At the end of the sixties, the sidewalk surfing craze was at the peak of its popularity. My dreams were being filled with the subliminal draw of the wave-like drops on the schoolyard banks of revere and Bellagio. I occasionally got to see Super-8 footage of my heroes on the competition teams, riding the banks in striped T-shirts and baggies. No shoes in the true surf tradition was the norm. My friends john Davison, Ted Deerhurst, and I finally decided to ride our bikes to Revere and check out the sessions we had heard so much about.

Sure enough, when we arrived the banks looked ominous, their smooth, black asphalt In pristine form. This was at a rare time (about ‘69-70), when the schoolyards were relatively new, and kept in excellent condition. The banks were ten to fifteen feet and glassy all year round. Not only did the main yard have two killer bowl angle banks, but the internal area also provided an array of excellent combo courses. Basically it was a skater’s paradise, the first real skatepark.

In the beginning, there was no one around for us to watch or learn any lines from. Our boards and trucks, not to mention loose ball bearing tires, constantly had to be fine-tuned in order to ride. That’s why we always rode bikes with the boards on the handlebars. You never knew when your board would disintegrate underneath your feet.

We gradually started to frequent the banks and develop our own style. We were emulating all of our heroes from the surfing mags. Wayne Lynch, Nat Young and Midget Farrely were my Aussie idols and I proceeded to do my best at carving and slashing the short board style of the sixties all over the banks.

Similar to surfing though, the drop came first. You had to push along a foot-wide rim at the top and then cut a steep angle straight down, through an abrupt transition (about a fifteen foot drop, or bigger in your mind when you’re twelve), then slingshot yourself across the flat and up the next bank into whatever high speed maneuver you could manage. As time went on we gradually improved with successive experimentation. Most of our moves involved high-speed footwork. Slide variations and multiple 360’s were also challenging.

It had been about a month before we were actually confronted with any outside influence. One day, just out of the blue, we pulled up on our bikes with our newly-made woodshop custom cues. To our surprise, there were the legends that we had heard so much about. If I remember correctly, Steve and Davey Hilton, Danny Bearer, john Freiss, Torger Johnson, and Chris Piccolo were the first pros that we encountered. They walked the nose with ease, did toe spins at the top of the banks, heelies, 360’s and soul arches. We were all amazed to see someone else show us what could really be done. My mind exploded with energy and ideas. I knew that what I was seeing would influence my riding, but I also wanted to take it in a unique direction of my own.

I immediately began to immerse myself in the dreams of the surf-skate moves that I was having. I know that they were not just dreams. The possibility of a new style was not a conscious effort, it just happened spontaneously. Soon our crew of rowdies would change the face of everything skateboarding involved. The Dogtown posse would stand at the forefront of professional skateboarding, during the most important and influential stage of skate history. The Dogtown influence will be felt through our entire lives!

Immediately after I achieved the Men’s Overall World Professional title, I was hired to portray a rebellious young skater in a motion picture film. The title selected was SKATEBOARD, THE MOVIE. During 1978-79, skateboarding was involved in a media-hype frenzy. The world’s eyes were opening to a new type of excitement that was spreading like wildfire. Pools and aerials were hot. I was basically doing what came natural and getting paid for it. My own Company was it its infant stage and life was one big adrenaline rush.

I had a friend named Bunker Spreckles. He was the heir to the Spreckles’ sugar fortune and stepson to Clark Gable, the famous actor. Bunker was an avid hunter, surfer, skater and playboy millionaire, the player...We lived together in Hollywood and I was basically being groomed for success under his school of spontaneous lifestyle. We did whatever we wanted at anytime, considering an expense factor didn’t exist. We had the best cars, finest food, hottest chicks, most professional gear and anything else that fit into that lifestyle.

While filming SKATEBOARD, I met Craig Chaquico, then playing lead guitar for Jefferson Starship (formerly the Airplane). He was young, talented, good-looking and stoked on skating. A perfect third wheel for me and Bunker.

When we weren’t busy with our careers, we began to hire limousine drivers to take us around the LA area in search of empty swimming pools and the now defunct concrete reservoirs which were perfect for high speed skating back in the day. We found quite a few excellent bowls. There was the Viper and the Toilet Bowl, Beverly Glen, Pali, J Bowl and The Dam, not to mention quite a few others.

Occasionally we would roll through my neighborhood and pick up a couple Dogtown boyz to take along for the ride. Biniak and I were at our speed freak stage. We were constantly looking for something gnarlier and faster than the last spot to ride. We had the drop at Bellagio wired and were ready for something bigger. We took Craig with us to the Viper Bowl one time. It was a hot sunny day and the Hollywood Hills were in rare form. I spotted the bowl and Biniak and I both let out a hoot of approval. The limo driver popped the trunk, we quickly snatched up our cues and then hopped the fence into a pristine sand-colored, four-cornered reservoir bowl. I could tell Craig was a little nervous, so we tried to give him some advice and encouragement at the beginning of the session. Bobby and I went off. We skated the banks like it was an eight to ten foot day at Sunset Beach and we were Barry Kanaiapuni and Nat Young. The object was to haul ass over every inch of the terrain without slamming on the 500 grit surface. In our Hang Ten surf trunks and low-cut Vans, we carved, slid, and spun through a barrage of moves. It was total high-energy and the friendly competition helped Craig push his limit too. He took a minor slam and then decided to retire as a witness. He had a concert to play later that night to a sold-out audience at the Forum and didn’t want to upset the fans.This made total sense to us, considering he got his cake playing guitar, not skating.

