The inmates ran the asylum that was the Redondo Pier. The Sea Star snack bar crew ran the inmates
by Pete Whalon
I graduated high school in 1967, “the summer of love.” My parents had made it crystal clear well before graduation day that after getting my high school diploma I would be joining the workforce.
I had many friends. However, our crew had six solid members who did everything together. Four days after graduation I experienced a true miracle while walking on the Redondo Beach Pier. That day Bob and I had decided to grab a hamburger at the Sea Star snack bar, one of the better, higher paying fast-food establishments on the iconic Redondo pier. The pier was one of our go to places when looking to just hang out or make fun of the grizzled, crabby old fisherman casting their lines at the end of the pier, hoping to land the big one.
We noticed the guy deep frying the shrimp was a Redondo High classmate. During a short conversation with Herold, the fry guy, we learned Harry, the owner, was looking for three- or four-part timers to cover the summer rush. “This would be perfect for us Bob, working together. Probably get free food when the owner was gone.” “Hey Herold, could you tell Harry we are looking for a job this summer.” The Sea Star paid much more than other fast food pier snack bars. Thirty minutes later Bob and I were headed home to fill out paperwork to become the newest jack of all trades for the Sea Star. We even had a third application in hand for our buddy, Larry. He didn’t know it yet, but he would be frying shrimp, grilling burgers and mixing malts this coming weekend. I would also make it very clear that I had seniority over him. Through some dazzling finagling and chicanery, by July 2, 1967, The Summer of love, our six gang members all worked together under the tutelage of Harry and Mary, the owners. Every day of the week at least two of us would be working. Saturdays and Sundays everybody worked. Also, we were allowed to switch shifts whenever we wanted.
On Monday through Friday the owners opened at 10 a.m. and usually headed home around 6 p.m. Since the six of us were the only employees, we had free food every evening. It was like our own private buffet seven days a week. Most of the other fast-food places on the pier operated about the same as we did. By 8 p.m. most nights the pier belonged to the young and restless. If I wanted pizza, I would trade for it with fried shrimp or a fish platter. The barter system we developed throughout the pier with all other small businesses worked very well.
The greatest part of working there, especially during the summer, was Cunninghams, another snack bar directly across the pier from us. Old man Cunningham only hired young, teenage girls to work there. In the evening we spent most of our time hanging out there, chatting and hitting on the young ladies. If we got a customer, we just ran across the walkway to take their order. If someone needed us to fill in just in case they needed to run an errand or were just nursing a hangover. It was like our extended family.
On Friday and Saturday nights we closed at 11 p.m. One memorable Friday night Larry and I got word of a wild keg party in Hermosa Beach. We, of course, decided to close early. Seemed like the right thing to do. Just as I was closing the last window, I heard someone screaming at me. “What are you doing Whalon?” Harry was shaking his fist with smoke coming out of his ears. Harry and Mary had left Sea Star about 8 p.m. Unfortunately for us it was Mary’s birthday, and they had a late dinner just around the corner, at Tony’s. Bad luck for us. Mary caught up with Harry and joined the expletive barrage. I think he fired us about five times into the rant. We had no defense really. I mentioned I didn’t feel well, however, I don’t think he heard me. Harry’s parting salvo was quite clear. “Get your lazy asses down here tomorrow to pick up your last check!”
The next day we decided to get there when the Star opened to get it over with. When we arrived Harry politely asked us to come inside. What occurred next blew our minds. First, he apologized for his behavior the night before, then proceeded with a short lecture on why closing early was wrong. Next, he asked us if we wanted our jobs back. We stammered and stuttered and humbly informed good old Harry, yes, we would love our jobs back. He smiled, shook our hands and offered us a 25-cent raise. Mary, who stood five feet behind Harry, shook her head in disgust and stormed out of the Star while flipping us the bird. I was spoiled after my Sea Star experience. No part time job could measure up to that magnificent summer…The Summer of Love. ER
