Harold Dunnigan, Rest In Peace

Hal Dunnigan's Memorial Eulogy, by Greg Bonann. Reprinted here with permission. Copyright Greg Bonann 2026. All Rights Reserved. Hal Dunnigan’s Memorial - Eulogy --- "Good morning… my name is Greg Bonann, and I am an LA County Lifeguard. On Monday I begin my 57th summer as a Recurrent Lifeguard, and my 14th as a Jr. Lifeguard Instructor at Zuma Beach. All the lifeguards here know about "the luck of the tower." That fantastic rescue you got to make. The life you saved. The person whose family was reunited because you happened to be there. People call you a hero, but the truth is, it could have been any one of us. But, by the luck of the tower, it was simply your day to work that stretch of beach. I feel the same way about being asked by Holly to speak today. There are so many people here who loved Hal. So many of you who Hal loved. So many people whose lives were changed by him. It really could have been any one of you standing up here. But, like “the luck of the tower” - today it's me. So I hope I can find words worthy of a man who meant so much to all of us. Holly has chosen a wonderful line up of speakers today. So, you will soon hear about Hal Dunnigan the Frog Man. You'll hear about Hal the lifeguard, the instructor, the leader, the husband, the mentor, and the friend. But I'd like to talk about the Hal Dunnigan that I knew. And give you a little peek at “The man who changed my life.” I first met Hal in April of 1970 right here in this garage! I was a seventeen-year-old rookie lifeguard candidate. I can still see it. Nineteen rookies. Cold. Wet. Nervous. Rescue equipment scattered all around. And Hal pacing back and forth in front of us. I remember looking at this man and thinking, "Wow. This guy is awesome." What I was soon to learn was that Hal was the best of the best. Who else would Myron Cox have chosen to teach us! At seventeen, Hal had my full attention because he was the first person to play what I call the "life or death card." Only a rookie school instructor can do that. He told us that if we screwed up, people can die. Not might. Can. And he told us stories about lifeguards who lost someone in the surf and never came back to the job because the weight of that loss was simply too much to carry. Then he taught us something that would stay with me for the next fifty-six years. Trust. He explained that integrity, character, and honesty were not just admirable qualities. They were essential requirements. Without them, trust doesn't exist. And without trust, you cannot save lives. You cannot rely on your partner. You cannot rely on your back-up. At the time, I thought Hal was teaching us how to be lifeguards. Fifty-six years later, I realize he was teaching us how to live. Those lessons carried me through every challenge I would ever face. On the beach. In business. In television production. In friendships. In marriage. In life. The older I get, the more I realize that almost everything important begins and ends with trust. And I learned that sitting in that garage listening to Hal Dunnigan. About a year later, (it’s 1971 now!) Hal taught me another lesson. One day he simply said, "Bonann, be at Bob Chambers' house Tuesday night at eight o'clock. It’s on the corner of Outrigger and Pacific." That was it. No explanation. No details. Just be there. So… I showed up. I walked into a living room of 4 men: Hal, Bob Chambers, Rudy Guitel and Conrad Liberty. Lifeguard Giants. The best of the best. What I didn't know at the time, but was soon to learn, was that I was witnessing the formation of what would eventually become our first labor organization and they had identified me as someone who, eventually, would take over leadership of the labor union. So…. I sat quietly. Watched. Listened. Took notes. And learned. What I didn't understand then was that Hal was not just inviting me to a meeting. He was inviting me into adulthood. Many years later Hal shared something with me that made that evening make complete sense. He said: "The transition from adolescence to adulthood is rarely made by the parent. It is made by someone else who sees something in that young person that they don’t see in themselves." That was Hal. He saw things in people before they saw them in themselves. He certainly saw something in me. And because he did, my life took a different path. That lesson has stayed with me ever since. In fact, today when I mentor young people, I often tell them: "I see something in you that you don't yet see in yourself." Every single time I say it, I think of Hal. You can see it in the kids eyes when I tell them. They look confused at first. Then they smile. Because somebody has finally seen something in them, they hoped might be there but weren't completely sure existed. Hal gave that gift to countless people. Not just me. Hundreds of lifeguards. Young men and women trying to find their way. That's his legacy. Not a résumé. Not titles. Not awards. People. Hal built people. …. Now, if all of this makes Hal sound too serious, let me assure you he wasn't. One of my favorite memories of Hal was the first day I ever worked a tower with him. It was Will Rogers Tower 18 and, of course, I was working with my Rookie School Instructor, so I was nervous as hell. As we stood on top of the ramp together, Hal would ask questions like: "What do you see out there?" "What's the tide doing?" "What's the surf going to do?" "Is anyone potentially in trouble?" "Can you make a difference in someone's day? Week? Life?" Then he'd send me out on patrol to go see what I could do. I'd come back inspired, motivated, ready to save the world... Only to discover that while I was gone, Hal had eaten my lunch. That was Hal too. Always teaching. Always laughing. Always enjoying the company of friends. And maybe occasionally stealing a sandwich. One of the things I loved most about him was that he taught by example. He didn't spend a lot of time telling people what kind of person to be. He showed them. And I still struggle to live up to those principals: Service to others. Accountability. Solution instead of complaint. Contribution instead of criticism. Character instead of ego. He also believed in bringing people together. "Let's have lunch." "Get the guys together." How many times did we hear that? How many lunches did we share over the years? Looking back, one of Hal's greatest gifts was that he never let a friendship fade. The phone calls. The books that would unexpectedly arrive in the mail. The articles he'd send. The simple check-ins that let you know he was thinking about you. He had a remarkable way of staying connected to the people he cared about. Over the years, those small gestures added up to something extraordinary. They reminded all of us that we mattered to him. Because Hal understood something important. The friendships were never separate from the job. The friendships were the greatest benefits of the job. In a world that often celebrates individual achievement, Hal understood that everything worthwhile is built together. When I think about Hal today, I don't think first about the Navy SEAL. Or the lifeguard. Or the instructor. I think about how he made people feel. He made you want to be better. He made you stand a little taller. He made you believe you were capable of more than you thought possible. And that may be the greatest gift one person can give another. So today, as we say goodbye, I keep coming back to one simple truth. - Every rescue I ever made. - Every Jr. Guard or Lifeguard I ever trained. - Every “story” I ever told - Every young person I ever mentored. Somewhere in all of that are Hal's fingerprints. And I know I'm not alone. Look around. His fingerprints are everywhere. On this beach. In this building. In this organization. In this community. And in the lives of YOU people gathered here today. Thank you, Hal. For the lessons. For the friendship. For the example. For believing in a seventeen-year-old kid sitting in a garage who had no idea how much his life was about to change. You saw something in us before we saw it in ourselves. And because you did, we are all better for it. 1 The last serious conversation we had, and we spoke almost every Sunday afternoon, was telling: “How can you go wrong Gregory, you had me as your rudder and “lifeguarding" as your sail!” We'll carry it forward from here, Hal. And if we're lucky, one day someone will say of us what we say of you today: "He made my life better simply because he was in it." "I love you, Hal." "Thank you."" ----------- *** Before and after the Memorial Photos below of production staff with Greg Bonann and shoreline services following, including the last photo of Hal's wife, Holly, handing Greg the ceremonial bowl... All photos by and Copyr. Will Maguire 2026. Used here with permission. ***

