A Fresno girl’s talents earned her a beach trip, and life-changing view of the ocean

The stench of seaweed overwhelmed my senses, yet the thunderous roar called to me. I leaned over a rail along the wharf, mesmerized by the rhythm of waves rising, catapulting, then crashing, rolling back and charging again and again. In the distance the blue water seemed to melt into blue sky. I thought about the bravery of early explorers sailing into these waters, not knowing if they would fall off the Earth. Most of all, I remember thinking how something could be both beautiful and deadly.

Fearful of the dangers lurking below the sea, I imagined the waves ruthlessly tumbling someone into its depths. Whales, sharks, and swordfish leaped to life from the pages of my father’s National Geographic Magazines. That afternoon I witnessed the brute force of the Pacific Ocean for the very first time, and I understood how it embodied both life and death. I was 12 years old, old enough to both marvel and fear.

Until then, my familiarity with oceans was limited to the blue spaces on world maps, painted pictures hanging atop chalkboards in Fremont Elementary School classrooms. I wondered how anyone could know how large to color the oceans in comparison to North America and Europe and Africa and all the other continents the waters butted against. It looked as if the lands simply floated atop the waters of the world.

I did know the Pacific Ocean was not far from Fresno. My aunts, uncles and cousins spent summers in Santa Cruz, and shared photos of their sand digging, castle building, and sun bathing. Because my family could not afford such a vacation, our holiday adventure involved a 45-minute drive for an afternoon picnic at Millerton Lake — roasted chicken, potato salad, and watermelon riding along in the trunk of our 1950 Pontiac Sedan.

Mom set up our lunch on a picnic table, we ate, took a walk along the water, and drove home. Because none of us knew how to swim and because the polio vaccine had not yet been invented, our water play had consisted of running through sprinklers in our front yard.

So, when I won 1st place in the Fresno Exchange Club’s Talent Contest my 6th grade year and was expected to go to Santa Barbara for the statewide competition, my elation fizzled. How would I get there? My father had escaped the Armenian genocide, found his way to France, Ellis Island, Detroit, and finally Fresno County, where he planted himself along with a 40-acre vineyard before he replanted himself by moving to the city. Driving to Santa Barbara was out of the question.

My talent was a pantomime dance routine to Mary Martin’s “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair” from South Pacific. I had felt so proud of myself, creating a soft shoe dance routine though I’d never taken a dance lesson. My costume came from my friend Pam’s hand-me-down leotard, tights, and ballet shoes. I even made a top hat from cardboard and painted it black. To complete my costume, I borrowed my grandpa’s gold-tipped cane.

Although other seemingly talented contestants twirled batons, played musical instruments, danced tap or ballet, or sang, I won 1st Place in the Fremont Elementary contest, then 1st Place in both the district and Fresno County divisions. I was presented with a black and gold trophy from the Fresno Exchange Club that now sits on a bookshelf in my den.

With no way to get to Santa Barbara, it appeared my triumph had come to an end until my complaining caught the ears of Aunt Rose, my mother’s sister. She and Uncle Sam volunteered to drive me and pay for the motel room. I was so excited and so naïve about the winding, coastal road. As we left the flat Valley for the snaking highway, my belly revolted, and I lunged for the door handle.

“Pull over,” my Cousin Richie shouted, sitting next to me in the back. Aunt Rose turned to witness the color draining from my face as Uncle Sam parked on the side of the road. I stumbled out, taking deep breaths as Aunt Rose ordered, while aunt, uncle, and cousin waited patiently for me to recover.

But my embarrassment dissipated with everyone’s laughter when Uncle Sam blurted, “It’s a good thing that Paso Robles restaurant we stopped for Belgium waffles was closed!” For the remainder of the trip I lay on the back seat, afraid to open my eyes.

When we arrived at the motel, which sat directly across from the Pacific Ocean, I grabbed Aunt Rose’s hand and practically yanked her toward the beach. We walked-ran to the wharf, where I leaned over the railing, astounded by the expanse of blue, spellbound by the rhythmic rising and crashing of waves. The water seemed to be alive. Its symphony of cacophony — deafening, thunderous — felt ironically soothing in its repetitive rhythm. I could have watched it for hours.

The next day at the Civic Auditorium where we competed, I placed 3rd with my pantomime and soft-shoe routine and received a $20 check. But I left Santa Barbara with so much more — a love for the power and beauty of the Pacific Ocean.

Over the years, as I shared this story with friends, I have come to realize that many who live in our Midwestern or mideastern dtates may have never seen the beauty, the magnificence of the Pacific Ocean except on television or a movie screen. As for me, I am still drawn to the Pacific coastline — to the water’s edge, to the roar of crashing tides, to the rhythmic ebb and flow of waves, and to leaving my footprints in the washed sands.

Pauline Sahakian is a retired Clovis English teacher, Fresno State composition and education instructor, and UC Merced Writing Project Director. She was the 1994 Fresno County Teacher of the Year, CA Teacher of the Year Finalist, and 2016 CSU Fresno Noted Alumni Award recipient. paulinesahakian@outlook.com.

This story was originally published November 29, 2019 at 8:00 AM with the headline "A Fresno girl’s talents earned her a beach trip, and life-changing view of the ocean."