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If you were to meet Donald Cresitello at a youth crew hardcore show, or a New York Yankees game, or the 2009 National Hurricane Conference, nothing about his demeanor would scream “surfer.” Cresitello almost always sports a shaved head and neatly cropped beard. He speaks articulately and judiciously, with only a hint of his native New Jersey accent. He’s never had a sip of alcohol, a puff of tobacco, or a taste of recreational drugs in all his 29 years. And he wakes up five days a week at 4:15 a.m. — not to catch the dawn patrol at his beloved Manasquan Inlet, but rather to board an express bus bound for Manhattan, where he logs nine hours each day as a project planner for the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers-New York District.
Before you blow a head gasket trying to fathom how a surfer could ever work for the big, bad USACE, first consider Donald’s personality: thoroughly methodical in both work and play, with a thirst for knowledge that propelled him through six years of rigorous academia, Cresitello is a perfectionist in every sense of the word. When asked whether his obsessive reputation is justified, Donald responds the way only a true stickler could: “Oh yeah, I would define myself as the anal perfectionist kid — overstressed and high-strung. They say nobody’s perfect, but for some reason I can’t get that through my head.” Lucky for us, Cresitello’s high personal standards have resulted in some of the most technically sharp surf photography to emerge from the East Coast.
Born in the North Jersey burg of Morristown, Donald grew up 60 miles from the Atlantic Ocean but spent every summer at his parents’ beachfront cottage in Manasquan. Like most inland surfers-to-be, Donald started out bodyboarding with best friend Jordan Dana, before the duo purchased beater boards from local lifeguards. And although they began surfing down the beach from Manasquan Inlet, Donald and Jordan quickly fell in with the older crew ruling First Peak. “Over time, we became good friends with Charlie King, Scotty Duerr, TR Devaney, Bruce Chrisner, Dean Schoonover, and Matty McKeever,” Donald remembers. “Everybody talks about how it’s impossible to catch anything there, but to be honest I probably caught more waves when I was 15 than I do now.”
More than an insane skill level, Cresitello remembers the close-knit friendships of the “Manasquan Inlet Cult.” “There was such a core group of guys out there sharing good camaraderie,” he adds. “Outsiders would say, ‘The Cult’s gay, they can’t even surf.’ But it wasn’t about being great surfers — plenty of them could surf fine, but we were all about having fun.” That meant pickup beach soccer games where they were specifically outlawed, military-style marches onto the jetty to pray to surf gods, and the MIC-certified sport of “killball,” which combined surfers riding shorebreak and spotters on shore hurling dodgeballs at their unsuspecting victims. Of course, these shenanigans, coupled with T-shirts that read “MIC Will Murder You,” “Quit Surfing,” and “Support Localism” didn’t sit well with local authorities, who hassled anyone with an MIC sticker on their bike or car. “The MIC ranged from ages 10 to 30,” Cresitello says. “Now everybody’s old and married, and I don’t think their wives would let them do that stuff anymore.”
As Donald’s adolescent days waned, new interests took hold. His mother cultivated an interest in photography, and by age 15 Donald began borrowing her manual focus camera to shoot the Inlet-Outlet and Brave New World contests that regularly stopped in Manasquan. When Hurricane Felix brushed the coast in 1995, Cresitello came away with several photos of Dean Randazzo, who was about to embark on his maiden WCT voyage. “I thought I had the best shots ever,” Donald laughs. “I brought them over to Bruce Chrisner, and I’ll never forget his reaction: ‘Wow, these are crap.’” The next summer, Hurricane Hortense graced the Garden State with a week of swell, and Donald took things a step further, borrowing a friend’s auto focus. “It had a better zoom, so I stood out on the Inlet jetty snapping photos of waves breaking at Jenks on the other side, and I turned to the north and saw local guy Dylan Myers on a left. He wasn’t very deep in the barrel, but that photo sticks out in my mind because it came out crystal-clear, compared to the photos I was shooting with my mom’s manual focus.”
Along with a heightened interest in photography and a spot on his high school baseball team, Donald began to identify with the straight edge hardcore scene that blossomed in the mid ‘90s. Attending more and more Sick Of It All, Earth Crisis, and Snapcase shows, he adopted those bands’ confrontational stance. “I was raised to believe that drinking, smoking, and drugs were bad for you,” he says. “That resonated with me when kids started going to parties. In high school, I was kind of militant. Today, my mind’s more open, but I’ve honestly never had a desire to drink. I don’t like not being in control.” In between hardcore shows, Donald applied his scrupulous nature to learning the ins and outs of photography’s technical side. Chrisner urged him to get in touch with ESM Co-founder and then-Photo Editor Dick “Mez” Meseroll, who bequeathed the aspiring shooter with tips and equipment recommendations. Donald also developed a fascination with oceanography, and began looking for a school that combined his academic interests with access to surf. He settled on the Florida Institute of Technology (FIT) in Melbourne, FL, entered as a Biological Oceanography major, and quickly realized his true interests lie in ocean engineering. The move to Melbourne also introduced Donald to the ESM family, and in 1998, Mez offered Donald an internship at the magazine, which presented the opportunity to make connections and really learn his trade.
