The L.A. Q&A: Norman Ollestad Jr., Survivor Type

Norman Ollestad Jr. would be living a singular life even without the early tragedy. Growing up on Topanga Beach before the government stripped the shack houses from the surfers and the locals, Ollestad was the son of a former child actor turned FBI agent turned whistleblower, who was also a fan of extreme sports. Ollestad Sr. would push little Norman to the limits, teaching him to surf the roughest waters and ski the hardiest terrain. The latter experience led to Jr. becoming a skiing champion; on their way to a race, he, his father, his father's girlfriend, and pilot all crashed in the San Gabriel mountains. The crash killed his father and the pilot instantly, and the girlfriend perished soon after, leaving 11-year-old Norman to fend for himself in the wilderness. He writes about his experience in his just-released memoir Crazy for the Storm. Now a father himself, Ollestad has resurfaced in Venice Beach, where he lives in the Canals, surfs and skis, and takes in the local scene.

You are a lifelong Angeleno. What was it like growing up here into your teens and turning 21?
I grew up on Topanga Beach ... I was 21 when I was 15 ‘cause you had to have your fake ID. By the time I was 21, I was over it. I was kind like, “I did that.” Partying in the early-mid 80s in L.A. was pretty much the pinnacle of partying. It was all downhill from there.

In your book you talk about learning to surf and ski with your father—did you ever get into the surf music scene? Or were the Beach Boys a national fantasy of California livin’?
In Topanga, there were a lot of bands always playing on the porches. One called Blue Juice had some of the best surfers around. They’d play every weekend—big parties with three or four hundred people, in the summer or winter, nothing stopped. There was a lot of bluesy sixties vibe to it. You could surf and hear the band while you were surfing. In those times it didn’t cost ten million to live on the beach, it cost fifty bucks to live in a giant house. Then the government declared eminent domain. We fought them for seven years; we had seven “last summers.” It was in ‘79 that we finally lost. It was the summer before the plane crash.

You survived a harrowing experience; do you ever go back to those mountains for recreation, or is it too hard? The mountains are so beautiful, but people forget how dangerous they can be.
Sure, there’s great hiking there. I met up with the rescue guys’ son ... it was interesting. Leonard Cohen—he used to live there at the Zen Center. He went through this whole monk phase ... it was up in Mount Baldwin. The mountains are really steep and rugged, and that’s where he did his whole zen trip. It has a lot of history in terms of lore, because they are such rugged mountains, there are always people being rescued there. People are always fallin’ or dyin.’ But it’s great recreation. In an hour and ten minutes you could be walking down a creek amongst big boulders, and you’d think you were in Colorado.

Your are not necessarily a nightlife guy, but when you do go out, what do you like to check out? What do you think of the Venice scene? How has it changed over the last few years?
I like the Venice scene. I live on the Canals, and I can hop on my bike, go to Gjelina and sit at the community table, and meet new people. I’ll get a call from William Attaway, a local artist, and he’ll be having a party. This happened recently—there were people in from India. He just had a spontaneous party with all his sculptures out, and the Indians were playing music. I’d never heard that sound before. This happens all the time. And you ride your bike the whole time. It’s all five minutes away ... it’s all contained. It feels like a communal experience, and it is.

What about the gentrification of Venice?
Sure, money changes everything, and not all for the worst. There’s a lot of great places like Gjelina to go eat to get great food. I used to surf for Chris Cahill and just to go check out your board and get it shaved was terrifying. You never knew if a drive by would roll up on you. It’s nice not to have that anymore.

Sometimes gentrification can tip over too far and kill the original charm of a place.
I don’t think it’s tipped over yet. You can go to Brooks or Indiana and score some crack. They are all out on Brooks and Indiana—the crackheads are out wild-eyed and tripping. I had five bikes stolen in last year and a half—crappy bikes—so it’s still there.

Describe your perfect L.A. day—and night.
I wake up—there’s be a big pumping swell—and surf one of the secret spots in Malibu which I can’t mention. You’d go to lunch at John’s Garden—it’s in the Malibu Country Mart, but it’s been there for 30 years plus. Get a tuna sandwich. Maybe give Malibu a second go. I live on the Canals—maybe have people come by play a little music. Go to Gjelina or Shima. Shima is great sushi ... it just blows everything away ... everything is organic, even the beer. And then if there’s not an artist party, go up to the Brig. If it’s Sunday or Monday night, go to Hal’s and listen to some blues. If I do venture to Hollywood, I go to Cheebo—it’s a restaurant, run by some guys, an American who lived in France. It’s a combo of French and Italian, but it’s clean Californian fare. Or I’d got toHotel Cafe if I wanted listen to music. They’ve got nichey great music ... it’s rock and roll, kind of folksy.

What work of art—film, book, or short story—best represents Los Angeles?
Less Than Zero. That was in my era, and I think it captured it really well. I think Bret Easton Ellis a great writer.

Which Los Angeleno do you most admire and why?
That’s a zinger. I don’t think about people that way. Well, OK, it’s a weird one but: Vince Scully, the baseball announcer for the Dodgers. He’s been there ... he’s the longest-lasting announcer in America. He’s considered one of the greatest sports announcers that ever lived. Luckily he’s alive and does the Dodger games. He’s been here forever. He’s a legend, really.

Why him?
His commentary, his way of talking about baseball is like great writing. It’s like poetry, his metaphors, everything.

What’s the most annoying cliché about Los Angeles?
Ah, well, this doesn’t really answer the question, but ... well, people say, “That’s so L.A., those people are so L.A.” I’m a native and not one native that I know is acting in that “so L.A.” way. If you are at a party and someone is acting “so L.A.,” it’s always someone who moved here that is acting so L.A..

My guess is that you’ve always been a West Side guy; do you spend much time on the East Side—is there a spot you like?
When I go to the East Side, I love Cheebo or Little Door ... they are all in Hollywood.

I love that Hollywood is as far East as you go.
I go to Dodger games in Atwater, do the Silverlake thing. But it’s an extra grind for me. I’ve been there. I think it’s really groovy. It doesn’t really fit my thing. I need the water. There’s not much good surf in Silverlake. If I was gonna do that urban thing, I’d just move to New York, but I guess you wouldn’t have the weather. However, if you are into fashion, cold weather comes into play. You can wear all your cool outfits. All the designer stuff you can’t wear that here, it’s too hot.

Andy Warhol said, “I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They’re beautiful. Everybody’s plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic.” What do you think of that?
I think that’s an example of what I said before. There’s nobody from L.A. that’s plastic ... it’s only the people that come from somewhere else. That take on this plastic image, and everyone says how L.A. they are, just like Andy Warhol.

Norman Ollestad is reading from Crazy for the Storm three times in the next few weeks: Vroman’s Bookstore (695 E. Colorado Blvd., June 25, 7pm), Diesel Books (3890 Cross Creek Rd., June 28, 3pm), and Village Books (1049 Swarthmore Ave., July 9, 7:30pm).

Photo: Jules Revelle

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