Along The Old Pacific Coast Highway

A cautionary word or two about the following text. This is my story, as best I can tell it,of living inside a sucking hole of disquietude and the unruly consequences that follow. Don't we all use our imaginations to fill in the holes in reality? I encourage you to cast aside your disbelief and logical . appraisal in reading this. In short, this account is about running after the impossible. It is our common lot to do so. Certainly you can deny it.

There are pages, chapters and books written about my father, Malibu surfing legend Miki Dora-impersonal perceptions, speculations and gossipy tidbits of combined fragments stitched together by writers who either condemned or approved his chosen way of life. As his forsaken son I have kept silent, preserving his wish to guard his private life from the judgmental eye of the public, whom he despised; at times I grew either indignant or amused at some of the preposterous and dubious stories I read about him. The truth of the matter is, my dedicated abstention and motive to remain quiet wasn't for his sake but out of fear of discovering my true identity.

Anyway, most writers on Dora hasten to write him off as a petty thief, albeit recognizing him as the most dexterous one on the coast. His criminal success was due to his slick dialogue-which contained the hypnotic power of a snake charmer-and his speed of light sleight -of-hand. Without understanding the entire soul of the man and his world-where theft for survival was not a transgression against the laws of nature, which held precedence over man-made laws of the coercive state powers-nothing can be truly written about him. Dora's locus was always the natural world. Diminutive and flawed replicated portraits of Dora are due simply to the diminutive imaginations of writers who only see a cigar as a cigar.

MICKIE DORA aka 'Da Cat" -1937-2000

MICKIE AT TOPANGA BEACH, CALIFORNIA

I LIKE WOODIES