Hal Dunnigan | lacola-trust-fund

Hal Dunnigan

Hal Dunnigan’s Memorial - Eulogy

Good morning… my name is Greg Bonann, and I am an LA County Lifeguard. On Monday I begin my 57th summer as a Recurrent Lifeguard, and my 14th as a Jr. Lifeguard Instructor at Zuma Beach.

All the lifeguards here know about "the luck of the tower."

That fantastic rescue you got to make. The life you saved. The person whose family was reunited because you happened to be there.

People call you a hero, but the truth is, it could have been any one of us. But, by the luck of the tower, it was simply your day to work that stretch of beach.

I feel the same way about being asked by Holly to speak today.

There are so many people here who loved Hal. So many of you who Hal loved. So many people whose lives were changed by him. It really could have been any one of you standing up here.

But, like “the luck of the tower” - today it's me.

So I hope I can find words worthy of a man who meant so much to all of us.

Holly has chosen a wonderful line up of speakers today. So, you will soon hear about Hal Dunnigan the Frog Man.

You'll hear about Hal the lifeguard, the instructor, the leader, the husband, the mentor, and the friend.

But I'd like to talk about the Hal Dunnigan that I knew.

And give you a little peek at “The man who changed my life.”

I first met Hal in April of 1970 right here in this garage! I was a seventeen-year-old rookie lifeguard candidate.

1I can still see it.

Nineteen rookies.

Cold.

Wet.

Nervous.

Rescue equipment scattered all around.

And Hal pacing back and forth in front of us.

I remember looking at this man and thinking, "Wow. This guy is awesome."

What I was soon to learn was that Hal was the best of the best. Who else would Myron Cox have chosen to teach us!

At seventeen, Hal had my full attention because he was the first person to play what I call the "life or death card."

Only a rookie school instructor can do that.

He told us that if we screwed up, people can die.

Not might.

Can.

And he told us stories about lifeguards who lost someone in the surf and never came back to the job because the weight of that loss was simply too much to carry.

Then he taught us something that would stay with me for the next fifty-

six years.

Trust.

He explained that integrity, character, and honesty were not just admirable qualities. They were essential requirements.

Without them, trust doesn't exist.

And without trust, you cannot save lives.

You cannot rely on your partner.

You cannot rely on your back-up.

At the time, I thought Hal was teaching us how to be lifeguards.

Fifty-six years later, I realize he was teaching us how to live.

Those lessons carried me through every challenge I would ever face.

On the beach.

In business.

In television production.

In friendships.

In marriage.

In life.

The older I get, the more I realize that almost everything important begins and ends with trust.

And I learned that sitting in that garage listening to Hal Dunnigan.

About a year later, (it’s 1971 now!) Hal taught me another lesson.

One day he simply said, "Bonann, be at Bob Chambers' house Tuesday night at eight o'clock. It’s on the corner of Outrigger and Pacific."

That was it.

No explanation.

No details.

Just be there.

So… I showed up.

I walked into a living room of 4 men: Hal, Bob Chambers, Rudy Guitel and Conrad Liberty.

Lifeguard Giants.

The best of the best.

What I didn't know at the time, but was soon to learn, was that I was witnessing the formation of what would eventually become our first labor organization and they had identified me as someone who, eventually, would take over leadership of the labor union. So….

I sat quietly.

Watched.

Listened.

Took notes.

And learned.

What I didn't understand then was that Hal was not just inviting me to a meeting. He was inviting me into adulthood.

Many years later Hal shared something with me that made that evening make complete sense.

He said: "The transition from adolescence to adulthood is rarely made by the parent. It is made by someone else who sees something in that young person that they don’t see in themselves."

That was Hal.

He saw things in people before they saw them in themselves.

He certainly saw something in me.

And because he did, my life took a different path.

That lesson has stayed with me ever since.

In fact, today when I mentor young people, I often tell them:

"I see something in you that you don't yet see in yourself."

Every single time I say it, I think of Hal.

You can see it in the kids eyes when I tell them.

They look confused at first.

Then they smile.

Because somebody has finally seen something in them, they hoped might be there but weren't completely sure existed.

Hal gave that gift to countless people.

Not just me.

Hundreds of lifeguards.

Young men and women trying to find their way.

That's his legacy.

Not a résumé.

Not titles.

Not awards.

People.

Hal built people.

…. Now, if all of this makes Hal sound too serious, let me assure you he wasn't.

One of my favorite memories of Hal was the first day I ever worked a tower with him. It was Will Rogers Tower 18 and, of course, I was working with my Rookie School Instructor, so I was nervous as hell.

As we stood on top of the ramp together, Hal would ask questions like:

"What do you see out there?"

"What's the tide doing?"

"What's the surf going to do?"

"Is anyone potentially in trouble?"

"Can you make a difference in someone's day? Week? Life?"

Then he'd send me out on patrol to go see what I could do.

I'd come back inspired, motivated, ready to save the world...

Only to discover that while I was gone, Hal had eaten my lunch.

That was Hal too.

Always teaching.

Always laughing.

Always enjoying the company of friends.

And maybe occasionally stealing a sandwich.

One of the things I loved most about him was that he taught by example.

He didn't spend a lot of time telling people what kind of person to be.

He showed them. And I still struggle to live up to those principals:

Service to others.

Accountability.

Solution instead of complaint.

Contribution instead of criticism.

Character instead of ego.

He also believed in bringing people together.

"Let's have lunch."

"Get the guys together."

How many times did we hear that?

How many lunches did we share over the years?

Looking back, one of Hal's greatest gifts was that he never let a friendship fade.

The phone calls.

The books that would unexpectedly arrive in the mail.

The articles he'd send.

The simple check-ins that let you know he was thinking about you.

He had a remarkable way of staying connected to the people he cared about.

Over the years, those small gestures added up to something extraordinary.

They reminded all of us that we mattered to him.

Because Hal understood something important.

The friendships were never separate from the job.

The friendships were the greatest benefits of the job.

In a world that often celebrates individual achievement, Hal understood that everything worthwhile is built together.

When I think about Hal today, I don't think first about the Navy SEAL.

Or the lifeguard.

Or the instructor.

I think about how he made people feel.

He made you want to be better.

He made you stand a little taller.

He made you believe you were capable of more than you thought possible.

And that may be the greatest gift one person can give another.

So today, as we say goodbye, I keep coming back to one simple truth.

- Every rescue I ever made.

- Every Jr. Guard or Lifeguard I ever trained.

- Every “story” I ever told

- Every young person I ever mentored.

Somewhere in all of that are Hal's fingerprints.

And I know I'm not alone.

Look around.

His fingerprints are everywhere.

On this beach.

In this building.

In this organization.

In this community.

And in the lives of YOU people gathered here today.

Thank you, Hal.

For the lessons.

For the friendship.

For the example.

For believing in a seventeen-year-old kid sitting in a garage who had no idea how much his life was about to change.

You saw something in us before we saw it in ourselves.

And because you did, we are all better for it.

The last serious conversation we had, and we spoke almost every Sunday afternoon, was telling: “How can you go wrong Gregory, you had me as your rudder and “lifeguarding" as your sail!”

We'll carry it forward from here, Hal.

And if we're lucky, one day someone will say of us what we say of you today: "He made my life better simply because he was in it."

"I love you, Hal."

"Thank you."