Many thanks to Greg Bonann for sharing his beautiful eulogy to Hal with all of us. Until next time..... "County Recurrent" News --- http://CountyRecurrent.blogspot.com --- Service • Training • Commitment --- *** Keeping the County Recurrent "in the loop"..... whether he/she likes it or NOT ! *** --- DISCLAIMER: County Recurrent is not affiliated with nor sponsored by LACOLA or LACoFD. *** PLEASE forward to other Recurrents, past and present, so that they can read this eulogy and otherwise be "in the loop." *** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

"I Will Always Be A Zuma Guard", by Greg Braxton-Brown

Dateline: June 8, 2026. “I Will Always Be A Zuma Guard”, by Greg Braxton-Brown. Heads up! Here is an absolutely wonderful tribute to ocean lifeguarding by veteran L.A. County Ocean Lifeguard (Ret.), Greg Braxton-Brown. Settle in and get ready to be entertained… ("I Will Always Be A Zuma Guard", Dateline: June 8, 2026, © Greg Braxton-Brown. Published here with permission. Color lead photo of ZUMA FOOD © Will Maguire. Balance of photos courtesy of Greg Braxton-Brown and used here with permission).

"Last weekend, the former youth of summer gathered in Redondo Beach for the annual Los Angeles County Lifeguard Alumni Luncheon. Unable to make the trip west this year, I watched from afar, remembering what seemed perfectly normal at the time: carrying responsibility for every patron going home safely at the end of the day, regardless of what man or nature placed in our path. The beach rivalries are historic, enduring, and mostly good-natured. Yet every man and woman who has stood on a beach with a rescue buoy in hand, endlessly scanning the water, understands a simple truth. When everything goes sideways, it doesn't matter whether the guard beside you is a first-day rookie or the Chief Lifeguard. In that moment, we are all the same. For all that modern lifeguarding has become—with swift-water teams, underwater recovery units, cliff rescue specialists, paramedics, giant-wave surfers, international triathletes, channel swimmers, dory champions, and paddlecraft experts—when the call comes, we are simply water athletes trained in lifesaving, committed to our craft and to each other. Both in lore and in reality, the radio call "KMC 218, KMC 217" has occasionally been followed by five unforgettable words: "Zuma is in the water." It is the call made by the switchboard guard while running down the stairs. It tells South Bay that communications with Zuma have been interrupted because every available lifeguard—tower guards, call-car guards, officers, and even off-duty personnel on the beach—is already in the water.