And learn he did. One of 10 photographers at Sebastian Inlet with a 600mm lens in the late ‘90s, Donald was privy to the talent explosion that stormed the area. “I remember Blake Jones and Adam Wickwire doing stuff that nobody in Jersey was doing,” Donald admits. “I also got close with Justin Jones, Alek Parker, Eric Taylor, Bryan Hewitson, Jeremy Saukel, CJ and Damien Hobgood… Shooting in Florida is much easier. You have better light with all those bright sunny days; you don’t have to chase waves because the guys make it worth your while, no matter how bad the waves are. One session from 2001 stands out — I got out of class at 3:30 and had another class at 5:30, but zoomed down to the Inlet because I knew it was fun and clean there. I shot two rolls of slide film in an hour, and got a backside air of CJ that ended up on an ESM cover (January 2002), along with other published shots. It was the most productive one-hour session of my life — zero humidity, perfect light, perfect water color… everything was perfect.”
Of course, his success emanated from more than simply lucking into Central Florida perfection. He attributes much of his early achievements to the assistance of fellow Jersey photographer Chris Fuller and Wave Action founder John Keppler. Another big help was then-Surfer Photo Editor Jason Murray, who gave Donald his first taste of national exposure via a Phillip Watters shot in Surfer’s February 2000 issue. But Meseroll really cultivated Donald’s talents and, in the process, became a lifelong friend. “There were a couple of years where Mez let me crash at his house for months, and he wouldn’t take rent,” Donald says. “From being a friend to the things he taught me… I owe Mez huge.”
By the time graduation loomed in 2001, Donald received a job offer with the Army Corps of Engineers. “I didn’t want to take a 9-to-5 job, so I went on vacation and visited the University of Hawaii to see what their grad program was like,” he remembers. “But I had really good relationships with my professors at FIT, so I decided to stay there for grad school, and was offered a teaching assistantship. It was an easy decision, because I was getting paid to go to school.” Once Donald resolved to stay in Florida, ESM quickly offered him the part-time salaried position of Assistant Photo Editor, which led to further immersion into the competitive world of surf photography, the irrevocable nickname “Crusty,” and the enjoyable perk of ESM Girl photo shoots. But going to graduate school while working 30 hours a week presented Donald with the cruelest side of surf journalism: desk jobs don’t allow for much travel. Another time-affected photographic compromise was shooting from the water. “I know my limitations,” he admits. “In Florida, I felt I needed to be on the beach to maximize usable content. In Jersey, the best time to shoot water is when there are huge, gaping barrels, and I don’t trust my swimming skills yet. But I have ideas of things I want to do in the water.”
After finishing graduate school, Donald faced his biggest dilemma yet: accept the still-standing job offer from the Army Corps, or stick with ESM and hopefully move up to Photo Editor, a job that demanded his organizational skills and attention to detail. “Really, it came down to getting homesick for my family, friends, and waves in Jersey,” Donald admits. “I put in six hard years at school, so I wanted to see if I could use what I learned. Plus, I remember Mez telling me, ‘If you’re looking to make money, you’re in the wrong business.’ But leaving the magazine to come back north and take a 9-to-5 job was the most difficult decision of my life — it took me four months to decide.”
Moving home presented its own set of challenges: hordes of groms weren’t calling Donald every day to go shoot; the deep talent pool he enjoyed in Central Florida was noticeably thinner in Jersey; and with another time-draining job, he couldn’t put in the hours required to become a fixture in the local surf community. “I don’t feel like part of the Monmouth County surf scene,” he says. “Ray Hallgreen will always be the photographer up here, and because I work so much, I’ve separated myself from the surfers. If people saw my face, they might not know who I was, and I’m fine with that.” But Donald’s longtime friendship with Hallgreen and magazine contacts with Jersey heavies like Sam Hammer, Frank Walsh, Andrew Gesler, and Ryan Kimmel played to his advantage. “I would love to just shoot my friends, but my competitiveness forces me to want to get the best shot,” he says. “If I see a photo published that I know I could have had, it’ll eat at me for a long time.”
Another obstacle Donald faced was reacquainting with Jersey’s harsh climate. But he quickly became known for his dedication, no matter the conditions. “The first couple of years I lived back here, I’d stand on the beach for two hours in 10-degree wind chill with one battery in my pocket to keep it from draining energy,” he laughs. “I saw Ryan Miller a couple of months ago, and he said, ‘You know, I woke up this morning and thought, “What would Donald Cresitello be wearing at the beach today?”’ I guess I’m known for overdressing to be as warm as possible, but I want to shoot for two hours if I need to. No matter how cold it is, if it’s worth shooting, I’m out there.”
