Two and a half weeks ago, I was sitting in physics class. Little did I know my world was about to change.
Mrs. Moore, our school principal, brought me into the hallway. Her abrupt words rocked my core: “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Stan Searfus passed away this morning.”
No. I just saw him yesterday. That is not the right name. I walked down the hall in a stupor, putting one foot in front of the other as her words echoed in my head.
Stan Searfus. Most know his story, the countless people he touched as a mentor, surf coach, summertime employer, lifelong waterman and Coronado legend, as well as his recent passing while surfing at Sunset Cliffs. What people do not know are the personal accounts of the impact he made on the lives of so many. I am sharing my story, so that Stan’s may live on in his absence.
I have Stan to thank for most everything I know about love for life and the sacrifices that come along with it. He brought me into the surf community, where I have found a home full of stalwart friends of all ages and backgrounds. He was my next door neighbor whom I saw every day going down the alley on my way to school. I could hear him woodworking in his garage from my house when I was studying, whistling to the tune on the radio. A father figure. A man I will never forget.
When I first met Stan, I was in the fifth grade. I am a junior in high school now. My parents knew Stan from growing up on the island and as I began to show interest in the sport, my parents would bring me from San Diego so I could piggy back on the middle school surf club. I remember him pushing me to take one more wave, encouraging me to paddle farther out. He took me under his wing. I started coming to surf club twice a week and a year later, we moved to the island. Stan was an integral part of my transition to Coronado – I remember the only familiar faces on my first day at my new school were a few of the the surf friends I had made because of him, who are today some of my most cherished friends.
In sixth grade, Stan introduced me to the Scholastic Surf Series, a contest series with events from Ocean Beach to Oceanside running throughout the school year. It was here that Stan’s zest for life and incredible grace of spirit shone. Rather than encouraging cutthroat competition, he taught us to better ourselves by meeting new people, having fun, and enjoying the spirit of the ocean that was apparent when all of us came together. He made it about sharing some waves and learning life lessons that have shaped my childhood into something I am proud of.
Stan was there for every struggle of mine, and every victory. One instance in particular stands out to me. It was a foggy morning at the Army and Navy Academy. Cold. Shorebreak. One of my first contests. I stood on the water’s edge, trying to time it just right to avoid any possible walloping. I eventually rushed in and got absolutely crushed. For the rest of the heat, I stood in knee-deep water, holding my board as I watched everyone else battle the unrelenting waves. I heard cheers from my teammates to “go, go, go!” when the coast was clear, but I stood there frozen, crying. As the horn sounded, signifying the end of the heat, I walked up the steep beach completely dejected. Stan was right there, ready to cheer me up. I learned winning was secondary in his mind. Although it is an amazing feeling to hold a trophy after a long day of sun and wind, he prioritized lessons of perseverance and being a reliable teammate.
Three years later, when I was a freshman, we went on to win the State Championships under his coaching. Even so, it was more about the waves, the stoke, and the memories we made along the way – under this mindset we worked as a team to achieve our goal against all odds (San Clemente had a seven time state title holder on their team). It was one of my proudest moments, and I would like to think it was one of his too. Stan always was more of a life coach than a technical coach – it is only now that I realize that the former is profoundly more valuable.
I have Stan to thank for some of the greatest times of my life. Walking along the firing range on ‘Federal Fridays’ to score some waves at the point and hitching a boat ride back from some military guys, then paddling back after dark. Pulling into waves and paddling out in surf that made my heart race. Pushing the limits and being adventurous. Stan’s motto was to just go for it. In the face of fear, be brave; in the face of hardship, be strong.
Most people yearn for the past, or the future. Stan lived for the present. His loose plans for the future and adventurous spirit are qualities that I hope to incorporate in my life. From Stan I learned to throw myself into a messy situation, no matter how hopeless it looks, and make the best of it. He was one of the few people I knew who could have a mindset of “screw the establishment” and still set an example for kids like me with his sage advice, insightful conversations, and lessons about driving, surfing, and working hard. He taught me there is very little in life that cannot be solved by good waves, good friends, and good (virgin, in my case) margaritas. He was able to juxtapose the important with the unimportant in such a way that made me want to align my values with his.
Stan was there for all of it. The moments when we laughed as a team, pushing kids at Blue Wave Surf Camp into monster waves and watching them pearl and come up laughing. The moments in his absence when my parents and I held each other and cried, I am sure he was there too.
There will never come a time when I do not miss seeing Stan at the shores because if there was anyone who deserved to live another day, and surf another wave, it was him. Mark Foo said, “it is not tragic to die doing what you love.” In spite of the sadness I feel at the devastating loss of one of my heroes, I recognize the underlying beauty of this statement. While many who never met Stan may say “too young” or “gone too soon,” all I can think of is how lucky I am to have known him at all.
Sydney Zoehrer