As long as Baywatch remains operational, the beach is never truly without eyes. The skipper can see most of the chaos unfolding. Fortunately, these incidents are rare, though smaller versions occur almost daily. Open the T-2 Lagoon on a busy Sunday, and every guard from the House Tower through at least T-3 will likely be in the water together. If you are fortunate enough to reach your victims quickly, you may hear the roar of Baywatch approaching at full throttle. The boat bears down directly toward you before making a sharp turn and launching another lifeguard into the containing rip. Looking shoreward, you want to see the flashing lights of the Zuma Call Car, with several guards standing on the bumper, gripping the paddleboard rack as it races toward the next emergency. We all understand that drownings can occur while we are already engaged in a rescue. The water can never be left unguarded. There were many days when a tower was little more than a place to throw your bag. You'd drop your gear in the shack, grab a rescue can, and head for the berm. It might be hours before you return. The public never saw the beach shift in motion—the subtle movement of one lifeguard that caused others to reposition up and down the line. They never noticed the signals exchanged between towers or realized that headquarters had binoculars trained on every section of the beach. They never saw the rescue boat constantly repositioning itself beside developing hotspots. And all were surprised by how quickly they got into trouble and puzzled as to where the person shouting orders came from. As the day wore on, crowds grew and surf built. Eventually, the afternoon wind arrived, driving most people from the sand. Only then might you make it back to your tower covered in sand, sunburned, windburned, and dreaming of a hot shower—or at least a dry bathing suit. The day was never truly over. On most evenings, you would drag a director's chair onto the porch and sit facing the Pacific, taking in the ocean's beauty, its immense power, and the rhythm of the day as the sun slowly slipped below the horizon. Eventually, there would be that long-awaited shower, accompanied by a loud, boisterous crew reliving the day's rescues and near-misses. There would be stories, teasing, and instruction—good-natured lessons from guards who, only hours earlier, had helped ensure that you made it safely back to shore. This job was special. For many of us, it shaped who we became. It doesn't matter where you guarded open water. You have your stories. You remember the days when you were terrified and dispatched adversity with skill and teamwork. In Los Angeles County, you might rescue windsurfers off Jurassic Beach, watch a motorhome slide into the ocean at a launch ramp, or gaze toward Catalina while recalling dive accidents and buffalo encounters. You might work the circus atmosphere of Venice Beach or navigate the intense crowds of Santa Monica South. Divers get into trouble everywhere. People fall from cliffs. Emergencies happen regardless of whether the victim is a frightened child or a fool with a telephoto lens trying to photograph naked sunbathers at Pirates Cove. Most of us have an afterlife. We are all good in crisis. No matter what identity we assume, the red suit remains part of us. I will always be a Zuma Guard. We learned that when the call comes, we are all equal in the water—working together. Doing whatever it takes to get everyone home safely. My grandchildren know me as Papa, a tired older man made from equal parts Uber and ATM. Those I cherish from youth know me as the General.”

Greg Braxton-Brown -- "Greg worked as an OL for L.A. County Dept. of Beaches and Harbors and later with LACoFD Lifeguard Operations from 1973 - 1994. He worked everywhere and did everything including significant work getting the paramedic program started. His lifeguard cred and identity goes to ZUMA but he loved hiding out at *"Jurassic". He also worked for several years on Catalina. His ZUMA nickname was "the General", which came about as the result of him constantly and invariably explaining things to other lifeguards with comments like "the Lt said", "the Lt is watching"... etc. to the point he got flummoxed and aggravated and blurted out, "F**k that, I'm a general!"... and the name stuck." Per Greg: "Like many lifeguard nicknames, it began as a moment of humor and frustration, but over time it became part of the legend—one more story woven into the rich culture and camaraderie of the Zuma lifeguards.

