Morrie Skaret is 94 and has been in West Seattle since he got a job as the first lifeguard at the original Colman Pool in Lincoln Park at 18 when the pool then was merely a low spot on the edge of the sound.

The city had scooped out a deep hole and the tide filled it with saltwater. It had a sandy bottom. Every so often they took a bucket of the water and put a chemical in it to test for urine because most kids just let it fly instead of running to the toilet.

When the tide went out the kids would take buckets and gather tiny sea creatures, small crabs and the like wriggling in the sand and put them back in the sound. The tide would come back later and refill the swimming hole.

Eventually the city decided to replace what they called a mudhole and Colman Pool was born.

Morrie was a good swimmer. He had learned how in a small slough on his parent's homestead way up in Calgary. His parents were given 160 acres by the crown and they lived in a sod house with three kids, two oxen and one plow. Scratching out a meager existence growing oats and wheat they barely survived after leaving their native Norway seeking a better life. The floor of the house was mud, scraped off the bottom of a small slough, which dried hard as cement and could be swept without raising dust.

Morrie has instant recall and a remarkable memory. He is 6-foot 3, 190 pounds and is sharp as a razor. He recalls living through a couple of bitter Northerns, a term for gale-force winds and temperature 40 below. So cold his dad had to bring the two oxen into the sod cabin at night to keep them from freezing. In the morning his mom had to scoop the manure out the door with a shovel. To this day Morrie says he loves the smell of manure. The tiny house had a coal-burning stove for heating and cooking. They lived a few miles from a dealer who provided hard anthracite, which burned slowly and kept the cabin tolerable all night. Even so, some nights were so cold the small kids slept curled under the parents blanket on top of their mom's feet.

The kids were all raised on rolled oats for breakfast and Morrie, to this day eats rolled oats each morning. They grew the oats, soaked them in a barrel of water with vinegar, drained the liquid off and then put the puffed up slurry through a homemade wringer. Dried, they poured milk over them, added some brown sugar and that was breakfast. The rolled oats now come from the store.

When he was only 6 his dad made him Keeper of the Pigs. It was his job to slop the 14 porkers twice a day and catch them when they broke out of the pen.

When he arrived in West Seattle with his family, he met Rupert Hamilton who had just started the West Seattle Herald. Rupert was looking for carrier boys and paid him a penny each to deliver to 500 homes every Thursday after school.

I told him a route is still available. He turned it down but I believe he could still do it but he would probably want more money.

When he got the job as lifeguard he sat atop a high tower and watched swimmers and sunbathers. One cute little French girl laying in the sand caught his 18-year-old eyes and, after some conversation, he offered to walk her home, three miles out of his way. That walk led to many more and a year later she became his first wife. Her name was Marjorie Dorais and tragically she died of cancer after only 20 years of marriage.

When Elsbeth and I went to talk with him in his large home near the Fauntleroy ferry dock last week he came out to greet us. Standing on the porch was a pretty little lady watching. He said, "Come in and meet my lady friend. She is that good looker up there."

The good looker turned out to be Elsie Freeland. She lives next door, is a West Seattle High graduate, Class of '34 and his life companion. They go dancing every Tuesday night at the Corner Inn at Morgan Junction. They dance from about 5 p.m. to 9.

Amazingly Elsie was also born in Alberta, about 170 miles north of Morrie's Calgary home, in Edmonton. Her family also migrated to West Seattle.

Morrie owns the house she rents.

"I pay the rent on time every month" she says proudly.

In our tour Morrie showed me a tall hedge and said he had a neighbor who was 88 and thought Elsie was some punkins. Morrie did not trust him so one day he installed some pig wire inside the hedge to thwart any nocturnal invasion of Elsie's place.

One night they heard a loud commotion and went out to investigate.

There was the romantic Lothario, hopelessly entangled in the pig wire yelling like a stuck hog and Morrie had to extricate the ardent octogenarian and send him packing.

Morrie, after serving in the Coast Guard for 34 years, became a Seattle policeman and put in 41 years, rising to captain.

The walls of his study are covered with memorabilia and certificates of honor he received in his 75 years of public service.

His story has been told in greater detail in three books he has written.

He is a charming born storyteller, loquacious, never boastful but articulate, and is beloved by hundreds of people who have had the good fortune to meet him.

Hopefully we can get together and scope out another pocketful of his experiences to share with you.

Jerry may be reached at publisher@robinsonnews.com