Above: The judges scrutinized every maneuver. Here they peered on as Hodney struts his
Skatepark Paramount is the site of this
third contest of the Rusty Harris Series.
The events featured in this contest were
tight slalom and banked freestyle. The
park is located in what must be the armpit
of Los Angeles (the reason I mention
armpit is because it was so damn hot,
everything sweated-even the cursed
wallfish).
We stopped off at a liquor store to pick
up the appropriate refreshments (Barley
Bubbly) when I noticed on the newsstand,
today's headlines Vic Morrow Decapi-
tated." Next to Robert Mitchum, Vic was
my most favorite actor. I always used to
think that he'd of been a good skater if he
gave it a try because his gait was exactly
like T.A.'s. It happened during the filming
of a GOOK epic on Vietnam. What a
waste.
The papers reflect nothing but misery
these days, but that's reality, and reality is
something that you definitely got to face.
What about this headline? House
Approves Plan for A-War Evacuation,
Record-High Defense Bill Passed;
Washington bowing to the defense
establishment and Reagan administration;
the House yesterday approved a record
$175.3 billion 1983 defense authorization
bill.
Now come on. They wouldn't plan to
prepare for a holocaust unless they were
planning to start or take part in one. I wish
every kid in the world would resist and
rise up against the usurpers of their
country, so that we all might have a better
tomorrow.
Oh, well, now that my future seems to
be in someone else's hands, I can go
to this contest with a clear head and
without a worry. Hell, we could all be dead
by day after tomorrow. It was with this
happy-go-lucky attitude that I entered the
premises of the park. So far, today has
18
jingles on the facing page.
been peppered with hassles.
Already at the park was an assortment
of illuminated luminaries from the past
and present freestyle spectrum. Russ
Howell, Hercules of the freestyle world,
was around demonstrating the art of
power-freestyling by toying around on a
long board, with extreme ease and
finesse. "Sausage Man," Dale Smith was
there, doing a bit of coaching, and a lot of
learning, with some of the new crop of
"Ultra-freestylers."
All the way from Sweden were two of
that country's best "stylers," Per Welinder
and Per Holknekt.
Practicing their routines and working up
a sweat, Primo Desiderio, Bill Ruff,
Anthony Rocco (Steve's younger bro),
Fred Flavell and Steve Caballero could be
seen down in the freestyle pit. As time
progressed, other competitive hopefuls
appeared. Tim Metz, Chris May, Mike
McGill, Mike Foster, Tony Magnusson,
Dennis Haber, Bill Swartzbaugh, Jeff
Heath, Bill Wahl and Keith Butterfield. In
fact, Keith (an unsponsored, dedicated
amateur) was arousing the interest of
more than one of the industry-types
present. One thing was for sure, he was
probably the one to beat in the Open
Amateur segment this weekend.
It was nearly noon by the time things
got under way. One of the judges (Frank
Above: Steve Evans is slightly edged in the second to the last run by Jim Korten.
But in the last and final run Jim hit cones and Evans went on to win it.
THRASHER
SKATEBOARD MAGAZINE
TRACKER
Blood) had some car trouble. Yeah, I bet.
Saturday morning after a Friday night? I
wasn't born yesterday, c'mon! Anyway,
the Open Amateur's qualifying got going.
There weren't very many entries here on
this level, so everyone automatically
qualified for the next day.
Next the Pro Am. Here was a wide
variety of styles and applications. By this
time, Rodney Mullen had showed, and in
his special little awkward way, set the
pace for everyone else. On one of his
routines, the judges awarded him with a
99. So the rest of the competitors
definitely had some concentrating to do.
The pair (Pers) from Sweden were
definitely going to be big comp for
Rodney, as Caballero, Desiderio, Ruff
and Foster proved not to be slouching
themselves.
Freestyling, I was beginning to under-
stand, was a lot more radical than I ever
imagined it to be. There is a lot more to it
than is usually perceived and explained.
This last weekend I had the opportunity to
have the "Mutt" join me in S.F. for a crash
course in freestyle understanding. The
final outcome was that I was extremely
blown away and, thusly, extremely more
confused. There are so many (impossible-
looking, but possible) tricks that there isn't
even any sense in making up names for
them. Not only is there a multitude of
primary manuevers, there are also
several possible variations to these
moves, plus variations on the variations.
After all of this, I came to a simple
realization. You don't really need a
special out of the way illegal spot to
practice this form of riding. All you need is
a few square feet of smooth flatness, a
freestyle board, and you're all set. The
possibilities are amazing. I soon expect to
see every other (if not every) kid in the
world doing this. The parents of the world
should really dig it. They can watch out
the kitchen window while junior shreds
"finger flips" in the driveway. It's definitely
a lot safer than rollerskating down the
street with a Walkman, headband and leg
warmers on. They could say, "Martha, my
junior's not trendy, he's radicall" Massive
freestylers can be seen on the horizon.
They're coming to your town, or they're
already there.
I hadn't eaten in two days. I had to
change t-shirts, it was soaked with sweat.
Gnit said he was hungry and persuaded
me to some fine local food next door.
Rounding the corner gave way to a
glorious sight, "Juanita Jones Fine
Mexicatessen." Wonder how their burritos
are?
Me and Gnit were testing the chili
sauce on ourselves when Potato Head
and Steve Olson walked in, sat down and
ordered some authenic "Dos Equis."
"What are you guys doin in here?" they
ventured to ask. We informed them that
we were consuming local delicacies, while
awaiting commencement of the "Tight
Slalom. They're almost over, you know,"
Olson was heard to remark. Upon that
remark, I administered the famed finger-
snapping-to-signal-the-waitress man-
uever. A king-sized tort was the call and