BIG_WEDNESD) BY JOHN NILIUS AND DENNIS AABERG A-Team ProductionsPART I THE SOUTH SWELL SUITER 1963 "The sea of the past was like a beautiful and unscrupu- lous woman -- strong men, with childlike hearts were faithful to her, were content to live by her grace -- to die by her will” ~- Joseph Conrad "An Outcast of the Islands" "When boards were made of wood and men were made of iron" -- Some old surferBIG WCDNESDAY OCEAN = DAM The endless dark sea stretching west into infinite blackness. The ocean gently undulates, rolls in its slumber and a wave is faintly outlined in the first rays of dawn. The wave rises in its silence, steepens and wind blows up its face, spinning a silvery mist behind. As it tovers and begins to topple for- ward, its sensuous form is broken hy the dark appearance of a man on a surfboard -- stroking up and through the concave crest, bursting free with an explosion of glittering light and finally falling slowly out of sight behind. SHORELINE The shadowy figure of a lean young man lopes seemingly in slow motion towards a point. A sleek surfboard is held under his arm. His face is tight and aggressive in expression, his breath, measured. His muscles ripple with each stride. BEACH Wind blows paper across the darkened sand, the lights of the city sparkle in the distance. Dark objects begin to move on the beach as surfers wake up ~~ crawl out of their sleeping bags -- lean up on one arm and look out at the morning waves. NARRATOR (V.0.) In the old days I remember a wind that would blow down through the canyons before dawn. It was a hot wind and carried with it the smell of warm places. It blew strongest before dawn across The Point. ty friends and I would sleep in our cars. -- HIGHWAY A few cars lined up along the Pacific Coast Highway. Lights of trucks pass hy with a roar. Softer lights appear in the cars as the surfers get out and stretch. NARRATOR (V.0.) And the smell of the offshore wind would often wake us and each day we knew that this would be a special day, a special morning -- Some surfers pull shiny long boards from a panel truck and enter the beach through a narrow gate in the torn cyclone fence. They make hooting sounds as they disappear into the dawn. (CONTINUED)