Randy and the Fabulous Crab Shack: A Life of Joy, Service, and Radical Authenticity

Note: This was originally written as a meeting for Meeting for Worship. As a Quaker, I attend a semi-programmed meeting, which means that while we gather in silence, members of the community also volunteer to share messages, pastoring one another through personal reflections. This is one of mine.

I want to share the story of a man I once knew, now a mythical figure in my heart after his passing in the LA fires. (Scroll down to watch a tribute to him made by his Mom)

His name was Randy.

He was a surfer—quintessentially so. A simple, friendly guy whose only real ask in life was to live by the sea, so he could surf and thrive in both nature and his surf community in Malibu. And who doesn’t long for that kind of belonging these days?

Once that wish was granted—or maybe even before it—he lived a life of pure gratitude and joy. That’s not to say he didn’t experience grief or despair, or that he was perfect—he wasn’t. I know because he once dated my best friend!

But Randy embodied joy in a way few people do, like a spiritual fool straight out of a Tom Robbins novel. Others might chase material wealth, status, or even piety, but Randy? He simply was—fully alive, fully himself.

He wasn’t a success by worldly standards. He barely made it to high school classes because he was always surfing. Picture Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, but with the look of a teenage Andy Warhol—short in stature, a shock of sun-bleached hair glowing against permanently tanned skin, and eyes so oceanic blue they felt like the sea itself lived inside him.

Once, he even showed up for his school photo still in a wetsuit, surfboard in hand, having just hitchhiked 40 minutes back from the beach. Randy knew early on that life wasn’t about fitting into a mold—it was about following your calling, wherever it led.

The Crab Shack: A Home and a Haven

As an adult, he worked in restaurants around Malibu and eventually rented a small room in a red barn-style house built in 1921. Perched precariously against the mountainside along the Pacific Coast Highway, it sat right across from the waves he loved.

And then, by what I can only call the grace of God, his landlord gave him the opportunity to buy the house at a discount.

He was just 25. And I can’t help but think it was the purity of his resolve—or his faith in himself—that manifested this dream. That house became known as The Crab Shack, a legendary landmark in Malibu.

There’s even a photo of him in Surfer Magazine, standing on the side of the highway, pointing at the house like an action figure, with a smile so bright it could light up the darkest night of the soul—at least for a moment.

But owning the Crab Shack wasn’t about property or status. It was about securing his right to simply be, to live his truth, and in doing so, serve others.

A Modern-Day Dionysus

To me, Randy had echoes of Dionysus, the half-god of myth who loved and understood humanity. Dionysus was called Eleutherios, meaning “the liberator,” because his wine, music, and ecstatic dance freed his followers from the constraints of society.

Randy, too, was a liberator—not with wine, but probably some herb, a refuge, and a safe place to be free in connection with others.

The Crab Shack was open to anyone who needed rest, laughter, or simply a place to exist. He embodied hospitality in its truest sense—always cooking for his friends, playing his guitar, jamming with other musicians. And all he wanted in return?

Just that.

Like Jesus breaking bread or Krishna playing his flute, Randy created a space of joy and fellowship that made everyone—young or old, rich or poor—feel loved and like they belonged.

The Crab Shack was for everyone.

The Final Wave

In his final days, when wildfires threatened the area, Randy stayed behind, trying to protect the place that had housed so many memories. It was a final act of authenticity and devotion—to his home, his way of life, and his community.

He rode that last wave all the way in.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

Randy had the ocean. And I believe he always will.

Final Reflection

His life was a form of worship—a dance with the Divine. He reminds us that we don’t need to be extraordinary by the world’s standards to live a life of extraordinary beauty and meaning.

As we settle into silence, I invite you to reflect:

What are the simple joys that make you feel completely like yourself, no matter what the world might think?

And how might they become a gift of service to others?