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to this site since March 21, 1998 LAST UPDATED APRIL 13, 1998 |
This page is a collection of stuff that can be found on the net, in print, on TV and other places about us and our jobs. It is by no means a complete reference, so if you'd like to contribute material, please send me a note using the appropriate link. Anything is useful, including your comments, which will help shape this page for those who can benefit from it now, and also future lifeguards.
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LIFEGUARD is a discussion list featuring conversation relating to all aspects of lifeguarding. The list has already covered such topics as first aid, uniforms, pay, rescue procedures, standards, textbooks, equipment and will continue to talk about these issues and more. We are open to any new ideas, or questions regarding why things are the way they are in the lifeguarding world.
THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF A LIFEGUARD
What I Saw At The Swimming Pool
Breasts, buttocks and balls. Welcome to a typical day at the local
swimming pool. For six years, I worked as a lifeguard. Perched on the
standard lifeguard chair, I was not only the sentry of safety conscious
swimmers, but also a parade of bad taste.
The much publicized concern over topless women invading local swimming
pools is entertaining. During my years in the chair, I learned an
important life lesson: it is impossible to legislate, control or harness
bad taste, which is at the centre of this whole debate. Please don't be
blinded by the headlights of equal rights. Lifeguards already have
enough questionable choices in swimming garb and behaviour to deal with.
Bare breasts would only double the workload.
The white T-shirt: something so simple. So basic. Just add water and a
woman -- the white T-shirt instantly surrenders its status as a casual
Calvin Klein fashion statement. Without delay, it is now a prop for
sleazy contests at many watering holes across the country. Add a public
swimming pool and some women think it's appropriate bathing attire.
On more than one occasion, I had to explain to unsuspecting women, or so
they claimed, that when a white T-shirt gets wet it's just like wearing
nothing at all. ``Excuse me ma'am, but I don't think your choice of
attire is appropriate. Do you mind at least putting a bra on
underneath?''
This type of scenario leaves the lifeguard in a Catch-22 situation.
Technically, the woman is not topless. Nevertheless, her choice in
fashion inevitably makes her a public spectacle and subsequently
distracts the lifeguard from watching the pool, especially those of the
male persuasion.
Then there's the thong. I'm not talking about those comfortable,
form-fitting summer slippers either. I'm referring to the thong that
fits smoothly between the cheeks. Dental floss for the buttocks, so to
speak. Both men and women are guilty of this brazen infraction.
Outside the walls of a pool it has a different name -- mooning. The
guilty can even face criminal charges. But mooners enjoy a solace in the
politically correct world of municipal recreation facilities.
Thong enthusiasts simply say the solution is to look the other way.
Unfortunately, this response is easier said than done, especially when
it's your job as a lifeguard to look every way. Much like an eclipse,
it's impossible not to look despite constant warnings. When the moon
precariously passes between the sun and the earth and darkness fills the
sky, one cannot help glance at the all-encompassing darkness. It
surrounds you. It stares at you. It's everywhere.
The old bathing suit presents another problem. Lycra, the material most
swimsuits are made of, and chlorine are not the best of friends.
Chlorine helps keep pools clean, but there's a reason why it stings the
eyes. It's acid eats away at innocent bathing suits, robbing them of
vibrant colours and much-needed elasticity.
Within weeks of constant exposure, bright apple-red swimming suits
disintegrate into pale, flesh-toned colours. The elasticity disappears
and suits inevitably mutate into shaggy potato sack skins. Hence, the
white T-shirt phenomenon. Men and woman desperately in need of support
above and below the waistline are oblivious to the short lifespan of the
bathing suit and end up exposing their birthday suits instead.
The spitters: I know chlorine isn't the most pleasant tasting thing, but
regurgitating water along with other bodily fluids is disgusting. But
time and time again, some people think it's OK to spit at swimming
pools. The worst is when they use nasal clearing facilities such as the
hot tub and sauna as cheap decongestants.
The fornicators: It amazes me how many people think a public pool,
steamroom, sauna or bathroom stall are free motel rooms.
Or how about the randy couple that squirmed their way into the
children's plastic playhouse minutes before we were to shut down for the
evening. ``Attention swimmers: we are now closed. Could everyone please
exit the pool and surrounding areas.'' I put down the microphone and
wait patiently for a few minutes. I couldn't resist, ``Including the
plastic house!''
The couple sheepishly squeezed out of the minuscule plastic door and
disappeared into the family change room. We were paid overtime that
night.
Once again, the lifeguard on duty is taken away from ensuring public
safety to separate animals in heat. You wouldn't believe how much fun
using cold water hoses can be, and believe me, we have.
Why should lifeguards and the general public be forced to witness these
types of belligerent behaviour And now bare breasts can be added to the
list.
Contrary to popular Baywatch belief, lifeguards do have a job to do and
it isn't to police a pathetic, tactless attempt at equal rights.
