The Legacy of the Cast

I am 68 years old, and on Father’s Day 2026 I will once again stand on the sand at Sunset Beach with my son Philip, surf rods in hand, waiting for the next wave and the next memory. Fishing and the outdoors have been the thread that has stitched three generations of our family together. My father, Albert, passed that thread to me. I tried to pass it to my sons, Philip and Patrick. Now I watch with quiet pride as they pass it to their own boys. It is a legacy not of things, but of presence, adventure, and love.

My father’s story began in hardship. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father died of tuberculosis when my dad was only two. He was raised by Catholic nuns who loved him and gave him a wonderful upbringing. He never forgot that kindness. It shaped the man he became.

My earliest memories are of my father taking my brother Paul and me everywhere—especially to the ocean. I can still see him standing in the water at night near the Redondo Beach pier when I was about six. Grunion were swimming through his legs while he pointed for Paul and me to watch the spectacle of nature unfolding around us. He told us stories of his own boyhood, like the day he caught twenty-two halibut from the pier at Point Mugu. He was chronically seasick, yet that never stopped him from taking us on a four-day trip aboard the Chubasco with Captain Pat Cain. I know now that he must have known he would spend most of the trip in the stateroom, but he went anyway. On the final day he finally appeared in the galley, pale but smiling, while the California cook teased him. That trip taught me something I still carry: a good father shows up even when it costs him.

Faith was central to my father’s life. He was active in our home parish, Nativity in Torrance, and served as president of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, helping the poor in our community. I believe he saw that work as a way of thanking the nuns who had raised him. After he retired he went to daily Mass and received Communion. The same man who taught us to fish also taught us, by example, what it meant to serve others.

I started taking my own sons fishing when they were two years old. Philip and Patrick rode half-day boats with me before they could even tie their own shoes. When Philip was eight and Patrick was five, we traveled to Mexico with Pete Thomas of the Los Angeles Times. They dug Pismo clams, caught surf perch, practiced their Spanish with the locals, and fell in love with the ocean the same way I had. Over the years we fished albacore and bluefin tuna, calico bass, and countless surf sessions up and down the Southern California coast. Patrick and I even became the first father-and-son team to teach at Kunshan International School in China. Wherever we went, the fishing rod was our passport to adventure and to each other.

One of our most memorable trips came when we took the boys, my wife Ruth, and professional basketball player Brian Shaw and his family on their first visit to Mexico. We stayed at Palmas de Cortez in Baja California. Brian, a dedicated freshwater bass fisherman, absolutely loved it—catching fish he had never seen before and soaking in the beauty of the place. While I drove Brian and his family to the airport in San José del Cabo, Philip and Patrick joined Captain Jose and deckhand Jose aboard the boat Whiskey. They were diving about forty feet from the boat for clams, scallops, and other fresh seafood for a feast that night when a large fin suddenly appeared between them and the boat. Captain Jose yelled “¡Tiburón!”—shark! Philip swam frantically toward the boat, terrified his legs would be taken. He reached the stern just as Jose pulled him aboard, still convinced he was about to be attacked. Then his focus shifted to Patrick, who was still in the water with the deckhand. It wasn’t a shark after all—it was a mother orca with her calf. The deckhand asked Patrick whether he wanted to swim to the boat or head for shore. Patrick, frozen with fear and able to move only his right arm, chose the beach. They swam safely to shore. When I returned and heard the story, I said, “Wow, that’s great!” The boys looked at me in disbelief: “You think your two sons almost getting eaten is great?” I smiled and told them, “Boys, this is a memory you will carry with you forever.” And it has been.

There were close calls and plenty of laughter along the way. One day I took the family out in a skiff off Hermosa Beach; the lifeguards had to rescue us. Another time Patrick declared he would never fish again if I was the captain—though he still shows up every time I call. Those stories have become family legend, the kind you retell at barbecues and birthdays because they remind us how tightly we are bound.

Patrick now lives in Florida, but Philip and I still fish together whenever we can. This Father’s Day we plan to surf fish right here at home. In August, when Patrick returns for his nephew Bo’s birthday, the three of us—Philip, Patrick, and I—will board the Unbridled with Captain Tom Durr. The boys have already said, “Let’s go catch some fish together.” That simple request means more to me than they know.

What makes me proudest this Father’s Day is not just the homes my sons have built or the strong work ethic they both possess. It is the fathers they have become. They spend time with their boys—Bo and Finn—not because it is expected, but because it is what they genuinely want to do. Philip talks constantly about the day Bo can join him on a sport boat. Patrick has ponds in his Florida backyard where he and his son fish and explore the outdoors together. In a world where so many children are glued to screens, I see my sons choosing the same path my father chose for me: get the kids outside, create memories, and let the natural world do its quiet work of bringing families closer.

There is nothing a man can do in this life that matters more than being a good father. I am blessed beyond measure that both of my sons have chosen that path. The fishing lines we cast have become something far greater than sport—they are the ties that connect my father, my sons, and my grandsons across time and distance. On this Father’s Day, and every day, I am grateful for the legacy I was given and the legacy I see continuing.