“We’ll go again,” said the assistant director, Tom Joyner, and into the valley of death waded The 400 with cameras to the right of them, and cameras to the left of them.

The water was cold, cold, cold, and what sunshine there was was most uncooperative. It was Sunday, the last day of June, and really not an ideal day to spend (all of it, every last bit of it) on the beach. The leftover northeast winds were still onshore and so were about 600 people.

Though the lifting morning fog the flying flags atop the striped and peaked cabanas were reminiscent of King Arthur’s court. The captains and their merry crews were lucky. They went into the water in wet suits, that is, all except Andrew Stone who seems to be made of sterner fibers than the 400 extras who spent the day alternately on the beach and in the water, courtesy of Universal Studios

The 400 waded out into waist high water (which seemed to be waist-high regardless of whether the tide was high or low) and accompanied by the most outlandish moans, hoots and groans sank slowly (ever so slowly) to their knees; thus portending they were up to their necks in cold water (definitely not hot) only to get chased right back up on the beach by a shark. This did not happen once, or twice, but every five minutes with a regularity becoming only to trans-Atlantic shipping.

“We’ll go again,” came Tom’s amplified voice — groans — “Now, sink down, the water is deep” — louder groans — “Panic, there’s a shark in the water! Background action.” — and off splashed The 400 in a real panicky life and death swim for shore and the somewhat warmer beach.

“Be exhausted,” said the electrified voice. That was easy. Who needed to be told to be exhausted and breathless after a sprint in ice water?

All the wetness occurred on Sunday when, time and a half for overtime, or no time and a half, the crew of Jaws celebrated the return of more normal weather by filming a mad mob scene at their Beach Road headquarters, Bagdad on the Bay.

The band played, and the sunbathers sunned, but only after they were requested to remove their protective warm outer layers, and then only for quick rolls of the camera. It was pretty hard to take off that layer of wool and expose quantities of virgin white flesh (one didn’t remember having that much flesh last summer) to the elements of wind and sun.

Wnen the “Dube family” took their mattress in hand and struck out for Cape Pogue, sympathy accumulated as time and again they bravely strode into the drink. But feeling sympathy for the Dubes was not enough for Universal, the directors wanted empathy, so into the wet shivered The 400. By the end of the day The 400 were in up to their necks and convulsed with shivers. It was a damn damp way to spend a Sunday.

More of the Same

Monday it was more of the same, but with fewer people, and once again it was into the water up to the neck and a wild panic for shore. As the people crushed shoreward, boats beyond the shark net interlaced their wakes, rifles at the ready, while a helicopter skimmed heads.

Everything was repeated for each change of lens, and each camera position. The cameras were nearly as athletic as the people. They went up in the helicopter, across the inlet, down in the sand, out in the water, on boats or without.

The warm clothes went on between takes, but still the skin began to turn an alarming pink while the surface of the water took on an oil slick of Coppertone and baby oil that certainly will confound Woods Hole.

Murder was contemplated when author, Peter Benchley, was spotted laughing his head off as The 400 groaned down to their knees in ice water.

By Tuesday the beach was congested with a lot more than The 400. A. W. Polk Jr. of Hearthaven wandered on the set and ended up consoling the remains of Mrs. Everett F. Warner after the great shark panic. Another man, used often, was discovered not to be an extra, so he remains the great unknown.

Dwight Francis of West Chop kept falling on his face in the tide, to be trampled by an on-rush of humanity. After a morning of this he was asked if he didn’t feel a bit trod upon, but he replied through seeping salt water that he’d enjoyed it.

Rick Dreyfus spent the day swimming with his clothes on, so someone suggested he be called Rick Wetfus.

Intrigued Boy

One man was supposed to catch his finger in a girl’s bathing suit which was rigged to come off. An overly-alert 10-year-old boy was so intrigued that he never stopped watching, and when the top came off he stood up, his eyes as big as frisbies, and the scene had to be reshot. Back in the water, most of The 400 would gladly have shot the boy.

One man (real) lost a pair of prescription glasses in the water during one take and found them during another, 800 feet later.

A chrome-plated plate glass cabin cruiser cruised in to spectate, and a beach ball escaped to open water. Deciding this was a souvenir worth retrieving an ultra-dressy woman reached for it with a desperation which carried her overboard.

One man came in fresh from a panic clutching half a beer bottle (with extremely jagged edges) which he had found on the bottom under those 800 feet. A woman found something else that was sharp (the hard way) by stepping on it and had seven stitches taken in the ball of her foot. According to nurse Helen Jackson, she was a good sport even though it was the first day of her vacation.

The shark rig, once off Hart Haven, had to be dug out of the bottom wafter the northeaster, so it and its mother ship are now back in Oak Bluffs. The special effects boys must have been curious about the signs around the Island reading, “garage sale” since when a name was needed quick for her registration she was instantly dubbed the S. S. Garage Sale.

There are rumors afloat that Jaws is sinking, but it’s not. Things are progressing really well now that the weather has cleared (and warmed), and if the sharks will only get cooperative, Universal will be on its way. (The best way to train any creature is with things good to eat — if Universal is interested — a list could be made up.)