Municipal decision makers can ponder the idea of half-clad women
galavanting across pool decks until they are red in the face. In the
end, they won't have to deal with the front-line consequences.
So-called equal-rights crusaders say they want to advance the status of
women. Call me when the focus shifts to something useful like equal pay.
The only thing that will advance from the right to bare female bosoms is
the ratio of perverts at public swimming pools.
Copyright The Spectator (Hamilton) 1997 All Rights Reserved.
Angels of the lake: Trio pulls woman from Lake Ontario
Three angels were at work to save a young woman's life.
Ted Low, 19, Mat Daley, 19, and Pat Burgess, 41, worked together to save
a woman who tried to drown herself in Lake Ontario at Spencer Smith Park
Saturday about 2 a.m.
Halton police say the three will be recommended for a commendation.
``We were the angels. The guardian angels for this young woman,''
Burgess said yesterday. ``I think someone upstairs was steering us,
honest to goodness.''
Burgess is amazed that he, a long distance runner, and the others - a
lifeguard and a football lineman - were in the park at the right moment
to make the rescue. One minute later and all three would have been gone
from the park.
The 25-year-old woman, who has a two-year-old son, is recuperating at
Joseph Brant Memorial Hospital in Burlington. She is very grateful, said
Burgess, and remembers almost nothing of the event.
Daley, a recreation student and lifeguard, and Low, a lineman with the
University of Waterloo Warriors football team, were visiting Low's
mother on Ontario Street for the weekend.
About 1 a.m. they went for a hamburger. After they ate they decided to
go for a walk in the park.
Near the Venture Inn they saw a taxi pull up. A woman got out, walked
briskly down a path and into the water as one-metre waves smashed the
shore.
``We saw a distraught woman. She was crying,'' said Daley.
``We looked at each other and thought, `What's that lady doing?' Then we
noticed her trot down the rocks and into the water. We knew what we had
to do.''
Daley, a six-foot-one, 185 pound athlete, knew he could not enter the
water with clothes on. He stripped to his underwear and headed in, while
Low sprinted to an emergency phone they had noticed minutes before.
``It was cold, very cold,'' recalls Daley. He reached the woman with
difficulty, fighting the waves. The woman was semi-conscious and heavy
in her clothes, but Daley was able to hold her head above water with a
lifeguard's arm hold.
Meanwhile, Low reached the phone with a direct line to the Burlington
Fire Department.
When he saw Burgess running nearby he told him what was happening and
Burgess sprinted towards the Venture Inn.
He would normally never run so far from his Burloak home in winter
conditions. He had run nine kilometres to get there.
``I was worried,'' Daley said he was thinking when Burgess arrived.
``I'm running on guts alone. That water is rough. It could drag us both
out.''
Burgess entered the water to his waist with his clothes on and helped
drag the woman to rocks near shore.
He felt a weak pulse and both he and Daley gave the woman mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation and she convulsed and began to breathe a little. They
could not move her. They were too tired and the rocks too slippery. By
this point, Daley's fingers were numb and wouldn't bend.
Low arrived and he entered the water, too, after stripping off his
clothing. The big six-foot-one, 250-pound linesman was able to lift the
woman part way up the rocks. Together they carried her to the walkway
where Low and Daley piled their own clothes on her and laid down on
either side of her to keep her warm.
Emergency crews arrived and took her into the Venture Inn for treatment
and then to hospital.
Daley said his years of training with the City of London's pool program
helped. ``The training just took over. I did something anyone would
do.''
For Burgess, a London Life insurance agent who runs late at night after
his family is in bed, the experience means all the more because a little
child has his mother back.
``It really gives you a perspective. How precious life is and how
quickly it can be gone.''
Copyright The Spectator (Hamilton) 1997 All Rights Reserved.
A case for choice: Municipalities are too concerned about covering the
court's topless ruling with community standard guidelines.
A woman has as much right as a man to go topless in public, whether
going to the park, the grocery store or strolling along the beach. The
Ontario Court of Appeal has ruled. That is the law.
As long as women don't bare their breasts for commercial purposes such
as prostitution, they are perfectly within their rights.
The ruling isn't good enough for some municipal leaders across the
province.
Since the court said Gwen Jacobs' summertime topless stroll was not an
indecent act, bureaucrats and elected officials have spent an inordinate
amount of time and energy drafting new rules governing proper attire for
public swimming pools. The result has been a series of half-baked
solutions. In Ottawa, for example, tops must be worn at indoor swimming
pools, but they can come off at beaches and outdoor municipal pools. In
Burlington, going topless is taboo, period -- outside and inside
municipal pools. In Hamilton, you can walk the public beach strip
without a top, but you have to cover up if you want to swim at a
recreation centre.
