Growing Up Brady: I Was a Teenage Greg, Special Collector's Edition by Barry Williams;Chris Kreski Page B

checked in, and spent the next week riding
every wave and soaking up every bit of sunshine that the Oahu
shore could throw at us. Seven days later, the rest of the Bradys
arrived and found us sunburnt, waterlogged, shriveled, and happy.
    Almost immediately, we got to work, settling in with a meeting
that outlined our entire Hawaiian production schedule. It was a typically dull, typically businesslike function, but it did get exciting
when they told me about how the city of Honolulu was actually
going to let us lease Queen's Beach (and all of its waves) for two
whole days.

    Why is that exciting? Simple. Our "lease" meant that the beach,
the ocean, and all of the people in both places would be part of
our company. It also guaranteed that "Greg" would spend fortyeight hours as the surf area's "Big Kahuna."
    You see, in any halfway-decent surfing spot (and especially in
Hawaii), there are always more good surfers than good waves.
Needless to say, the competition for curls can be cutthroat, and
the overcrowding generally assures that most of the best waves
pass you by. But now, for two glorious days, everybody on a surfboard except for me would be an extra, paid to paddle around and
make sure that Greg got the big ones. I was thrilled.
    Our first day of filming dawned warm, clear, and full of excitement. We all assembled on the beach, ate breakfast, worked on
our tans, and went over the breakdown of the day. Our schedule
called for some shots of the Bradys on the beach, some swimming,
and finally my long-awaited surfathon-not exactly the proverbial
day in the salt mines. But before it was over, the salt mines would
seem a cinch by comparison.
    The grips set up an enormous raft, complete with cameraman,
camera, and elaborate braces that held 'em both in'place. They set
sail. At the same time, I paddled out about a quarter-mile, found
the surf line (the spot where the waves break), and started to
rehearse.
    The conditions were picture-postcard perfect: warm water, blue
skies, and surf that was consistent, happening, and breaking at
about five feet. With a heightened heartbeat, I took my place
among the sea gulls, seaweed, and local surfing extras, waiting anxiously for that all-important first wave. It was heaven-except for
one thing.
    Our shooting schedule forced us to shoot at low tide. Now,
that's normally no big deal, but in Hawaii it can be a nightmare.
Oahu's ocean floor is made up not of soft sand but of hard, solid,
and often jagged coral. Wipe out at high tide, and there's about six
feet between you and the ocean floor; wipe out at low tide, and
you have as little as eighteen inches! You also have big, big trouble.
The only way you can avoid getting sliced and diced is to fall absolutely flat and skim the water's surface, using your body as a sort of
human boogie board. For the first hour, things went great. I was
riding waves, cranking bottom turns, pulling off "roller coasters,"
and finishing with flyaway kickouts. Then it happened.
    Guess who wiped out at low tide.

    Yep, with cameras rolling, I managed to catch an overhead wave
with good shape and started jamming across it's wall. Things were
getting hot, and I was picking up speed when-
    WHAM!!!
    A section of the wave closed out, and I flew through the air,
careening toward an exposed coral head that was sticking up out
of the water by a good two feet, and drooling over its chance to
chew me to shreds. A sickening feeling of total helplessness
washed over me, and with a heartfelt cry of "SHIIIIIIIIIT!!!" I sailed
toward my doom.
    Greg's wipeout was a lot more spontaneous than planned.
    Back on the beach, they'd seen the fall, noticed my head tearing
toward the jagged coral, and seen me disappear under the wave's
white-water. They panicked, and at once my dad (who was watching from the beach), the camera guys, the lifeguards, and a handful
of gawkers were barreling into the surf, determined (I suppose) to
scoop up whatever