in stores locally from next week, and there are loan copies at the library, of course.
THE PLAQUE MYSTERY SOLVED
Speaking of the Noosa National Surfing Reserve, following the dedication of the Reserve in a ceremony at the National Park on Friday, March 6, I had such a busy surf festival week ahead that I didn’t get a chance to go back to the commemorative stone. If I had, I might have had my memory jogged that someone should inform the general public that the beautiful plaque that adorns it had been removed, not by thieves but by our committee members.
The simple explanation for this is that because of the closeness of results in the Queensland election, it was not possible to have the name of the new Minister for Parks and Wildlife, Dr Steve Miles, engraved in time for the ceremony. Like having your teeth crowned, we had to make do with a temporary fix. To local media who were onto this perceived heinous crime, apologies for the lack of communication and thanks for your vigilance. The permanent plaque will soon be in place.
The episode reminded me of a plaque we placed on a park bench overlooking the beautiful waves of Guéthary, France, in January 2002, following the passing of the legendary surfer Miki Dora. We were neighbours in the pretty little village, and although in the 27 years I had known him, Miki had been a controversial figure, often regarded as a rogue by many, in his final years in Guéthary he had become much-loved, a quirky, distinguished man who sometimes spoke in riddles and at other times floored you with his eloquence.
Born in Budapest in 1934, Miki had grown up in Hollywood and Malibu, where his father, Miklos, had been a vintner to the stars. Stung by the surf bug early, Miki never had a real job other than being an extra in a hundred beach movies (we discovered dozens of unclaimed royalty cheques from the Screen Actors Guild when we boxed up his memorabilia after his death) and spent much of his life on the run from the FBI and the DEA. Miklos (then into his 90s) and his most recent wife flew from LA to join us for the cliff top tribute to his son, which attracted a large crowd of friends and freaks. After listening to tributes from everyone from the mayor on down, I read a moving eulogy from his big wave pal Greg Noll, and we unveiled the plaque before sauntering up the road for many toasts at the Hotel Madrid. The next morning the plaque had gone. We had two more made and they suffered the same fate. The last time I was in Guéthary, two years ago, the bench was still there, plaqueless. In a way it is the perfect tribute, because under different circumstances, Miki would have probably stolen it himself.