In the photo above, that's Greg at left. (side note: *"Jurassic" for the uninitiated... refers to Cabrillo (in San Pedro) long inhabited by dinosaurs including Burich, Matesich, Whitehead, Pappas and many more great guys from the '50s, '60s iteration." (Attached above is an image provided by Greg showing a t-shirt design from a recent Alumni Luncheon that he attended and which he enjoys attending.) Many thanks to Greg for stepping up and sharing with all of us this remarkable tribute to Zuma Beach's Ocean Lifeguards. 10-4. Until next time..... "County Recurrent" News --- http://CountyRecurrent.blogspot.com Service • Training • Commitment *** Keeping the County Recurrent "in the loop"..... whether he/she likes it or NOT ! *** DISCLAIMER: County Recurrent is not affiliated with nor sponsored by LACOLA or LACoFD. *** PLEASE forward to other Recurrents, past and present, so that they can enjoy this article and otherwise be in the loop. *** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

"Once Upon A Time... Off Topanga", by Harold Dunnigan

(Photo source info: http://www.surfline.com/surf-report/topanga-southern-california_4210/travel/

"County Recurrent" is pleased to present a story by one of LACo's finest veteran recurrent lifeguards! Enjoy!

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"Once Upon A Time... off Topanga", by LACo OL Harold Dunnigan, Ret.

The Santa Ana Winds were blowing and we all know that means with gusto AND offshore.

It was late morning in January - one of those bright clear and windy days - this happened back in the mid to late 1980's

The water temp was in the 50's

We were at the slip in MDR on Baywatch Santa Monica. The crew:

Hapke - Boat Captain
Dunnigan - deckhand

1130 hrs, approx. - we receive a radio call from SMHQ, e.g., "295 to Baywatch Santa Monica":

"Overturned catamaran one mile off Topanga - proceed to location immediately"

We get underway and while exiting harbor we get hit with s.a. winds in excess of 20 + knots offshore, blowing spray and wind chop over the bow of the boat, drenching the skipper..

As we reach the s.m. breakwater, the skipper picks up a radio message from SMHQ advising:

"Code 4 (cancel call) - craft has been righted."

(which had been the message which SMHQ received from the guard in the area vehicle off Topanga assessing the situation with binoculars... but apparently not accounting for the offshore winds)

We proceed to shut down the engines and anticipate returning to slip... when.....

a new call comes in:

"Continue to assist vessel as they will not be able to return to the beach!"

so we continued on, while still taking on weather over the bow, to the location of the catamaran, one and one half miles, approx., west of Topanga, where we found:

a. a young man and woman, in their 20's, lightly clothed with teeth chattering and approaching hypothermia;

b. we then proceeded to remove the two victims from their craft;

c. wrapped them with blankets;

d. took their craft in tow to Topanga North's sandy beach south of the station;

e. and because of the ferocious offshore winds, the TPN guard then had to paddle out with a heavy line (rope) that was tied off at the beach in order to pull the cat onto the beach

CONCLUSION:

The call to continue came all the way from Zuma and was made by then LACo OLS and Call Car Driver, Bill Powers, who understood the wind and sea conditions and knew that the people on board the catamaran would not be able to return to the beach without assistance. In my opinion, Bill Powers saved the day !

Harold Dunnigan,
Santa Monica, Calif.
Feb. 4, 2011.

(Copyright Harold Dunnigan 2011. Used here with permission.)

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Many Thanks to Harold for sharing this story of keen lifeguard experience playing a key role in the successful rescue of two persons who might otherwise have perished given the circumstances of the ferocious offshore Santa Ana winds, which make it extremely difficult to return to shore, whether it be kayak, surfski or catamaran or the like.

Harold Dunnigan trivia, courtesy of "County Recurrent". While interviewing Harold this past Friday, Feb. 4th at his home we took notice of the front and center location of the coveted "Bronze Savage" award (below) that Harold was presented with upon his retirement several years ago. This is the first time we have seen this particular statue engraved with Harold's name. Awarded by LACOLA, this award symbolizes the recognition of peak performance by a LACo lifeguard.


Below, L2R: Harold Dunnigan with Bruce Morgan after the presentation of the "Bronze Savage" award to Bruce a couple of years ago at the annual LACOLA Meeting on the Venice Boardwalk at that Rose Ave. adjacent watering hole/dive where Arthur C. Verge used to hang out and pick up chicks...


And last but certainly not least, below is a classic photo that we have entitled, "Before Baker!", showing Harold ready to hit the surf with his hollow surfboard at the 'bu, circa 1960...we're not really sure. Photo courtesy of Harold.


10-4

Until next time.....


"County Recurrent" News
http://CountyRecurrent.blogspot.com

Service • Training • Commitment

*** Keeping the County Recurrent "in the loop"..... whether he/she likes it or NOT ! ***

DISCLAIMER: County Recurrent is not affiliated with nor sponsored by LACOLA or LACoFD.

*** PLEASE forward to other Recurrents, past and present, so that we can add them to our mailing list. ***

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SANTA MONICA PIER 360, Sunday, June 25, 2023

out and about along the shoreline and the Pier in Santa Monica this morning... Until next time... "County Recurrent" News (All photos vy & Copyright WillMaguire 2023.)