By Jim Kempton / Surfer.com / December 31, 2024
Wading into the Pacific Ocean on a clear cold New Year’s Eve in 1926, Faye Baird was more than a little nervous. For starters, she was carrying a ten-foot, 110-pound redwood surfboard on her back as she entered the shoreline. There was no wetsuit to seal out the 59-degree temperature on both land and sea—only a scratchy wool bathing suit. The winter sky had darkened early and was now turning a shade of blue-black.
Joining her—and already neck deep in the surf—was her partner Charlie Wright, a lifeguard from Ocean Beach just a few miles south. He was carrying two lit waterproof flares above his head, trying to get as far past the shorebreak as possible to prevent the torches from getting soaked before they reached the outside lineup. In the moonlight, Faye could see head-high waves rolling through on her right. But what gave her the most pause were the hundreds of people packing the Promenade, crowding the dunes. Hundreds more were following her to the water’s edge.
A Grand Opening Surf Performance
The magisterial Mission Beach Ballroom had just been completed. For its grand opening, Faye and Charlie had been hired by the owners to give a New Year’s Eve surfing demonstration for their patrons. That audience had now swelled to over a thousand people. Faye closed her eyes for a moment remembering the wave she had caught a few years before at north Pacific Beach—one that she rode all the way to shore, right through Crystal Pier. All she would think about at the time was dodging the barnacled pilings. It had thrilled her to death.
Tonight, with 1927 just a few hours away, she and Charlie Wright would attempt to paddle into one of the outside waves; she would leap onto his shoulders and raise the flares to light their dance on this aquatic stage. It was a starring role for a plucky, precocious fifteen-year-old. And she was ready for her star-turning debut.
Surfing, Boyfriend, and Big Dreams
A native San Diegan, Faye Baird learned to swim at Creelman’s Bathhouse on Fifth Avenue near the San Diego Bay before she was five. She loved the water and had trained to be a distance swimmer ever since. As a young teenager, she found she preferred the buoyancy of saltwater and soon became an accomplished competitor, a regular in the annual Silvergate Swim Classic.
But then surfing got in the way. Her family moved into a cottage in Ocean Beach, and there Faye met Charlie Wright—a husky, handsome city lifeguard. He owned a heavy redwood surfboard, and without much effort, he talked her into going out on it. It was love at first ride. At least for her and the solid, ten-foot plank.
Within the season she was riding waves in any conditions with ease. She was a natural in the surf—a great swimmer, at home in the ocean, completely hooked. The bigger challenge, she found, was getting the board to and from the water. Charlie’s board was a three-inch-thick redwood. Faye learned to position it upright, lean it against her back, carry it on her shoulder blades to the water and drop it in. She most often rode solo—but she especially enjoyed tandem sessions with Charlie.
The First Female Surfer in San Diego
Faye Baird was more than likely the first female San Diegan to surf—and possibly one of the first in all of California. Looking back a century later, it was a remarkable achievement.
But for a girl in the Jazz Age, being a surfer hardly seemed groundbreaking—women in 1927 were wearing short skirts, bobbed hair and heavy makeup, pushing the envelope of the era’s social acceptability. Jazz music was the rage, and the sexually implicit Charleston was the dance craze. Young “flappers” flaunted their newfound freedom in an economic boom that was louder than the Tommy-guns of the Prohibition rum runners along the nation’s beaches. Baird took little notice; surfing was simply something she loved.
Hollywood noticed, though. Young, athletic and seemingly fearless, she had already received offers from the studio moguls to come under contract as a stuntwoman. Once again, she was thrilled to death. Hollywood was on the horizon. Her mother, however, was having none of it. She was not about to allow a naive fifteen-year-old to take off for the footlights. Faye chafed, but her mother was resolute.
Ready to Ride
Back on the Promenade, the Mission Beach Ballroom crowd was growing restless. They wanted to see this new-fangled surfing thing before the evening got too cold. The Ballroom’s owners were hosting a huge party, and after this publicity stunt was over, the festivities would move inside. The flappers and their consorts on the Promenade were getting chilled—and all were ready to dance.
Outside in the lineup, Faye was losing body heat. “Maybe we should go in,” Charlie offered. Faye Baird brushed the idea away. She’d not spent her entire childhood swimming and two whole summers surfing to disappoint this gathering. The crowd began to make noise. A set had appeared—a fairly big one. Not knowing how wave-riding worked, they cheered for the first wave in sight. Charlie scanned the set then paddled them into the down-the-line position, nodding to indicate this was the one they would take.
Charlie paddled; Faye kept the flares from touching the water. Almost immediately the tandem team began to glide diagonally with the wave. Seconds later, Faye and Charlie were standing; both hands extended upwards with the glaring red flares sparkling and smoking as they lit the riders for the crowd. Flashbulbs popped, lighting the shore like strobe lights. As they shot across the breaking wave heading straight for the pier, a thousand onlookers roared their approval. Even out in the water, the applause sounded loud, Faye would remember later, talking to the newspaper journalists. They rode three waves in all. The audience was ecstatic.
A Moment in History
When they finally stepped back onto the sand, Faye was shivering uncontrollably. As the throng headed for the Ballroom, Charlie gave Faye a coat. “Maybe we should get you home,” he offered.
“Home!” That was not the plan Faye had in mind. She knew this was a moment in Southern California history; she wanted to savor it. What she could not know was the other events this New Year 1927 would usher in: Amelia Earhart flying an airplane across the Atlantic, Virginia Wolfe writing her masterpiece To the Lighthouse, Coco Chanel reinventing global fashion and Zelda Fitzgerald embodying The Great Gatsby’s Jazz Age madness.
But Faye Baird did know one thing—she knew what she wanted to do: “I brought a change of clothes,” she told Charlie. “Let’s go to the party. I plan to dance the New Year in.” Spoken like a true surfer. In any age.