Trying to redefine what the court ruled is counter-productive. Any laws
or regulations about this issue must reflect the spirit and intent of
the appeal court ruling.
There is no compelling legal reason why women can't be shirtless.
Some have made the case it's a safety issue. Lifeguards might become
distracted and someone might get hurt or die. Nonsense. If a lifeguard
can't properly supervise a pool because he or she is watching a topless
swimmer, the worker has the problem, not the swimmer. She's not breaking
the law.
The court has ruled that bare female breasts don't violate community
standards. If somebody doesn't like what the standard is, mount a legal
challenge. Stop wasting time trying to circumvent the decision.
There are more pressing municipal issues that need attention.
Some women will choose to walk or swim topless in public. The majority
will not. Removing one's top may be a personal victory and important
symbol of empowerment for some individuals. But it does little if
anything to address larger feminist issues.
It's also worth noting these are the days of depleted ozone, melanoma
and high-tech sunblock. Who wants to expose themselves? Seems to us that
covering up just makes sense.
Copyright The Spectator (Hamilton) 1997 All Rights Reserved.
CPR - it's not a guy/guy thing
It was a fresh, summer evening one year ago, that I was walking along a
suburban street in Port Colborne, a bottle of wine in my knapsack, in
anticipation of dinner with a very dear friend.
Kids used the curbs as goals for their soccer game, adults sat in chairs
on porches with iced drinks in hand and a short, ruddy-faced man took a
second from watering his lawn with a garden hose to nod and say, hello.
The world was as it should be as we sat down to a traditional Hungarian
meal, too much of everything with lots of paprika.
Then the phone rang and we were suddenly running in panic to the
neighbours, down the stairs to the basement kitchen where the friendly
man who had said hello lay still on the floor next to a table, a broken
wine glass next to him. He was dead.
I was later assured it was all over when he hit the floor and nothing I
did, or the ambulance crew did, was going to bring him back.
We all tried, but it was routine rather than vital. Sudden and sad, this
experience left me wishing I'd known the man. I also felt inadequate.
Why didn't I know the emergency procedure instinctively?
I have a number of excuses. Once I was a lifeguard, but that was in the
'60s and I've forgotten all the training techniques that I'm sure have
been vastly improved since then.
Also, I understand that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation is now available to
everyone. As teenage lifeguards at Longbeach we limited this procedure
to ``American chicks only.''
And then I remembered the real reason I'd not taken a course in
cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) as I'd been meaning to do for a
decade.
I had been in my basement one morning, up to my knees in water. If you
live on Lake Erie this is as routine as mowing your lawn. Down on his
hands and knees trying to kick start the sump pump was my good friend
and neighbour, John Balaban.
John can do anything -- plumbing, electrical, heating, trenching,
breakwall building -- you name it. John's the jack-of-all-trades of
Sunset Bay.
John likes me, but mainly for comic relief. In me, John sees a man who
can do nothing without requiring six or seven stitches. It's now to the
point where John offers me a 10 per cent discount on the job, if I
promise not to help him.
So, John is struggling with flex pipes and electrical cords, which are
all under water, and I'm working hard to complete my assignment which is
to, ``stand over there.'' And I wonder aloud, if he grabs a live wire,
would I be able to remember enough from my lifeguard days to be of any
help.
And John, a modest man, casually suggests I enroll in a St. John
Ambulance CPR course and mentions he's one of the instructors.
That was the defining moment. Instantly, my mind created the image of me
giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to my plumber and I dropped the
whole damn idea right there and then.
Now don't get me wrong, John's a great guy -- stocky, dark and handsome
and I like him a lot, but when it comes to sucking face, I'll take my
chances with a hunk of meat down my windpipe any day of the week.
You see, John and I are guys. Oh sure, a man might hug another man for
emergency or maybe even emotional reasons. But a guy can never hug
another guy unless that guy is choking on food and owes him money.
Unless those two factors come into play, it's 911 all the way.
I'm sorry, but the thought of my plumber pinching my nostrils or me
holding his hand in search of pulse, one way or the other . . . well, it
would signal the end of a beautiful relationship.
Frankly, and I think I speak on behalf of John here as well, we'd rather
donate perfectly good organs to each other than engage in this kind of
touchy, thrusty stuff.
The last thing I need is to have Greg, the guy who delivers my water,
come into the house to leave his bill and find me giving a chest massage
to my plumber. No, I'm sorry, it's not going to happen.
Trust me, it's the same reason Southern Baptists don't trust themselves
in martial arts: It could eventually lead to dancing.
Oh, I am going to take a CPR course this summer, but you can be sure of
one thing -- the dates and times for my training sessions will coincide
exactly with the work hours I have scheduled for John back at my place.
CPR -- it's a ``guy thing,'' but not a ``guy/guy thing,'' if you know
what I mean.
Copyright The Spectator (Hamilton) 1997 All Rights Reserved.
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