Debbie Friedman brings story of California’s first women lifeguards to life in new memoir

It’s been 35 years since Debbie Friedman’s lifeguarding days, but the stories did not wash away with the tide. This year, she wrote a book to gather and share the untold history of pioneering women lifeguards.

Her memoir, “Guarded: Women, Water, and Saving Lives,” recounts her experiences and those of many other women who entered the male-dominated field of ocean lifeguarding in California in the 1970s and ’80s.

When Friedman got her first job as a lifeguard, she was unaware that so few women had held the job before.

“I just assumed that women were afforded these opportunities, when only a few years prior, women weren’t even getting access to swim programs,” she said, referring to the sea change that the civil rights law Title IX brought to athletics when it guaranteed equal access to sports in schools. 

A city kid from Los Angeles, Friedman moved to Orange County at age 13 and started swimming for the Mission Viejo Nadadores club. She earned a swim scholarship to San Diego State University, where one of her male teammates encouraged her to attend a lifeguarding tryout.

She thought, “Why not?”

At 18, Friedman arrived at Huntington State Beach in 1978 to find she was the only woman trying out.

“I showed up and looked around me at the 100 men standing beside me. I didn’t know that women were not going to be there with me and that, at the time, there were perhaps 10 women lifeguarding up and down the coast,” she said.

Friedman was one of the top finishers at the tryouts and began her lifeguard training in spring 1978 at San Clemente State Beach, alongside her swimming teammate Kim Raymont.

All new lifeguards experience rookie fears, such as not spotting a swimmer in distress or shouldering life-or-death responsibilities. But many women lifeguards felt added pressure, with less mentorship from male trainers and colleagues. Friedman said starting her lifeguard career with another woman made her initial experience different from other early women.

“We had each other. We were able to meet after work, compare notes, decide what was helpful, what wasn’t, and how we were seen as women,” she said. “Certainly we wondered about the things that made us feel insecure, but for at least the two of us, it was part of who we were. We brought so much more than our gender to the job.”

At the time, every woman was considered “the first” at a particular beach, and each beach had its own culture, which often determined whether or not women lifeguards would be accepted.

“Women hadn’t guarded on my beach in San Clemente,” she said. “And men were still shaking their heads going, ‘I don’t know if women can cut it here. We have big surf and gnarly conditions.’”

The early women Friedman interviewed frequently brought up the loaded phrase “one of the boys.” She said many women lifeguards felt they needed to be “one of the boys” to become a respected lifeguard.

Among the many lifeguards’ stories in her book is that of Janet Ordell, who worked as a lifeguard at Silver Strand State Beach, on the border with Tijuana, with another woman – an outgoing party girl who was quickly accepted among the men. Ordell, despite her strength and qualifications, was sidelined and received little support from her male colleagues.

Ordell and Friedman worked for the same lifeguard agency at the same time. While Friedman found a career path at her beach in San Clemente, Ordell didn’t know how to get promoted.

“It was difficult to hear her story all these years later and not feel a sense of guilt,” said Friedman. “I wish I’d known her and that she’d worked in a place where she could be told how to promote. I wish she was not laughed at or considered a joke.”

After four summer seasons in San Clemente, Friedman became the first woman permanent lifeguard peace officer with California State Parks in fall of 1981. She returned full circle to Huntington State Beach, where her lifeguard tryouts first took place.

Another chapter in her book is about the absurdities of Huntington State Beach’s male chauvinist culture. Friedman described how her colleagues were constantly competing and chest-thumping in a crude, almost fraternity-like manner. She said Huntington was famous for the phrase “ROCO,” an acronym for “rock out with your cock out.”

“It was a full-on ritual that definitely excluded women,” said Friedman. “I don’t think they did it to be anti-woman. But did it belong in any form, much less a workplace? No way.” She noted that not all lifeguard agencies were active participants in these antics.

A more practical obstacle faced by the first women lifeguards was the locker rooms. She describes San Clemente State Beach’s dingy garage and maintenance bathroom that everyone had to share, oftentimes leaving women high and dry with few places to use the bathroom or change clothes in private.

“Women didn’t join to overcome these big obstacles put in front of them, to prove themselves to be as worthy as men,” she said. “We brought an incredible amount of strength and passion for lifeguarding. What we wanted was supportive people to teach us how to be a lifeguard.”

In writing her book, she realized that no early woman lifeguard shared the same experience. A chapter in her book highlights Debra Trauntvein, who went to school in Santa Barbara and entered lifeguarding through the surf world. She joined her sister on the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii, to train with surf legend and lifeguard Eddie Aikau. In her first week on the island, she witnessed three dead bodies, all drowning victims, brought to shore by helicopter.

The stories shared in her book transcend the usual stereotypes of lifeguarding, like its portrayal in the iconic 1990s series “Baywatch.”

“We are not ‘Baywatch,’” said Friedman, chuckling because she gets asked this question often. “My book is not anti-‘Baywatch.’ It’s just a much bigger picture for people that don’t know our story.”

Friedman worked as a lifeguard for 12 years, five as a seasonal guard and seven full-time, before making Santa Cruz County her home in 1989. She retired from lifeguarding and began a second career path working with local community-based organizations. Her two children followed in her footsteps and became lifeguards along California’s coastline.

“This story is larger than gender,” she said. “We were different. How do different people find their way in these professions?”

The work of a lifeguard is a huge undertaking, and can often be a matter of life and death. Friedman recalled the feeling of looking at a victim and realizing that if she wasn’t there, they could have drowned. Her formative experiences in lifeguarding gave her perspective.

“I have learned this from almost every lifeguard I’ve ever met that the baseline is a person’s life.” she said. “We can all afford to step back, take a breath and address whatever’s in front of us, no matter what our job is.”

Friedman ends her book in the present day, at her home in Rio Del Mar. Her final ocean rescue took place on the beach right below her house, where she saved a young boy from a notorious spring rip current.

Friedman recently celebrated the launch of her memoir at La Selva State Beach, with around 100 friends and interested readers in attendance. “Guarded: Women, Water, and Saving Lives” is now available online and at Bookshop Santa Cruz upon request.

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