Thinking back to this day makes me wonder why some people are so jaded and lazy today. I couldn’t be happy just skating the same waxed curb every day. Paradise could be right around the corner . Open your eyes and your imagination. There are still locations like this available. Believe me, I live it!

Craig is a very successful and adept guitarist to this day. I enjoy his music very much. His style is so unique that it shows me when you’re good at something special, your limits are infinite. Experience and practice pay off in the long run, whether it be music, surfing, snowboarding, skating or whatever else turns you on. You can make anything that important to you, your life’s blood with determination and a little original style.

Wynn Miller, aka Chokey Boy, and I have traveled the world together and shared a lot of good experiences. Shortly after returning home from a European sojourn, we got word of some 24-foot pipes. Ameron was producing them on site at Camp Pendleton Marine Base in San Clemente. I heard there were rows of hundreds, evenly spaced with assorted gaps from pipe to pipe. It was too much to resist. We met and devised a plan of attack. The idea was, with the help of David Hackett, to pose as family members going to see our brother at Camp Horno Boot Camp. We all drove down south in my Datsun four-wheeler that I had built specifically for adventures of this sort. The perfect vehicle for penetrating the location.

Sure enough, with cameras in tow, our little bulls--t story worked at the gate. We just filled out a visitor’s pass and were admitted. I was amazed at how easy it worked. DH and I were amped. Chokey Boy was already adjusting lenses and loading film. We came off of the main road and onto a small dirt one and we could see the rows of pipes, at least twenty-footers. I was driving hard and fast and howling like a madman. We pulled up into a grass field, parallel to a dirt lot filled with rows of hundreds of big fat pipes. The gaps started at two feet and went off at about six foot killer offset channels. The adrenaline flew through my heart, mind and veins.

The immensity and volume of the pipes spoke for themselves. We pulled the truck in-between the rows so we wouldn’t be detected immediately by the MP’s, whom we were sure that we would eventually encounter.

As soon as we set foot inside the cylindrical rows we knew that this was going to be insane. Ameron pipes are known in the skate circle as the most super-flawless surface ever touched by ‘thanes. Just to fakie up to vertical was so sweet. We began kickturning frontside and backside at about 10 o’clock. You just seemed to float inside the tube. Once we got our rhythm going we would click out ollies across the gaps at about 11 o’clock while Chokey Boy got the shots.

We would start out on a two foot gap and then work our way down and back ollieing to about four to six foot gaps on a row of perfectly offset pipes. It was a dream come true. We skated for about two hours with no disturbance and no sounds except our own. So when we heard the low rumble of the MP jeep pulling up, we were well aware of an unusual sound. Our senses were keen as a canine with all the energy we had. We quickly hid under the transition of the pipes. As we lay low in the dirt, with only our own breathing in our ears we could hear the MP’s getting out of their vehicle and stepping into the pipes. They spoke but we could not discern what about. I was worried that they would see our marks heading toward the ceiling and know to look further. Luckily, these guys were clueless. They settled for a quick scan, and then got back into the jeep.

As they rolled away all we could do was smile and chuckle. Good karma was on our side this day, and we knew it. Silently we slid back into our tunnel. DH, being goofy-foot, had his lines and I had mine, so we naturally did our own thing rooting each other on to higher heights with each run. We rode on into the afternoon and expended every last drop of our physical and mental stamina before finally packing it in and calling it a day.

Chokey Boy was silent, but we knew his photos would do the talking. DH and I didn’t quit laughing and talking all the way back to Santa Monica. We vowed to return ASAP.

In the late ‘80’s I had a hardcore posse of street and vert skaters. Meanwhile me and my band the Skoundrelz frequented a pre-rave rock and disco club called Power Tools. We were in with the management, and my roommate Mondo and I were eventually approached to build, set-up and perform a skate/psychedelic demo/session to a live band at the club. We decided to take on the project, as long as they would cover our expenses and give us the cash to purchase wood and other supplies to build an indoor skatepark for the night. They agreed to our terms. So we started to make our plans a reality.

Jef Hartsel, Mark Munskie, John Thomas, Chris Cook, Mondo and I all lived in Venice in a small guest house. We built a quarter-pipe with a rollout deck, a few trannies for climbing walls, a take-off ramp to start off the stage and a few other assorted Evel Knievel type of launch oriented structures. When we were finished building the ramps, Mondo airbrushed the surfaces with these fluorescent abstract designs. The wispy flamelike tribal artwork under black light in the dark club would provide an effective visual.

