I’m a sucker for nostalgia. I also love the stories that permeate the background of everything we experience. From restaurants and bars to guitars and surfboards, I search out the story. As an example, fifteen years ago in Paris, I demanded that my wife join me at The Ritz’s Bar Hemingway, where Papa actually drank. I wanted to transport myself to his time, to see the world as he saw it, to surround myself with his mystique. So we, a young couple just getting by, headed to the glamorous hotel. The bar didn’t disappoint. The atmosphere felt unchanged. The chairs and booths covered in worn leather, and the woodwork warm and rich, as if holding the words of conversations past within its lacquer. I loved every second of it. Unfortunately, we could only stay for a few seconds. We were just getting by at the time, and we had budgeted out our spending for the trip. An €80 Bloody Mary was the cheapest. cocktail. So we split a drink, scarfed some free peanuts, and bolted.

Damage to our retirement aside, it was the perfect example of my search for nostalgia and story. In San Francisco, I often visited Caffe Trieste, where Coppola worked on The Godfather screenplay. My brother-in-law gifted me my bass guitar. The bass toured with an obscure band for years. I wear my grandfather’s watch, a Bulova that my grandmother gifted him for his birthday the year before they got married – 1949.

Over the past few weeks, a story unfolded about one of my surfboards in a seemingly choreographed set of scenes as if crafted by Coppola himself.

It was three weeks ago, and a group of us were surfing at Riddle in Manasquan. The waves were on the smaller side, so we were rocking our longboards – sometimes referred to as logs because they’re big and heavy as tree trunks. You want as long a board as possible when the waves are at your ankles. We were sitting on our logs, shooting the shit and comparing our boards. Most of us have old boards, either purchased second-hand or gifted from other surfers. I’ve mentioned the community. There’s something I’ve learned about this tight-knit crew – they are happy to pass on their gear, to see their boards get surfed by another generation.

So there we were, three of us, straddling our longboards, talking about the brands, the histories, the stories. I was on my 8’7″,1968 Gordon and Smith Hot Curl. “Your board, Matt, is the original short board,” said Tarzan. “It was part of the revolution, and everyone was like, you can’t surf on a board shorter than 9-feet!”

Who is Tarzan? He’s a local surfing legend. Been riding waves for decades. He prefers longboards and he’s the only reason I know Gordon and Smith. You’ll find him riding his bike down Manasquan’s streets, heavy-ass classic longboard under his arm, his longish blond hair blowing in the wind. Many of the boards in his quiver are G&S, and he let me try his and catch a few. I immediately loved the brand.

I now have two G&S models – the 1968 Hot Curl I was on that day, and a new Magic Fish that I bought a few months ago.

“I’d have that out all the time, Matt,” said Tarzan. “It’s a piece of history. And the company is run by the founders’ kids. Just a good brand and good boards,” he said.

Later that night, I wondered a couple things. First, just how historical is the Hot Curl? Second, if I’m out in our New Jersey small summer surf, which board is the better choice? So I did what any crazy person would do – I went on Gordon and Smith’s site and hit the “Chat” button.

In the chat window, I asked which board is better for small waves? I watched the animated dots as someone on the other side responded.

For small waves, the Hot Curl is your better bet, but the Magic is our favorite board, they replied.

Thanks. By the way, I already have both. And my Hot Curl is from 1968, I said.

Wow, that’s a pretty rare board. Can you send pictures?

Aside from realizing that I wasn’t conversing with some bot, I was also very intrigued by the excitement coming from the brand. So I attached a few pictures of the board and closed the chat window.

Later that night, Tarzan texted me. Hey, just bought a book by Gordon and Smith called One Long Ride. Looks pretty cool. I immediately bought the book, too.

Fast forward a few days, the time it takes for shipping. I see the package on my front porch, so I crack it open and start thumbing through the pages. It’s the history of the brand, their boards, and their shapers. It’s loaded with old pictures and ads and shots of folks enjoying themselves in the waves. There on page 74 is an ad from 1968 for my Hot Curl, and the ad’s headline How Short?

I smile like a clown, feeling the mojo flowing, these coincidences colliding like two galaxies. I’ve got something here, I say to myself. I then grab my piece of history and head to The Inlet to surf for an hour. After a good session, I’m walking off the beach and passed two older gents. “Holy crap,” said one of the guys. “Is that an original Hot Curl?”

I stopped, knowing he was talking to me. “It sure is,” I said. “From sixty-eight.”

We chatted for a few minutes. As I packed up my car I became even more convinced I had to write about this board of mine. So I got home and opened up the Gordon and Smith site and re-opened the chat window. Me again, I said. I write this periodical you’ve probably never heard of called Triple B. I’m going to write about my Hot Curl and am wondering if I can take a picture of the ad from the book? I watched the animated dots.

That’s awesome. You were probably talking to Eric Gordon. Instead of taking a picture of a picture, reach out to him and he’ll send you a few digital copies from our archives.

Holy shit. I was actually talking to the owners, the family of the founders. I promptly emailed Eric Gordon and thanked him for chatting with me online. He sent me a few original ads and gave me a little more history on the ’68 Hot Curl.

Since then, I’ve let friends try the board, to feel the nostalgia beneath their feet as they glide across waves. Others on the beach and in the lineup have stopped me and asked about it, and I happily shared its story.

How did I wind up with this board in my quiver? I found it at a board swap. The owner asked for a couple hundred bucks, a few beers, and a promise to scatter necklace beads on the beach in Bay Head. The necklace had belonged to his surfer friend who had recently passed. “Enjoy the board,” he said, “I’m happy it’s going to get some love.”

When I first rode it, Tarzan said, “I’m glad you found a board with soul.” And that’s just it. I’m a sucker for nostalgia and I’m a sucker for story. I’ve talked a lot about how surfing is more than just an activity – it’s a cleanse of the mind and soul. As a community, we love nothing more than knowing that the boards we enjoyed will continue being enjoyed. I love my Hot Curl, but I can’t wait to pass it on to the next grom.

A special thanks to Eric Gordon and the folks at Gordon and Smith, to Tarzan for being a fantastic role model, to Mike who sold me the board with soul, and to the rest of the Manasquan crew who got me into this beautiful sport.