Honorable Mention
Closure
by Joel Gitelson
I was an LA County lifeguard for over 30 years and participated in many searches for missing persons. One involved a young woman who attempted suicide by swimming out to sea in front of Gladstone’s early one evening. We weren’t able to search for her until the next day because we received the notification after it was dark. Our dive team met on the beach the next morning and kicked out to Baywatch to begin an underwater search. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack, but you never know.
A Coast Guard helicopter located her floating about a mile offshore, on her back, not moving. We sped out aboard Baywatch and after bringing her aboard, discovered her to have a pulse and spontaneous breathing. We wrapped her in blankets and lowered her into the engine compartment to rewarm her. Paramedics met us at the Baywatch dock in Marina del Rey and transported her to the nearest hospital where she recovered. Her name was Misty, and she was never reported missing. Now, whenever I hear the song “Play Misty for Me,” I think of her.
Most lifeguard searches don’t turn out this way. The victims usually disappear in the waves, off a jetty or at the end of a hellacious rip current. Initially, we muster all available personnel and surface dive in a line from shore out as far as we can go. Baywatch, Rescue Watercraft [RWC] and the USCG all join in. The dive team searches in deeper waters until it’s too dark to search. By this time, the family is alerted, and they arrive on scene to hope for the best. On one occasion, a person entered the water at 14th Street in Manhattan Beach when it was just getting dark. He swam down to 18th Street and exited the water. However, the beach patron who alerted us only saw him enter and not exit. Manhattan Beach Fire Dept. brought a ‘Lighting truck’ onto the pier to illuminate the ocean. The USCG deployed a helo from LAX. We suited up and searched on paddleboards with Baywatch sweeping the area. The individual, long since high and dry, walked up to the police stationed on the pier to see what all the fuss was about. When told of whom we were searching for, he realized it was him.
Searching for a missing swimmer is an arduous process. Six divers are towed along the bottom on a tow bar, going deeper and deeper, back and forth. After an hour we switch off with another six dive team members. We do this for two days, usually. We train for it continuously, but with the family holding vigil on the beach, it’s a dynamic you can’t train for. They make contact with you as you enter and exit the water with grieving eyes reflecting hopelessness and hope at the same time. Waiting for something, anything, they take turns waiting at the exact spot where their loved one disappeared. Sometimes, on night patrol, we’d see them, and they’d be there huddled in blankets, on the beach, waiting.
The usual scenario is that the body floats up after about seven days of being submerged and usually in the relative vicinity of where they went missing. At this point, the Lifeguard Section Chief steps in to help the family process the loss. It’s bittersweet, this closure thing. It’s the best we all can do. It’s a team effort.