That night we had a little warm up celebration at our house, kind of like a war party. We all got totally psyched up. After moving the ramps to the club we made sure that the promoters met with our demands and had appropriately supplied us with refreshments and other assorted goodies.

As soon as the band began playing the skaters went off. There was a good-sized crowd encircling a large parquet-floored dance hall filled with our psychedelic skatepark. We had our transition ramps climbing fat columns that supported the building so we could ride up onto the building surfaces. There were strategically placed launch ramps for big method airs and ollies, or any other sort of aerial maneuver. The quarter-pipe faced the opposite way to rebound off and break up the one-hit monotony. It was a radical indoor set-up complete with lighting for full effect.

The Venice street crew dazzled the crowd with footwork and ollie kickflips. Vert riders busted big airs . We had a well-rounded crew, so just about anything that was state-of-the-art skating went down: 360 airs, 180 transfers, fakie airs, varials, etc. JT flew above peoples’ heads. Contorted pop tarts were his specialty. The club was literally transformed into a futuristic nightmare of skateboarding.

The music peaked as the skating exploded. The session went on for a good six hours, starting at 10:00 P.M. and ended at about 4:00 A.M.. When the band retired they pumped in sounds to keep us going. The people, lights and music created a vortex of energy that could have kept us skating all night.

Unfortunately, the wooden dance floor and our ramps took a severe beating, forcing us to pack it in time to see the sunrise over downtown LA.

Everyone had a good time, skaters and non-skaters alike. We didn’t expect to get paid because of the damage the club had suffered. I would have done it over again for free, just to see the look on the crowd’s faces. That was some bad-ass skatin’.

I’ve recently been keyed in to a new pool, one of the best I ever skated. An old school compatriot, Kevin "The Worm" Anderson, told me about it (not Dennis Rodman, the original Worm), a ten-foot egg with perfect trannies. The location is confidential. It’s 1995, and things are a bit different now. Let’s just say we call it The Champion. That is the only clue you’ll get. The stairs on the right-hand wall are sick and the coping is just right. I knew that this pool was skateable and I was determined to get in a session.

The winter weather had pool skating almost non-existent due to excessive rain this year. I was jonesing for some tile, coping and vert. This combo is what led me into another adventure.

I had already cased the area and knew a direct line of access was around the back, and in through a hole in the fence. I wasted no time scoping out security, then I beelined for the shallow end. When I approached the hole in the fence I noticed another skater . He was obviously in the act of a verbal confrontation with a very large black security woman with an XXL derriere. She had on some pseudo authoritative uniform and nothing to arm herself with except a walkie-talkie. I quickly slipped by them and into the pool. Donna, my girl, looked at me with a what are you gonna do about her? expression. I just dropped in and pushed off over the light for a solid coping grinding carve to a frontside shallow end attack. I didn’t care about the circumstances, I was determined to skate this damn pool.

Well, I had obviously gotten the guard’s attention. I basically had disregarded her presence as any type of authority. She coaxed me out of the pool by threatening to call the fuzz on me. I decided to try and negotiate some sort of one-sided peace treaty. I told her that we were only there for one pure and simple fact, and that was to skate. Donna pleaded with her emotional feminine side and reminded her it was Xmas eve. The other skater threw in a few, Come on, just let us take a few runs, to no avail. Getting desperate, I just came out and said, Look, we will take full responsibility for our own actions and skate at our own risk, if you could just turn the other cheek (the lower ones preferably). I also reminded her it was Xmas eve. Goodwill toward men might still be a factor here. She started to bend a little. I had my brain bucket on and she kind of thought it was a cool color. I weaseled my way back into the shallow end. The other skater followed my cue. I was stoked to have gotten this far. She said she was going to make her rounds. I told her we would be gone by the time she got back and tried to get her to approve that plan. She said, I don’t know nothing’ bout no skatin’, which meant to me, green light-it’s a go!

The pool welcomed us with its wide open egg shape. I instantly went over the stairs Indy air to a combination of lapped over grinds , backside air and then a switchstance shallow end slide. Expecting to only get a few runs, my mind told my body to skate like every run was my last. The other skater whom I asked, What’s your name bro? was amazed at how I had finangled my way in. He said his name but I can’t recall if it was Rick or Robert. He had some nice lines of his own and was going for the stairs aggressively. We sparred runs for at least an hour until rhino butt showed up again. She tried to make small talk. She said, Y’all are crazy, yo gonna break yo neck doin’ dat. She told my new buddy that he needed a helmet, too.

We took a few more runs and then thanked her, and she said, I don’t know nothin. I just agreed with her and we slipped out the back fence and into the dusk. The other skater came up and said, cool session man. I answered yeah, merry Xmas. I smiled to myself, and disappeared into the LA night with Donna. That familiar, contented, sweaty feeling of adrenaline downshift was making me feel good. My mind went back over the session’s high points. It was a gamble and this time I had won. No jail and no injuries, another victory. Yes! SK8 tough, that’s my motto with all sincerity.