Just so long as he’s not working in Manhattan. Donald currently serves as a project planner and manager, running recon and feasibility reports on ventures that have been working their way through the Army Corps bureaucracy for 10 to 15 years. Many of those have to do with coastal storm damage reduction, which places Donald squarely on the frontline of ongoing beach nourishment battles — in particular, the Long Branch project that received significant press on Surfline. “Because of very limited funding, we spent two years planning renourishments up in Long Branch, and during those two years we met with Congressman Frank Pallone, Jr., the State of New Jersey, Surfrider Foundation, and Surfers’ Environmental Alliance on altering the project to have less impact on the surfability of waves,” Donald explains. “We tweaked an SEA-proposed plan and built a feeder beach that would help sandbars form off the heads of groins to the north and the south. This was the first time we altered our plans to incorporate surfers’ interests — from my perspective, that’s huge, because we’re changing the attitudes of guys that have been with the Corps for 35 years. It’s very difficult and frustrating work, but it’s rewarding to know some headway is being made.”
As tempers flared over the Long Branch project, Donald learned that being a surfer and a coastal engineer isn’t an easy line to toe. “We don’t make the final decisions — we can only do what Congress tells us to, and anything done in New Jersey is really a state project,” he says. “If the state decides to listen to surfers and not ruin the waves, that’s their choice. But I’m pretty thick-skinned; if people don’t like what I’m doing, I could really care less, because I’m finding out more and more people in the Corps are surfers. Most of us are coastal engineers, so we’re aware of the impacts.”
Donald has also increased his work in the hurricane preparedness and evacuation field, stemming from his deployment to Mississippi for 35 days in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. “It’s a new world to me, because I’m dealing more with emergency managers and less with scientists. I want to use this information to help the public; it has more of an acceptable face, because there’s public coordination and education, along with a motivation to actually get work done. I’m learning to love the hurricane work more than the actual coastal engineering.”
But that affection for his occupation does impede on Donald’s love of surfing and photography. “Moving back here, I knew I’d have to work 6:30-4:00 in order to surf and shoot in the evenings. The most stressful thing has been pushing myself to not miss those perfect opportunities. It just killed me, so if the waves are only waist-high, I won’t shoot. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but close to it. I’m a perfectionist, whether it’s shooting my own photos, commenting on other people’s photos, or commenting on people’s surfing skills. When I’m standing behind my camera, I’m here to critique people.”
Maybe that critical viewpoint comes from the luxury of not having to extract a living from the kowtowing surf industry. Although he expresses some regret about choosing a career with the Army Corps over one in surf photojournalism, the perks of federal government employment have certainly paid off; Donald recently bought his own house in Brielle, one mile from Manasquan Inlet. “I live in a flood zone, my house is right across the street from the train tracks, and people think I’m nuts because my work commute takes an hour,” he laughs. “But it’s the same for people who live five miles from Manhattan in Queens, and I live at the beach. I need to breathe salt air — otherwise I’d go crazy.”
As for the future, Donald cites his current work on hurricane preparedness as an inspiration, “because it has a direct impact on people.” And then there’s his heavily Democratic political leanings, derived from the influence of his father, a career politician who’s currently serving his second term as Morristown mayor (and even tested bigger waters by running for New Jersey’s U.S. Senate seat in 2008). “My dad’s political career has really influenced me,” Donald says. “I’ve always had an interest in politics, and have even thought about eventually running for office. But I don’t know if I need that stress in my life [laughs].”
For now, surf photography remains Donald’s number-one passion. Even though he’s achieved numerous covershots, posters, and double-page spreads over his decade-long-but-always-part-time shooting career, he preserves a modest, humble profile in an increasingly self-promotional world. “I don’t feel like people want to be bothered with my photos,” he says. “I do it for myself and for the surfers — I love to see things in print that help them with their careers. I always knew it wasn’t for the money.” He keeps up a steady flow of contributions to ESM, Surfing, Surfer, and Transworld Surf, and remains true to the discipline of positive, straight edge living. His spare time is full of New York Yankees and New Jersey Devils games, along with monitoring the kind of political and environmental news you’d think he’d want to leave at the office. He’s ventured into hostile territory to attend senior-level Surfrider meetings, and, for better or worse, maintains a personal attachment to the sand placed in Long Branch by the USACE. And even though his Corps affiliation triggers plenty of dirty looks and nasty comments, he respects and — to a certain degree — even identifies with concerned waveriders working from “the other side” of the battle. “It’s safe to say that in the ‘90s there weren’t that many vocal surfers,” he says. “Now the tide has changed, and we’re not seen as dumb beach bums anymore.”
Whatever “side” of the fight you think he’s on, Donald Cresitello is doing more to chip away at that stereotype than most — one photograph, one beach nourishment project, one engineered slice of perfection at a time.
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